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Welcome to Disco Zombie

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Tonight, ladies and gentleman, I am the hunter and you are my quarry

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Only joking

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Or am I?

<<Don't you ever, don't you ever stop being dandy showing me you're handsome.>>

<<Don't you ever, don't you ever stop being dandy showing me you're handsome.>>

Tonight's show is dedicated to all the ladies I've ever danced with. Particularly the one I danced with ever so briefly in Liverpool's shittest club, Krazyhouse, a couple of nights back.

<<Prince Charming! Prince Charming! Ridicule is nothing to be scared of>>

It's also dedicated to her boyfriend, this man:



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I don't know about you guys, but when I go out to dance I become the gayest man in the world. Seriously, the desire to wear make-up and stockings is unbearable. I have the gayest dance repertoire in the world. It includes the six shooter; the bus stop; the Michael Stipe; the digging for a corpse in the garden; the gold of Moctezuma; the twisted stocking; and the please penetrate me from behind (I'm a top, but I'm always on the lookout for a bottom).

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I don't care. I have two kids and I'm 32. If I want to be gay, I'm going to damn well be gay. I'll do what the hell I like. And, yes sir, I can boogie.

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Besides, it gives my Good Lady Wife a good feeling in her balls.

So we're out, and I've had a quantity of fizzy pop. I'm unusually drunk. I've performed the six shooter. My Good Lady Wife has responded with the lasso and has reeled me in. She spins off.

<<Don't you ever, don't you ever lower yourself forgetting all your standards>>

I spin off too.

<<Don't you ever, don't you ever lower yourself forgetting all your standards>>

The room is dark.

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The beer is fizzy.

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I move behind my Good Lady Wife and take comfort in the lacey feel of her waist as I dry-hump her arse.

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My Good Lady Wife didn't happen to be wearing anything lacey that night.

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But the girlfriend of this man was:



<<Prince Charming! Prince Charming! Ridicule is nothing to be scared of>>

She turned and looked in horror at me behind her just as I tried to penetrate her jeans with my groin whilst firing imaginary guns into the artificial foggy gloom of the Krazyhouse night.

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She shrieked and pulled away as I realised that she wasn't my Good Lady Wife after all. I winked her my magic gay wink and tried to lasso her in, but this man didn't approve of my dance moves:



I smiled politely at them both, offering a suggestive glance to the nice gentleman. Any port in a storm. In turn he offered this look:



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Surprsingly they decided not to accept my advances and moved off to another part of the dancefloor. Evidentally my gayness and rampant hungry sexual pervert stare dissauded the gentleman from breaking my face, lest I play Clint Eastwood to his Lee Van Cleef.

My Good Lady Wife took me in her arms and rubbed her balls against my leg - assuring me that I was not alone, despite the best efforts of the probation service.

My Good Lady Wife went on to lasso me three more times that evening. I tried to Michael Stipe her, but my heart wasn't in it. Later on she stroked my hair and fed me chop-suey rolls. I may not have given my finest dance performances that night, but I feel another couple went away in the early hours of the Krazyhouse morning touched and, indeed, ready to accept the love of perhaps another six shooting lasso fool who just likes to hump the backsides of random women in dark clubs.

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Now then, you - stop being dandy, showing me you're handsome.