The Reviews Are In For My Sick Dance Moves

What a horrible day to have eyes

Jared Cappel
The Haven
Published in
3 min readApr 21, 2022


Photo by Yan Krukov from Pexels

“Do you think he lost a bet?” — the group of friends pointing and laughing.

“You need to move your hips.” — my oldest buddy, contorting my body like a marionette.

“That’s why I stick to the corner.” — the wallflower dragged to the bar by his roommate.

“Do I look as bad as him? Is that even possible?” — the guy with two left feet.

“Why does he keep staring over at us? He better not like me.” — my crush.

“That guy’s going to stay a virgin forever.” — my crush’s crush.

“Like a grand mal seizure.” — the first year medical student, failing to impress anyone.

“What am I doing with my arms?” — myself, two or three beers in, after catching my reflection off the window.

“If I tell him he’s a good dancer, maybe he’ll keep embarrassing himself in front of his friends.” — my jerk of a brother.

“Why does he keep nodding his head? Is someone asking him if he looks deranged?” — my crush.

“He’s not exactly good at this.” — Captain Obvious.

“He moves like a wacky inflatable tube man hit by a stun gun.” — the guy reeking of pot.

“Just follow my lead.” —my friend who can dance.

“He better back up or he’ll catch an elbow.” — the breakdancing crew forming a circle around me.

“Is he really dancing in front of everyone? What is he doing now? Is that some attempt at a cartwheel?” — the horrified onlookers.

“Everyone is staring and laughing. I killed it!” — myself, five beers in, plus a shot or four of tequila.

“He ruined the vibe. Maybe we should call it a night.” — the dance crew, dissipating.

“You, my friend, are a legend.” — the bartender, snatching a twenty dollar bill and “forgetting” my change.

“Maybe if I dance next to him, I won’t look so bad.” — the kid at the bar for the first time.

“Forget this plan, he smells.” — the same kid.

“I wonder if I can get him to go on stage in front of everyone.” — my jerk of a brother.

“Oh my God, he’s actually doing it. I can’t watch.” —my brother, happily watching.

“This next song goes out to the weirdo on stage making questionable life decisions.” — the DJ with the crusty mohawk.

“The stage is for hot girls and the people they want to sleep with.” — the angry bouncer, yanking me to the floor.

“Serves his ugly ass right.” — the babes staring down from their pedestal.

“He looks like he’s going to piss himself, finally some fluidity.” — the guy reeking of pot.

“Is he swaying off beat or nodding out?” — the guy at the next urinal.

“He’s coming back from the bathroom. Duck so he doesn’t see us.” — my oldest friend.

“How does he keep finding us? We’re never going to get laid.” — my friend who can dance.

“Let’s take a video so we always remember this night.” — my jerk of a brother.

“Someone get that guy an anti-emetic…oops, too late.” — the medical student.

“With that expulsion of body fluids, he expressed what we’re all thinking.” — the guy reeking of pot.

“If there’s a single drop of puke on my heels, I’ll jam them down his throat.” — my crush, sounding hotter than ever.

“Somehow he smells better than before.” — the kid at the bar for the first time.

“Okay pal, you’re out of here.” — the bouncer.

“I am a dancing machine!” — myself, eleven or fourteen drinks in, shortly before the night cuts to black.



Jared Cappel
The Haven

Jared Cappel lives in the twisted depths of his mind. And Toronto. Find his comedy in Slackjaw, Weekly Humorist and more. Follow the latest: