Yoav

It all began back in '83 at a Soul Train reunion for the ages. I had on my finest bellbottoms fitted with sequined pleats and a half pound of hydro....for the post-party downtown-get-down. A man named Carlos El Busto would forever change me into the shadow of a man that people now affectionately call Nart. Carlos's hair was a masterpiece that night, like a grease stained moon hanging low over the braded horizon. As he approached me I was in mid sway back rocking the funky train. The glow from his hair reflected off the disco ball like a lone silver bullet cutting through the haze of a full moon night. The blast of light blinded me instantly. As I stumbled, foraging aimlessly for my composure I was blindsided by a wild backhand of a groovy butterfly twirler. The blow had proved to knock the Roger Rabbit out of me forever. After the incident I suffered acute rhythm removal, I would be forever damned with the curse of rhythmless honkey hipdrome. I was subsequently banned from soul train and desperate for acceptance anywhere I could find it. I began going to "Phish" concerts and dancing like a severely distraught hippie drowning in a pool of liquid acid. Drugs and other various pity relievers soon followed. But my complete adoration for dancing has kept a bop in my toe and hitch in my giddy-up. The soul train has become a distant memory, and the jam band scene has been the only community that seems willing to tolerate my disjointed gyrations that could blind the average non-wookie. I am cloaked with fur and bark like a Chewbaccan warrior but at least I’m happy. One thing will never change though, my love for dancing and my eternal disdain for Carlos El Busto....You ruined me el guapo, you ruined me bad.