Saturday night, hypnotic buttock motion and the role of dad dancing to impress women.
Saturday night, as with all Saturday nights, is the opportunity to venture into the human alcohol imbued jungle. It is the prime time to watch the mating techniques of numerous inebriated human animals. Large gestures, exaggerated hip motions and puffed out chests are just a few of the techniques used to attract attention. One of the major techniques in Bournemouth is ridiculous fancy dress outfits. When I say fancy dress I do not mean a ‘fancy’ dress as in a nice evening dress. Instead large groups of men (the stag night) can be witness dressed as babies, large items of fruit or super heroes. These are directly proportionate to hen parties who are dressed as policewomen, nurses or pirates. There are obviously variations on these themes but the women wear items that are revealing, a bit rude and are suggestive. In the opposite faction the men dress as fruit. I have not determined the ultimate psychology behind this, but essentially the men go for phallic / heroes. And the women go for ‘have some of this big boy!”
With all the above in mind, Saturday night is the prime opportunity to take part in a human safari. It is dangerous, there are conflicts and there are passing outs in the street. Survival of the fittest is demonstrated by the winning Alpha male escorting the most attractive female in the direction of a taxi. Of course there are those who are unsuccessful in the mating escapades. The women are often found collapsed in piles outside bars with opportunist men attempting to prize them off the pavement. Alternatively you find those who resort to stuffing chips and kebabs in their faces with far too much Chilly sauce as a consolidation prize.
So this brings me to the dance floor. The dance floor is the prime place for demonstration of sexual prowess. With low lights, alcohol and loud music this is the prime place to appear attractive without actually being attractive. The constant flashing of lights and intoxication evolves beyond beer goggles into cocktail glasses! No one has to talk; they just need to demonstrate their sexual prowess by dancing.
In terms of dance, or that which is defined as dance, - the pointing at of genitalia, waving at genitalia or simulating certain motions with your best friend or any passer-by who is not offended by the randy-dog leg grabbing technique appears in abundance. On this particular evening a group of stags, wearing baby attire, were in full testicular swing. Dad dancing extraordinaire was being demonstrated in all directions and genitalia thrusting filled the dance floor. As the evening hotted up, the men attempted to out thrust each other until two blondes arrived on the dance floor. That was when things became interesting and best friends stopped being best friends and survival of the fittest/alpha-malism competition was on!
The two blondes, wearing their best animal patterned dresses, rotated their hips and hypnotised. The men did not stand a chance. In that moment I understood that the word hypnotism may have originated from such hip motion because it was actually hypnotic (Hip – notic)
My fellow safari observer, who was male, was transfixed by the motion too.
“Does that mesmerize?” I asked turning to him.
The answer was obvious; his eyes were fixed on the ‘said’ bottom. He could barely speak and his head motioned in exactly way as the hypnotic bottom. Her motion reminded me of a cobra and how it subtly motioned until its prey was completely dazed and then it would attack. Strangely my fellow safari observer could hardly string a sentence together either. In the meantime, I considered how the application of the sound of jungle drums to would work well accompany the blonde bottom undulation.
“It is really interesting… “ he finally said choking on his words. “I never realised a bottom actually hypnotised,” he said. It is really nice to watch…” he said dreamily.
It was then that the competition increased. A group of hens arrived in the arena dressed as police women. They carried truncheons and handcuffs. The invasion changed the dynamic of the room and the men scattered and were confused. Rather than just focus on the blondes they thought they could go for all of them and work by numbers. That never works and men never really seem to learn that.
As soon as the competition arrived, the animal pattern wearing blondes increased their rate of bottom mesmerisation. The men increased their thrusting but the hens were accosting the thrusting men. It was like the Serengeti crossing. All manner of species were diving into the water and some of them were going to be picked off by the alligators. The men were scattered, there was no group dynamic or strategy. It was carnage. The men were confused which did they go for? Did they accept the easy pickings in terms of hen party versus the prize of the hypnotic bottom owners? The competition was rife. Hen’s versus the cobras. The men could not think because the blood had been dispersed between the two brains and all they could do is thrust their parts. It was genitila testicular war!
Of course, the blondes had a strategy. As soon as the men were distracted, they pulled out the ultimate male-attention attracting card. They danced closely with each other and kissed each other on the cheek. It was at that moment a ‘matrix’-like moment took place. All the men froze, the hens features distorted, they had been out-alpha-femaled… The male attention had shifted and the hens were now desperate. And what happened? It was a fraught moment and the hens had to get the attention back. The hens glanced at each other and to their leader. Someone had to do something and do it quickly. They could not repeat what the blondes were doing so there was one thing for it. The leader of the hens lifted her top and showed off a pair of massive bazookas. Bang! The men did not know where to look. Two brains not enough blood. Two eyes not enough vision. Mental overload took place and the men folded. They reverted to what they knew and all adopted their worst dad dancing. No one was impressed and the blondes left the dance floor.
Later that evening my fellow safari observer and I walked past a number of kebab shops. The stag night were in there stuffing consolidation. The blondes were being escorted to taxis by two very masculine opportunist and the hen night were in a pile outside the bar laughing hysterically. Men were attempting to help them up and legs were flaying.
Moral of the story: if you are a man focus on one woman and go for it. Scattering your mind will scatter your options which will result in your evening ending in chips and kebab.
Moral of the story two – hypnotising the room with the bottom can only be achieved successfully if there is not hen-like competition. Too much bottom mesmerisation results in dad dancing. It is the default for the drunken male.
Moral of the story three – do not dad dance even if your instinct drives you to. Do not thrust your pelvis at your friends to gain attention. I suggest you spot potential bottom mesmerisers early on and make your move before the rest of them room are transfixed by an undulating bottom.
NOTE: My fellow safari observer mentioned something very profound which may well provided insight. When a person is drunk and talks to someone sober, the sober person never understands. Yet when two drunken people talk to each other – they always understand! The language of inebriation seems to be exclusive to those who are wasted.
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