Ruining my pretty feet
Living in a domesticated society makes it tough for men to accrue the marks of wear-and-tear that chicks dig, like battle scars or syphilis. Guys who wield tools all day develop rugged hands, but even they wear comfortable socks and shoes and tread little ground on the job.
To rediscover the sensation that our hunter-gatherer and pastoral ancestors must have endured as they pursued lions across miles of savannah, trekked over the burning desert sands, and traipsed through mud knee-deep while fleeing a barbarian raid, I connect with the only modern site that is savage and virile enough to still expect men to destroy their tender soles -- a dance club on '80s night.
Now, don't get me wrong: hip-hop and R&B are fine and danceable too, but no other decade has produced as much fast-paced, syncopated dance music as the 1980s. When you enter a "see and be seen" club and labor to move your body to the dull, marching-step rhythms of recent music, you can't help but feel like a slave bound by the bloated Roman Empire that eclipsed the efflorescence of Ancient Greece.
And like all trials that men suffer through, going to the dance club is mostly about getting close to pretty young things, like these two:
Yeah, the song is more poppy than dancy, and there are probably better examples of cuties boogying down to '80s music -- but while my team of paid interns is busy scouring through the catacombs of YouTube to locate them, this one will have to do in the meantime. Maybe you could turn down the volume on that video and play some better music in another window, kind of like how I mute the facesitting porn clip I'm watching while the dialogue of Casablanca plays in the background.
Try playing these songs for a more authentic feel (if they don't get your body moving in a club, first check to make sure you're not paralyzed from the neck down):
Dancing in Heaven by Q-Feel, Lucky Star and Holiday and Into the Groove by Madonna, Situation and Don't Go by Yazoo, Just Can't Ge Enough by Depeche Mode, Send Me an Angel by Real Life, and Always on My Mind and Opportunities by Pet Shop Boys.
You will probably feel a little bit gay when dancing to them at first, but the feeling tends to diminish once your hands are on an 18 year-old's hips, with only the thin layers of some American Apparel leggings and athletic shorts separating you from your goal. Sure, some of your success is just playing the numbers game: that's why you should go out dancing four nights a week, for three hours at a time. That is natural cardio, not being shackled to some hunk of metal and plastic in an air-conditioned gym. Break free -- trust me, you'll enjoy it.