The Attack of the Dance Floor Rapist

You're out with your friends having a great time. You're starting to feel buzzed, hands up in the air, and singing at the top of your lungs. Why? Because its Friday night and the DJ is spinning your favorite song!

What could possibly ruin this moment? You don't have a care in the world!

You're moving to the music and listening to Britney as her song moves through your body. Her music touches every inch of your skin. Then there it is, the one thing that could possibly ruin the moment. The one THING that could take you out of your fantasy world of drinks, music, and dancing... That guy. It's the dreaded guy who lurks from behind you and begins to thrust your ass as if he's trying to hump through, not only his jeans, but yours too.

However you tell yourself that you could endure this pain if he was good looking, right? So you slowly turn your head to see what is behind you, and as you turn your head you see Mr. Jersey Trash. He's dancing behind you with his shirt half buttoned, hair spiked with 2lbs. of hair gel, and the stench of Hugo Boss Cologne/sweat dripping all over your new outfit, burning your skin as it makes contact.

On a side note, why do girls go buy new outfits for one night? In a darkly lit club guys really don't care what you have on but rather what you look with nothing on. I dunno, seems like a waste of 2 hours and 57 outfits at Forever 21 to me.

Dammit, I digressed again! Back to the subject.

What did you do to deserve this?! One minute you're in your fantasy island with Britney to your left and Lady Gaga to your right. Then, out of nowhere, you've been ripped off the island.

The tribe has spoken and now you're left literally fighting your way out of his grizzly bear grip and gasping for air! You reach out to your friends for help but as soon as they take one step forward your assailant's entourage comes out of the woodwork like a gang of 15 year old adolescent ninjas.

With no help, a bruised (possibly raw) ass, and the siege of 15 year old adolescent ninjas, you reach deep down inside with no help from anyone and a bruised ass and gather your last bit of strength to rid yourself of his grip.

As MLK Jr said, "Free at last, Free at last! Thank God Almighty, Free at last!" However I'm sure he was talking about slavery and racism, not dance floor rapists.

Either way, I digress (again!). So you think you're free. You've worked up quite a thirst and now you and your bitch ass friends head to the bar. They owe you a drink anyways for leaving you to the wolfs like Vince Vaughn was left by Owen Wilson in "Wedding Crashers".

You reach the bar and you get the bartenders attention.
You tell him, "1 red-headed slut"
"What's the tab under?" says the bartender.
But before you can say, an oddly familiar voice chimes in...
"Make that 2 red-headed sluts Jack (of course he knows his name). You know I like red-headed sluts".

Some how, in the club of 500 people, the dance floor rapist manages to track you like hunter to its wounded pray. What do you do?

So let the Lending Hand give you a Lending Hand of advice.

When you're at the bar and he offers to buy the shooter de jour, take it down like a champ, tell him "thank you", and tell him your name is James in the deepest voice possible. If he's drunk enough, he'll believe you. But in the off chance that this guy is one of the 3 people from Jersey with actual brains you might want to just take the shot and go to another club. (Beware, he might have perfected his tracking skillz (note the "z" in skillz) and track you down and say, "Hey, didn't I see you at the other club? Want a Jagar Bomb?"


However, if you don't want to go through the hassle of leaving the bar and saying you're a trans-sexual, stop him on the dance floor. Don't let the dance floor rapist take it to the next level later that night when you're getting drinks. Turn around and make an ass of yourself. Dance like you were just cured of polio and this is your first night out, or act like you're being exorcised by the Catholic Church on the middle of the dance floor.

Odds are he'll take a few steps back, turn, leave, and never bother you again, and best of all you don't have to find out that your friends would leave you high and dry when you needed them most!

Now, since he is Jersey trash, there is a small chance he might dig your dance moves and partake on the par-tay! In that case, you will both look like retards and your night will be ruined. But that's a very small chance and you have to take some risks in life. You're more likely to catch a raging case of "the clap" from the random hookup you had last weekend. You know what I'm talking about you red-headed slut, don't play the victim.

Remember, when in doubt act like your mentally and physically handicap and you'll end up saving not only one new outfit from Forever 21 but your friendship and your ass too (literally).