Space Pirate Dance Club
Written by Omnicommie
Hello my friend, and welcome to our club. Please remove your cockles and prepare to gyrate in a manner that emits pleasure to your loins. Founded in 1847 (by Abe ‘I like My Bitches Cold and Dead” Lincoln), this institution of limb movement has been a center for the art form known as “daaaaaaaaaaaaaance.”
The first thing you may notice is the bright lights. To achieve such vivacious illumination, we carve specially shaped balls of wax; we then throw them at our slaves and yell: “make some lights you butt-barns!” As you can see, this process works very well. In addition to this, we also cover everything in mirrors. Everything. Most importantly, we put them on the bar tenders who are imported from Mirrorvannia. Obviously, a heavy mirror tax has to be paid. In the end, it’s all mirrorlicious.
Hey look over there! It’s our resident dance champion Lester “The Gut” Davidson!
Oh look atchoo, Dan, you are looking so meaty, that you make me feel all funny. Look atchoo! Oh I just take a pitcher and put it on my wall of meat, along with my diploma from the internet dance school, oh yes. Oh watch me do my new dance, the “Squishy Denmark.” Oh yes, did you enjoy my newest dance? I learnt it from my grandmamma who is from the old country. Have you been to the old country? Oh yes, I must iron my facemask for my next performance! Oh yes!
That Lester is quite the character. Ask him about his experience with a garbage pail and three hundred pregnant women. What a tale!
Next, I will direct you to our bathroom facilities. Designed by a hat who can talk, we pride ourselves in having such a unique lavoratory. We thought that actual toilets would to be too in the norm, so our hired talking hat bought some pigs in Batfat, Iowa. Instead of excreting into a porcelain throne, loveable swine suck up your excrement (pee-pee and poo-poo that is) and digest it with pleasure. Around these parts we don’t say “I have to use the bathroom.” Instead it’s: “I’m going to go to that weird room where the pigs are so they can eat what comes of my private parts.” That’s just part of the fun atmosphere here at the Space Pirate Dance Club.
Over here is the lounge area, where our visitors can sit and take a break from the constant trampling and pistol-whipping that takes place on the dance floor. The chairs all have massagers in them. Well, the chairs do massage you, but they aren’t exactly massaging chairs. Our janitorial staff is actually a race of tiny gnomes from an African village called Iwannameetjohnnycarson. The waitresses will bring drinks from the bar over to you, but you’ll have to think that air is a drink and that when the waitresses are standing at the bar hitting on guys, they’re actually bringing you drinks. It’s very obvious that we meet your every need.
Now for the grand finale: the dance floor. Watch out for the pits! And the spikes! And the enemy infantry! And the… Wait where are we? Oh God! What have you done? Why are we in World War I? Oh no! My thriving dance club will surely not survive without my constant managerial supervision! And my wife! And children. And the bathroom hogs! Oh my God, here comes the mustard gas and I a…
