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September 26, 2005

D: Faux Pas

The bastard had boxed me in, but I wasn't prepared to give up yet. I did the only thing I could think of to get me out of that corner; a flying Travolta with Iranian hummingbird pelvic thrusts.

The crowd gasped in awe as I pulled it off flawlessly, my hair rigid, my limbs stretched to breaking point and my enormous flares somehow flapping in slow motion. The disco dance floor lights seemed to bathe me in glorious red, white and blue in time to the beat as I sailed through the air overhead.

And the dance-off was back on.

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