Rhythm ain't no dancer...

It needs a dose of magic

you can feel it thru the floor

Oh dear! Jeremy Kyle Family From Hell out on a hag do!

There's hope for me yet if that horrendous troll can pull, let alone bag a hubbie!

Even if The Groom is too busy getting it on with his Bride's haggard mum, whilst the Bride shuffles about out of time with the beat.

This is impossible - you cannot dance out of synch with the music - the beat forces you into line. But the ladylike quim-flashing mouldy-legged baggage managed it.

Whilst her sex-starved harpy of a Granny tried pulling anything in sight, like every bloke was a Wayne Rooney wanting to buy entry into her rancid fishmarket whilst thieving chairs and being as gay as a cunt that's so gay, it's a gay cunt.

A gay cunt in flip flops with withered dugs and a gunt...

......until the miserable old trout took a nap on the sofa, awaiting her carer to take her back to the rest home.

Oh - hold on... the gunt was on the salad dodger clan of Gorgons with the horrendous cankles!

One dressed up as that flame haired bint off Disney Pixar's Brave, t'other as one of them "Dreamboat And Petticoat" types. All pop sox, neck ribbon bow and the twatty dancing! With their polka-dot porkermate. Lezzing it up on the dancefloor.

Mental womens, punching the air and kicking invisible men in the nuts!

Screeching banshees demanding Jaegermeisters Baby Innit!

And a proliferation of shufflers, ambling about the dancefloor. Either doing the slightly-swaying-about-a-bit-dance, that One-leg-across-and-back-t'other-leg-across-and-back-then-get-legs-tangled-and-stumble-about-a-bit-dance, ceroc, 1950's-bop-shoo-bo-shoo-bop-dance, spinning-like-a-whirlilng-dervish-raising-your-skirts-and-flashing-your-piss-stained-grannypants-dance, or just-stand-motionless-in-the-middle-of-the-dancefloor-clutching-a-pint-glowering-at-dancers-knocking-into-your-frozen-immobility-dance.

Fucktards everywhere, foraging for Fosters!

I bet you look good on the dancefloor.

Not in that chequered shirt, you dont, mate! You need to wear a gold cardigan. For we have it on the very best authority that a golden cardigan improves any outfit no end! Why, wrap yourself in a metallurgy shrug and you're instantly hot-to-trot, despite the rest of your ragged raiment.

And some look even more like glorifiedholed tosspieces on a chessboard, what with wearing that giant Rubicks cube. Or that pratt with an oversized letter in comparison to the woman's weeny Scabble board. Or that gormstress with Tivial Pursit on her barnet. Or Fatman and his identically costumed Skeletor to emphasise his man-gunt. Eminently suitable outfits for a beach party Madchester ShitPloppin' Indie Alternative night!

Ooooh, me & Jo are such bitches when we get going!