"Doctor Holocaust is a villainous gentleman who, above all else, is trying to take over the world."

Harlem Shaking with Terror

So I’m not a huge fan of clubs. Or people. So you can imagine that I am not super savvy when it comes to going out. Being in public areas like bars or clubs and stuff is not my natural habitat, as it were. No no, my natural habitat would be more along the lines of staying in the lab and building things, filming my broadcasts, and writing my blogs here on the website. So as you can imagine I am aware of  the thing that was the Harlem Shake.

For those of you who may be somehow unaware of what this is, you can easily go to YouTube and search it. It’s fun times. Really. But just in case you don’t want to leave my textual presence here just yet, lemme give you the skinny.

The “Harlem Shake” is a song and dance sensation that share the same name. But more accurately it is a madness construct. You see, the song begins with a slow building structure that, when it reaches it’s crescendo, the bass drops and ALL HELL BREAKS LOOSE. People go NUTS. And I love it. I think it’s hilarious. But, like many things, it is much more entertaining to watch then it is to be an unwilling participant.


So I decided that, for once, I was going to go outside of my comfort zone and hit a club with some friends. It’s good for me to get out every now and then. Helps get the wrinkles out. But when I arrive at this club the staff tells me that the coat check is in the back of the building. I see my friends all standing a little ways in with drinks and no coats. So I assume they all got them checked in the back. What I didn’t see/was not made aware of was that all their coats were just on a table close by. So I venture to the back. And as I get past the bar area I am met with an obstacle that I could only describe as a “dance pit” bout would later come to call the “Kill Box”. Let me break it down for you. This area is the size of a small gym and is recessed into the ground by about two feet. And I see that not only is the coat check in the farthest possible corner, the Kill Box is also filled to such a capacity that, even being a small guy like me, it’s nearly impossible to get through. So I dive in. It takes me a while and squeezing through a lot of award situations I finally get there, pay my fee, and squeeze back coat-free. But the MOMENT I get back my friends get tired of the bar and say they want to leave.

I am (and I am soft-serving this) frustrated.

So I fight my way through the spawning pool that would very soon become the Kill Box to get my coat. When I finally achieve this I start to look for an alternate exit because I don’t want to fight my through the crowd again. There are none. So I figure “what’s one more into the breach?” and begin to make my way across. I get to the centre of the crowd, the very EPITOME of chaos, and that song… the worst song that COULD start at that moment began it’s herald of my doom.


The Harlem Shake. 


The slow building structure begins so as to tell me that my end will come in about fifteen seconds or so. Real terror sets in. I fight frantically to get to the other side of the room, to get FREE, but everyone has already become still with the anticipation of the coming storm. I can’t get past them. If they were dancing they might move in such a way as to give me an opening to dash through. But not now. Not anymore.

I call for help. I shout at the persons in front of me to move. But no one responds. They are already in a Harlem Trance. They can no longer see the world for what it is. Only what it will become.


The bass drops.


Instantly the room turns into a MEAT GRINDER and I am LITERALLY tossed about like a ship in a storm! I take a head-but to the face! Someone punches my knee! I just wanted my goddam COAT! It takes me a moment to find the rhythm and move with the storm, bobbing and weaving with my hands up like I’m in a friggin boxing match. After what seemed like an eternity trapped in a sea of chaos I reach shore. I am literally bleeding. It takes me several days to fully recover.

But I survived the Harlem Shake.

One Comment

  • M.E.Neon
    Posted June 6, 2013 at 10:02 pm | Permalink

    Hmm …
    Had it been me would seriously look into finding that place and do interesting things with the “dance pit” afterwards (ie, after a full recovery).
    Add some, lets call them “artistic touches”, to the building or at least beneath the floor of the “kill box”.

    Or maybe just a hidden time-release capsule of something gaseous lacking visual and olfactory cues, with long-term slow-acting properties. Along with a stern warning to friends to stay away.