Tuesday, June 27, 2006

The Juicehead Mating Ritual

So, yeah, I've done steroids. I want to get that straight with you, the readership, right off the top. This website is all about honesty, and I'm no fucking Barry Bonds. Unlike some, I'll admit to being a pin cushion at one point in my life. I'm not proud of having done steroids, and I'm not proud of my family having found out about it. This is something I did nearly a decade ago, and I'm not about to start making excuses for experimenting with "the bean" at this late date, because I've already taken all the abuse in the world from sharper tongues than yours. Trust me on that one.

Steroids made me big and strong. They made me huge. They ripped me to shreds, as it were. Sometimes they made me get angry, but not often. I couldn't really tell if the steroids were making me angry, because I'm an angry person in general. It's hard to differentiate. Sometimes they made me sick, but I was young and stupid and knew I'd live through it because I was me.

And steroids made me as strong as a motherfucking bull.

The one thing steroids didn't make me do was dance like a retard. See, I'm not a dancer. I can't cut a rug. I'll step on your feet and knock you down and make you wish you'd never asked me to come on the floor in the first place. And the steroids didn't help with this.

Guidos, by contrast, love to dance. And Guidos love steroids. And somewhere, deep down in the farthest reaches of the Guido endocrine system, is a special, secret, genetically inalterable compound that forms a bond with their steroids. The steroids get into the Guido bloodstream, and they swim around and make the Guidos' biceps really, really big and veiny. Once they make the Guidos' biceps grow -- a priority, you see, as opposed to the elusive "Guido Leg Day" that's rumored not to exist at any gym in New York -- the steroids find a way into the aforementioned Guido endocrine system and an irreversible process is set in motion.

This process is a violent one. The Guido is shaken to his core. He begins to twitch. He can't help this. Some Guidos open their mouths and say stupid things like, "Yo, n---a! Dis my song!" when the reaction begins to take effect. Others start to clap as if they're listening to live music. This is silly, because it's only a DJ playing some prerecorded melange of electronic nonsense, but the steroids -- stacked with Grey Goose, cocaine and God-knows-whatall -- make the Guidos think they're at a concert and they act accordingly.

And so, they're up. They're jumping. Pointing at the DJ. Hugging one another. Pumping their fists in the air. The chemicals have taken hold, the reaction is in full swing, and it's time to present to the nightclub world the finished product:


I'm going to explain how to do this, and I want you to follow along at home or in your cubicles. You, the readership, can be my guinea pigs because I'm not sure whether the Juicehead Dance can be properly executed without the aid of an ass-ugly striped french-cuffed shirt -- sans cufflinks, of course -- and a headband. I don't know whether you can get the same effect without hair glue and threading, so do me the courtesy of trying this for yourselves. Here's what you do:

1. We'll start with the footwork. What you need to do is practice skipping in place. Imagine you're skipping forward -- much like a fairy or pixie -- but remain in place. You're doing what I call a "double tap," in time with the music, with each foot. As you begin to master this "double tap," try to put a bit of spring in your step, getting higher off the ground with each successive repetition.

2. Now, make fists with both hands. Touch your fists -- they should be about an inch apart -- to your forehead and keep them there. Your palms should be facing, and your thumbs and forefingers will be in contact with your head with the pinky side of your fists facing outward.

3. With your fists still touching your forehead, flare your elbows the same way a Guido would when he talks on his cellphone. Once your elbows are properly flared in true Guido fashion -- as far upward as you can possibly get them -- it's time to introduce proper Juicehead arm action.

4. Tilt your head back so your line of sight is at a forty-five degree angle upward. In other words, if you were to draw a straight line from ceiling to floor -- through your body -- your line of vision would form a forty-five degree angle to the segment of the line from your head upward, and a one-hundred thirty-five degree angle to the segment extending down to your feet. A useful verbal cue is to imagine you're staring at the goal on a regulation basketball backboard.

5. Extend -- I believe a more accurate term for this would be "pump" -- your arms in time to the music, aligning this extension precisely with the line of vision you've established. This is done by alternating the pumping arm. Left, right, left, right, and so on. At this point, it is advisable to continue holding your hands in a "fisted" position. Some advanced Guidos may choose to execute this pumping action with their hands forming a "hang loose" gesture, but this is a matter of preference.

6. It is imperative to remain "on beat." A good rule of thumb is contained in the following formula:

One "double tap" with feet = One fist pump

7. Facial expressions are crucial to the success of any Juicehead Dance. I know it's difficult to concentrate at first, but try to maintain this until the dance has ended.

8. Another important consideration is rigidity. Juicehead Guidos know they must remain in a rigid, flexed position at all times -- even when sleeping or eating -- and when you're doing their Juicehead Dance, you should follow suit. When you raise your arms, make absolutely certain to flex them as hard as you possibly can. And you must take care to maintain this rigidity throughout, remembering that time-tested Guido axiom:

Elasticity eradicates credibility

9. Now put it all together: the "double tap" skip, the head tilt, the facial posturing, and the alternating "pumping" and "flexing" of the arms. Hold it together until a visible sweat stain forms on the back of your hideously ugly pseudo-silk shirt, and you're there. Don't forget to grope someone's girlfriend, get in a fight, get thrown out, say stupid shit to the bouncers, and get arrested, and you, too, can be a dyed-in-the-wool New York Juicehead Guido.

Now go forth, my n---as, and make dem bitches sweat'chu.


For another take on a similar topic, go here.