Old Man's War

Just borrowing the title from John Scalzi, he can have it back now. Here's my question:

What the hell is twerking?

Please take that as a rhetorical question. I don't want to know. No matter what it is, I'm not going to "twerk" or become a "twerker" or engage in "twerking," whatever the hell it is. Why? Because I'm a close-minded four-cornered square? Okay, that's as good an answer as any.

Somebody, somewhere decided to name something "twerking." Just the fact that that's the best they could come up with, and worse, has been validated by the internet entertainment community--an incredible source of time-sucking tabloid trivia--leaves me feel that some part of my life has been irrevocably lost.

I may actually like twerking if I knew what it was. It could help my cardio-vascular system, speed up my metabolism, make me irresistible to women, make me feel warm and fuzzy about myself but--I can't twerk. I won't twerk. I won't watch you if you do it. I have far better things to do with my time. Like subscribe to the National Enquirer or watch reruns of The Real Housewives of Decatur, Georgia.

But you guys have fun out there, twerking the night away. Don't send pictures.