The Six Dance Shoes of Death, Up in Your Area

Bob Fosse
Look, if we're talking rumbles. If we're talking dance. If we're talking bowler hats (and when aren't we?), then we're talking about Bob Fosse. To call Fosse "America's Toughest Choreographer," may seem akin to calling the dad from "Little People, Big World," "America's Tallest Midget," but in this case, the Capezio fits, and Fosse will wear it.



And you will know it's specifically a Capezio, because it will be KICKING YOU IN THE FACE.



Fosse was tough. High on pain pills, sexual addiction, and probably his own manstink, he could probably punch his way through an army of toughs, eat an entire side of beef at Sardi's, bang Ann Reinking until sunup, pop a few hundred Vicodin, rinse and repeat.



And I'd ask him to retrofit his bowler hat to make it like Oddjob's from "Goldfinger." So when somebody was like, "Hey, nice bowler hat," he'd be like, "Come on babe, why don't we paint the town-" WHIZZZ, CUT, "WITH YOUR MOTHERSCRATCHING NECK BLOOD!"



Fosse. Badass.

Roy Schieder
Roy Schieder played Fosse in the movie Fosse wrote and directed about Fosse, "All That Jazz." He would be Fosse's Kagemusha, or "Shadow Warrior."



So just when you think you've backed Fosse in a corner, although only God himself would know how you'd pull off such a trick, you'd smell the smoke of an unfiltered Marlboro Red, hear the sound of Percocet being downed by straight grain alcohol, and then suddenly you'd just be hanging out with your grandparents.



At first you and your grandparents would be catching up, talking about how nice it is to see each other, you're looking good, been losing weight, etc. It'd be really nice. And you'd be like, "Why has it been so long since we've seen each other?"



And then you'd remember that your grandparents DIED 10 YEARS AGO. And that you yourself are NOW ALSO DEAD.



It happened so quickly, you didn't even have a chance to die. And guess who doesn't care? Schieder and Fosse. They're too busy running a train on Marilu Henner, and snorting extract of human pineal gland off the gatefold of the "Pajama Game" LP.



Fuck.

Paula Abdul
Somehow, you've made it through the double attack of Schieder/Fosse. Because you are either made of liquid metal (unlikely), or you are hiding under a pile of bodies (likely).



And you think to yourself, "Safe. I'll just hide under this pile of bodies. I'll just lie perfectly still, albeit wetting myself like a submissive dog, and eventually, I'll crawl out, my clothes covered in the lost fluids of my comrades, which are mingled with my own tears, urine, and sick."



Then you hear a weird, yet oddly familiar sound. Your mind races. Where have you heard this sound before? Was it that time you were in South Carolina? And your buddy took you to this OUT OF THIS WORLD barbecue place? Yeah! And he had some kind-ass bud, so you smoked yourself out of your skull, like, you were WATCHING you and your buddy getting high. Then you went to this place, totally authentic, like, picnic tables and peanut shells on the floor, that sort of thing. And you and your buddy just ate plates and plates of sweet, smoky, mustardy ribs. Just chewing and gnashing, ripping the sweet flesh off the bone...



Then you realize that Paula Abdul, hopped up on enough ketamine to kill an elephant and then bring it back to life, is CHEWING HER WAY THROUGH THE BODIES. Because although Fosse/Schieder are badasses, THEY STILL HAVE SOULS.



Not the case with Paula Abdul. She has lifeless eyes. Black eyes. Like a doll's eyes. An Idol's eyes. Whatever part of her that was good had been liposucked away years ago, that weekend after her and Emilio broke up, and she feared she would never feel again. But then she realized that feelings were just the 11th pound in the nagging 10 pounds she just couldn't lose.



So she went to the plastic surgeon, and said, "Turn on the machine. Suck it out of me. Suck the human out of me." The doctor panicked, something about some gay-ass oath he took, but she pinned him against the wall with one of her 52-inch spike heels, and said, "Did I motherfucking STUTTER?"



And so he did. Suck. Slurp. The joy of becoming a Laker Girl, gone. Suck, slurp. Her torrid affair with MC Skat Kat, gone. Suck. Slurp. The night that Emilio proposed. Gone. All gone.



Suck. Slurp. Her face is a micrometer away from yours now. You'd pray, but there's no-