If you’re a guy, there are certain things you shouldn’t say to your girlfriend if you want to avoid a fight. If you think this introduction makes me sound like one of those cookie-cutter stand-up comics from 1986 with a thin tie, sport coat with the sleeves pushed up and seven minutes of rotten material, you’re probably right, but fuck you anyway. Those maggots ruined stand-up for everyone except sitcom whores and terminal masochists, but they do serve a purpose: if the lights did go out on New Year’s Eve thanks to the Millennium Bug, I’m sure we’re bundling them into stacks for use as kindling as we speak. I imagine Bob Saget will burn a special color…

But I digress. Sometimes, when a beautiful starlet appears on a movie or television show you’re both watching, your girlfriend will ask you if you think the starlet is prettier than she is. Your answer should be “no,” unless she has taken over your bathroom or has figured out your ATM card password and you want to be rid of the silly bitch anyway. However, she is allowed to drool over men on screen at will, because you both know that you are a fat, drunken pig who can be replaced in two hours at bar, or if necessary, by a broom handle.

My girlfriend gets all a-quiver for Kevin Bacon. This would threaten the self-image of some men, but I encourage the infatuation because I know that Kevin Bacon lives at an undisclosed location in southern California, while my dick is right here. For that reason, I agreed to take her to see Footloose: The Musical last month.

We all remember the original 1984 movie Footloose, a tale of a city kid who moves to a country town where dancing is against the law and his subsequent rebellion in the name of freedom of expression; a tale for the ages that can only be described as “vapid,” “insipid,” and “a cynical two-hour attempt to sell soundtrack albums.” I was exposed to this masterpiece of schlock only a couple of years ago thanks to HBO, a crippling hangover and dead remote control batteries. This is why I no longer have HBO.

The best thing I can say about the musical version is that, unlike the movie, they will sell you bourbon at the intermission. The play also held a few surprises that the movie didn’t; I was surprised to hear myself saying, “The singing’s okay, but the lead doesn’t have the vocal genius of Loverboy’s Mike Reno,” and “I miss the subtle moodiness of Kevin Bacon.” Beyond that, for a play that takes place in a town with no dancing allowed, there sure were a hell of a lot of nancy boys prancing around.

My biggest problem with the movie and the play, besides the fact that they both have the emotional depth of a piss puddle in a dank alley, is that I don’t dance. I could give a fart in a tornado if they outlawed dancing tomorrow, because at least frustrated forty-something housewives who find great personal joy in dancing the Macarena instead of mocking it, the way God intended, wouldn’t drag me away from my beer to the dance floor at weddings.

I decided to write an adaptation of the original script that would capture the themes of the original, but would reflect my personal beliefs the way the original and musical adaptation never could. Plus, due to illness, the part of Let’s Hear it for The Boy will be played by Head Like a Hole.

My girlfriend gets all a-quiver for Kevin Bacon. This would threaten the self-image of some men, but I encourage the infatuation because I know that Kevin Bacon lives at an undisclosed location in southern California, while my dick is right here.

REN: You’re the preacher’s daughter, aren’t you? My name’s Ren, I just moved here from Chicago, and…

ARIEL: You’re fat, and you smell like liquor.

REN: So, I guess a blowjob is out of the question?

 

PREACHER: We have outlawed dancing because the primal rhythms rock and roll lead to casual sex.

REN: Are you shitting me? I listened to rock music every day of all four of my years in high school, and I didn’t get laid once!

PREACHER: I thought you were still in high school.

REN: And I thought you were the lead in a shitty sitcom that rips off the Coneheads.

PREACHER: Let us pray.

 

WILLARD: You’d better learn, city boy: around here, you push someone, they push back.

REN: Does the word ‘Columbine” mean anything to you, miscreant?

 

ARIEL: My father won’t let us have a senior prom!

WILLARD: Ren, you could lead a protest and speak before the town counsel.

REN: I could, but then I wouldn’t be sitting here comfortably on my drunken ass.

ARIEL: Please, Ren! I’m holding out for a hero!

REN: Yeah, and I was holding out for a blowjob, but I’m fat and I smell like liquor. Move your Jesus-freak ass; you’re blocking Mad TV.

 

ARIEL: Oh, Ren, it’s terrible! Someone shot my father with a high-powered rifle!

REN: No shit?

NEW KID 2: Hi. My name is Ken MacDonald. You’re the preacher’s daughter, aren’t you? I just moved here from Boston, and…

ARIEL: What’s that enchanting cologne you’re wearing?

NEW KID 2: Cordite.

And as the credits roll and the remake of the Footloose theme is performed by Curtis Mayfield in a fit of irony, I would like to remind my girlfriend that I did not cast Ashley Judd as Ariel because of her magnificent breasts, and so long as Kevin Bacon’s not returning your calls, why don’t you come over tonight?