Sunday, 17 May 2015

#35 - All in a Day's Twerk

All in a Day's Twerk


By HotBot

(book chosen by Peartree)

Editor's Note: I love twerkin'. It's like my green eggs and ham. Twerk that shit in a boat, with a goat, in the rain, in the dark, and on a train.
“[W]e must have the confidence to twerk by ourselves, even if we’re alone in a crowd; EVEN IF you’re the only twerker in the entire club, council chamber or place of worship.”

There are certain circles in which my ass is renowned—infamous, even.  I’m pretty aware of this fact—a girl’s gotta know her assets[1]—and sometimes walk around at home quietly singing “Baby Got Back” to myself (not that I’ll ever admit it, of course).  When I’m having a bad day, I can always reassure myself that ‘well, at least I have a great ass’—it’s the base on which my self-esteem sits.  In fact, someone recently described my ass as ‘phat’, meaning it’s not only magnificent, but capable of causing time-travel back to the 90s.

However, I have one fatal flaw which detracts from my otherwise solid ass-game: I am completely unable to twerk.  And it’s not through lack of trying, of course (oh the things my room has seen!)–rather, thanks to a series of accidents which may or may not have involved a shark attack[2], the lower part of my spine is titanium.  As it turns out, titanium isn’t that flexible, and I just don’t have the range of motion required to ‘twerk it’.

Luckily, my assigned reading didn’t constitute a guide on how to twerk—rather, “Twerk it to the Top” is a guide to the spiritual basis of twerking, and how your inner twerker can be unleashed to gain success in all aspects of your life—career, pastimes, romance.  (Strangely, it didn’t go into many details on the romantic applications of twerking, so I can’t imagine what they’d be.)  It opens with the author’s discovery of the awesome power of the twerk: when his hut was accidentally set on fire one day, he and thirty of his closest family members twerked around the bonfire, putting it out with only the magic of their butts.  After this miracle, the author realises that “twerking is the true godhead”, and the source of all creativity, intelligence, history, culture, and freaking pineapples for all I know.  Twerking is All, and don’t you forget it!  Key to this is your attitude—after all, Columbus[3] wouldn't have twerked his pantaloon-beclad posterior across the Atlantic if he’d listened to the haters.

This historical photo shows Columbus dropping into prime twerk position.  He’s ready to twerk it all day!  I hope the natives are ready to be twerked over.  (Note the guy behind him, who is clearly just waiting for the twerk to be unleashed.)

Butt what if you’re twerkless like me?  Is there any hope for you?  The author says yes—for “If you are reading this book, you have an inner twerker, and if you have an inner twerker you are bound for greatness”.  I’d never previously realised that having someone twerking inside of me was the path to greatness, but I was much relieved to find out that this was the case.

I must say, I was occasionally confused while reading the book.  It gives a list of seven tips for relaxing your body after “a hard day’s night twerking like a dog”.  Like a dog?  Are we meant to be on all fours while twerking it?  Or is that only for advanced twerkers?  Tell me, oh Twerkmeister!

After the author recounts the story of an angel visiting him in his childhood, telling him he was destined for greathood (plus an instance or two of twerk-based fiction), he presses on to more soothing matters.  One of the book’s best inclusions is a meditation routine for realising your inner twerker.  This is essentially basic meditation, combined with visualising your ass “irradiating a bright strobe light”, culminating in an orgasmic declaration of “TWERK” as you let the pent-up energies resound throughout your body.

I’d also like to include a brief excerpt of a particularly inspirational poem from the book.  I’m not going to recount all of it, because I wouldn’t want to be accused of spoilers.  Instead I’ll include just this one following, beautiful stanza:
“Slamming and jamming to that cold hard funk,
I writhe and thrive with the twerk inside,
As butts and crotch and souls collide.”
Isn’t that just one of the most beautiful things you’ve ever heard? Such imagery!  Such power!!  At this point I started to really be touched by my inner twerker.  It was a truly moving experience.

Of course, any treatise on twerking would be incomplete without statements on the nature of the space-time continuum (duh), and our guru Zarathustra is kind enough to explain that “quantum mechanics is merely the study of the cosmic twerking of discrete quantities of subatomic particles.”  Mind, blown.  And when times are tough, never forget that “time is merely change, and all change is the twerking of existence.”  Chills man.  Chills.

I’m giving this book 2/10 stars.  It would obviously score higher for its sheer ability to move people, however I’ve detracted points for the first half of the book, which seems to be copied from a normal self-help book, butt with every instance of the word ‘work’ replaced by ‘twerk’.  That’s just lazy.  On the other hand, at least I wasn’t reading about bestiality this time, so I had a lot to be grateful for.

“Twerk Your Way to the Top” concludes in the most fitting of ways—the Twerk of Independence.  It proves definitively that America’s Founding Fathers were filthy plagiarists, who took what is a holy Text of Twerk and modified it to suit their own nefarious uses.  The Twerk of Independence is clearly the original text, and is much more moving.  I’m going to go and write an angry letter now, demanding immediate corrections to the historical record.  In the interim, I’ll leave this here for evidence, pending the inevitable law suit:
“We hold these twerks to be self-evident, that all twerkers are created equal, that they are endowed by their Inner-Twerker with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of twerking perfection.”


[1] Apologies for the inevitable word-play.
[2] It didn’t.
[3] Googling ‘Columbus twerking’ led me to this NSFW facebook page.  This is what happens when you try to play Googlewhack.

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