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The Ongoing Adventures of Tango Man

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Installment Eight of the Ongoing Adventures of Tango Man
(Da Da Da DAAAAA – He’s everywhere, he’s everywhere)
by Ace Dance Crime reporter Rudy Dancealot!

Another second Wednesday of the month has snuck up on us again. We are standing
outside the
Rhapsody Ballroom prior to the SouthernStar Monthly Soiree. It is June in
the bleak, desperate city of Tampa. It is hotter than Methuselah’s Bonnie Blue Boxers and
more humid then the boys’ locker room at Peter Q. McKinney Junior High School after the
semi-annual Hector ‘Big Hat’ McFellow memorial junior varsity wrestling championships.
It has been a tough month. Prices are going up, jobs are going nowhere, and Congress is still
sitting around with their thumbs up…well, you know what I mean. One by one, my fellow dancers
enter the ballroom, hoping for a couple hours reprieve from the troubles of the world; assured
that at a minimum, the AC will be cool, the music will be hot, and the children will be above
average. I follow them in to check out the proceedings.

Once inside, I see that the scene is pretty typical. Mike is playing the music, and people are on
the dance floor letting go of life’s frustration by Cha Cha’ing as if their life depended on it. In
the corner sits the little man who never seems to dance; he just sits and watches what is going on
with an intensity that can be both un-nerving and re-assuring at the same time. There is a bit
of a subdued feeling to the dance this evening, because it seems that there will be no
entertainment today. USA Dance Nationals, in their infinite wisdom, has declared that all
entertainment at USA Dance events has to be sanctioned by them, and no dancers who
belong to any other dance organization can set foot on the floor at a USA Dance
Event, and finally that all entertainment participants have to have a two foot by two foot replica
of the USA Dance Logo appliquéd on the front and back of their costumes, along with the
Olympic Rings applied on each leg. USA Dance Nationals is like loving parents whose main
concern is always doing what is best for us lowly social dancers out here in the boonies.

Despite the disappointment of the crowd, the evening is progressing as expected.
Michael and Beth
are manning the door on this evening.
Jerry is sitting with them, and Michael is telling him
about his last motorcycle rally. Michael is elaborating on how in South Carolina, in one 24
hour period, he rode his motorcycle through rain, snow, sleet, lightning, hurricane force
winds, fog as thick as sea poop, 120 degree weather, and twenty degrees below zero
weather while his GPS was malfunctioning and telling him that he was in the UP of Michigan.
Jerry was listening in rapt wonder, while Beth, who had already heard the story, was dozing
off, dreaming of her next great cake creation. While all this was going on, guess who
made his typical flashy appearance. You guessed it, in strides
The Man in Black (TMIB) in
all his arrogant blackness. But what is this? TMIB actually stops at the desk and hands a twenty
dollar bill to Michael. I don’t believe it. Has TMIB actually changed his evil ways? Is he actually
going to pay to get into the dance for the first time ever? Will the SouthernStar coffers actually
be fortified with TMIB’s eight dollar entrance fee? It looks like it. Michael, still intent upon
his story, without looking up hands twelve dollars back to TMIB, who takes the change, smugly
gives a slight bow to Michael, and gazes over the crowd as he enters the ballroom. Wow,
this is a first – but wait, something looks kind of strange about that twenty dollar bill. I may
be mistaken, but I do not think that the twenty dollar bill has a picture of Pee Wee Herman on
it. As I have said before, “It is so hard to get good help now days.”

Without saying a word, TMIB walks up to
Fina Nielsen
and simply offers her his hand. There
is something about the miasma that surrounds TMIB that everyone always forgets his past
actions, and Fina take his hand without a second thought, and they walk onto the dance
floor. Mike is playing a beautiful waltz. TMIB and Fina take up perfect dance position. But
wait, what dastardly, craven, evil is this? RIGHT BEFORE THEY BEGIN DANCING, TMIB TURNS
HUNTING HAPPINESS.” It seems that TMIB had just finished eating a twelve day old opened
can of “Harry Hector’s Sardonic Sardines packed in Cajun Mustard and Vinegar Sauce”, and
you can imagine
what his breath smelled like. How low can you get? Does TMIB lay awake
at night thinking of these despicable crimes? In the mean time, Fina is turning rather
green in the face, and is beginning to swoon.

The little man in the corner can smell the foul odor even where he sits. He too blanches just
a little, but he knows he has to be strong in order to come to the aid of the rapidly wilting
Fina. The little man jumps up and runs to the back room, and before you can say
Hump-a-da-poo-poo, returns to the ballroom dressed in the Crime Fighting Tango Man
costume we have all learned to respect and trust, bearing a strength, confidence, and
vigor that one would never suspect could be acquired by the little man in the corner – I guess
the clothes do make the man. Tango Man shouts, “Never fear – Tango Man is here. It is
my goal to right all dance wrongs.” The Tango Man walks nonchalantly to TMIB and suddenly
looks up and says, “Oh my, what is that, Hailey’s Comet?” TMIB, his wits somewhat diminished
by the foul concoction he has just eaten, looks up and opens his mouth wide. At that moment,
The Tango Man dumps a whole package of Tic Tacs into TMIB’s mouth and closes it tight.

TMIB realizes that his dastardly plans have been foiled again by that very annoying
Tango Man. With a cry of frustration, TMIB once again mysteriously disappears into a flicker of mist.

Tango Man feels satisfied that the immediate crisis had been resolved, but he suspects that
TMIB will show up again with even worse dance crimes on his mind. But never fear - the ever
vigilant Tango Man will be ready.

Please stay tuned for further adventures of Tango Man (Da Da Da DAAAAA – He’s everywhere,
he’s everywhere).