Shake Your Chakras
Version 1:
I love it when things happen that are obviously divinely timed. When you can no longer deny that you are on a timeline that is beyond your control. Which is why you need to just sit back and enjoy the ride. Well, tonight, I had the perfect experience to share for the launch of the top blog on the first day of “AI Don't Surf”.
Reader, if you have ridden with me since “Year of the Boz”, I think you will notice some congruity with previous themes explored.
Tonight, I went to a yoga dance inspired class called “Shake Your Chakras” and it was advertised as dancing to open up your chakras with yoga inspired dance moves. With the full moon tomorrow and all the astral projections lining up in this month of November 2024, I really felt I wanted to shake my chakras. Like a lot. I wanted to dance. Plus, they mentioned hip hop in the advertisement.
I went down to the yoga studio and I signed up for the class. And I went in, and it was myself and two incredibly beautiful young women that are obviously well-trained dancers.
The class turned out to be a straight up dance class.
The type of dance class where you learn a choregraphed dance routine. And this routine was a sultry, feminine routine. I gotta tell you, I crushed it.
And the funniest thing, which is what is so perfect for launching “AI Don't Surf”, is that these moves were so sultry with lots of leg opening and closing and I had to fart the whole goddamn time. I was holding it in so badly while simultaneous coming out of downward dog into some sexual dance move.
Reader as you know, my farts are strong. They are masculine farts. Disgusting farts like the smell of the dirtiest part of ancient Rome and they do not belong in a sexy yoga dance.
Reader, do you know that the same muscle that you hold to keep from coming is the same muscle that you hold to keep from farting.
The perineum.
Doing sultry dances in a yoga studio with 2 women while squeezing your perineum to keep from unleashing hell and brimstone is the exact experience that I challenge AI to even have the slightest concept of. It is impossible. This is a human only experience.
The beautiful main teacher was definitely watching me and shooting out pointers directed to me along the way, like weight on left hip. We even did a move where we flexed each butt cheek, back and forth. And then went down to our knees.
Once on your knees you would open your hips like you were exposing your pussy. That is how I read it anyway and I attempted to replicate that feeling.
During this progression the lyrics were “Cherry, Cherry” when you open your hips, and then you thrust forward, the lyric was “Wine, Wine” and then you crawl like a cat. I know this because she taught demonstrating the moves and singing the lyrics for timing.
“Cherry, Cherry”. Legs open. “Wine, Wine”. Thrust forward. And here I am holding in this fucking fart that is only getting bigger and bigger for the full hour and 15 minutes.
We practiced the routine at least 12 times. We even had a pirouette where we spun three times across the floor. I loved every minute. The whole night was awesome, and I didn't fart.
Version 2:
There's something magical about those moments when you can't deny you're on a divinely timed path. When the universe conspires to place you exactly where you need to be, even if that place is desperately trying not to fart in front of 2 beautiful dancers.
Welcome to the inaugural post of "AI Don't Surf" – and trust me, if you've followed my journey since “Year of the Boz”, you'll appreciate how perfectly this experience encapsulates our ongoing themes.
With the full moon approaching and the astral alignments of November 2024 beckoning, I found myself drawn to a yoga dance class promising to "Shake Your Chakras." The advertisement mentioned hip-hop and chakra-opening dance moves. Sold. What could go wrong?
I arrived at the studio to find myself the sole male participant among a small group of women, including two clearly professional dancers whose grace and poise immediately made me question my life choices. But I was there, committed, ready to shake whatever chakras needed shaking.
What followed wasn't the casual yoga-dance fusion I'd expected, but a full-on choreographed routine. Not just any routine – we're talking sultry, feminine, downright sensual choreography. And here's where the universe's sense of humor kicked in: throughout this entire experience, I desperately needed to fart. Not your gentle, subtle farts, mind you. We're talking about the kind of farts that could strip paint, the kind that carry echoes of ancient Rome's less aromatic quarters.
Here's a biological fact for you: the same muscle that controls certain intimate functions – the perineum – is also responsible for holding in those gaseous expressions of humanity.
Try maintaining your composure while executing a hip-opening move to the lyrics "cherry, cherry," all while this muscle works overtime to prevent an olfactory catastrophe. This, Reader, is precisely the kind of uniquely human experience that I challenge any AI to truly comprehend.
The instructor kept offering me personalized guidance. "Hips out," she'd call, or "weight on left hip," as I focused on executing moves that involved alternating butt-cheek flexes and dropping to my knees in a hip-opening position that I interpreted as "channeling your inner feminine energy while preventing gaseous disaster."
We practiced this routine at least twelve times. Between the pirouettes (yes, actual triple spins across the floor), the cat-crawls, and the synchronized hip thrusts to "wine, wine," I discovered new depths of physical control I never knew I possessed. Through it all, through every "cherry, cherry" and every sultry crawl, I maintained my composure.
One man, two women, countless sultry moves, and – most importantly – zero farts.
Sometimes victory comes in the most unexpected forms.
And that, my friends, is the kind of deeply human experience that makes me certain: “AI Don't Surf”, and they definitely don't shake their chakras while holding in volcanic-level flatulence in a room full of women dancers.