"You haf no sense uff rhythm!" screamed Hitler. His face was flushed and visions of goose-stepped polkas swam before his mad eyes. "You dance like a tank!"
"It's not so easy," Stalin objected. His thick, black moustache glistened with sweat and beer foam. The heavy woolen uniform he wore was the height of un-fashion and reeked of cigar smoke. His big black boots stomped out painful, broken steps.
"My feet mock me and disobey."
"Look at me! Look at me!" shouted Castro. His legs flashed with controlled grace. He did a perfect Time Warp. He whirled in the air like a dervish and landing, broke into The Monkey.
Roosevelt was insanely jealous. Beams of colored light from the disco ball bounced off the mirrored surfaces of his glasses as he struggled to conceal his rage. A martini glass shattered in his powerful hand. He gripped his canes and rose awkwardly from his wheelchair on weak, shriveled legs.
"I shall cut this rug," he declared. His chromed leg braces began to vibrate and twitch, matching each beat of the music. He twirled his canes and started to moonwalk. A thousand faces looked up to catch the rare vision. A thousand little piles of powdered white cocaine were forgotten. He did the Mashed Potatoes. The crowd moaned in admiration. He did The Robot. He did the Hippy Hippy Shake.
"We love you!" yelled a pimply boy through cupped hands. He'd had two beers.
Roosevelt grinned. His yellowed teeth firmly clenched an ivory cigarette holder, the cigarette Turkish and half-smoked. "What is love?" he said, and ran to escape Eleanor, his wheelchair forgotten.
Hitler fumed in the background. "It's my party," he whined. He shook his booty: tiny, Austrian, syphilitic. But he really couldn't dance.
Craig Snyder can be reached
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