Just because you have a camera and access to the world wide web does not mean we, the people, should be subjected to your nonsense. “But Daps, just don’t look at it!” you may exclaim. And in theory, you are right — but they’re everywhere. Not only are these gems hidden within every few posts I come across, they’re like a bad car crash. I can’t help but look. I genuinely don’t understand how these trends spread like wildfire.
Charlie Sheen brought us “tiger blood,” and even the most malnutritioned prostitute with oversized wedges and access to Twitter proclaimed she, too, was “winning”. Every average Joe thought they were winning, when, in fact, their lives were as successful as an OJ Simpson beauty pageant-judge application.
Then “planking” came forth and the most goon, thugged out gangbangers were laid flat as if overtaken with rigor mortis, glock 9 still clutched lovingly. I so dearly wanted someone to fall unceremoniously off a roof as they showed off planking “skills” to their Internet friends. My heart yearned for an imbecile to drop from a cliff face into a patch of cacti covered in rat poison. A very high cliff face.
The social media gods highlighted the plight of death row inmate, Troy Davis, a plight which everyone forgot about in approximately 72 hours. Then “cray” was the go-to word, and owling was added to the list of popular things to quickly latch on to. Imagine, grown adult human beings were in public, squatting awkwardly just to take a pic and show the world. I hope your children have chicken pox for 21 consecutive days.
If that wasn’t enough, the Kony 2012 campaign swept us off our feet overnight. America claimed another country to lay her liberating hands on. The U.S public and government pledged to rid Uganda of Kony so he couldn’t commit any more atrocities (my, what lovely oil reserves you have there, Uganda). “That’s amazing! Yeah, get him outta there,” you thought. No. You were tricked. They led you by hand into the field of “gotcha, bitch!” and swiftly emptied your pockets. Your hard earned dollars went towards information packets, Capri Sun for the interns, and a ballin’ ass lifestyle for the boss.
At least the Kony campaign creator made money from the trend. But who knows what came of his fortune… he probably squandered it on strippers with bad equilibrium, and the abomination that is double stuffed golden Oreos — the ones without the chocolate exterior. He too lost in the end; footage surfaced of him butt naked and masturbating in public, hands as dry as the Sahara. More money, more problems.
Now this new group dance craze is upon us. I logged on to my Facebook to check how many pokes I had, but soon saw someone had posted a video entitled “Harlem Shake.” A feeling of nostalgia swept over me as I assumed I was about to be thrust into yesteryear where XXXXXL tees were in fashion, a time when determining your MySpace Top 8 was an enormous task, and confidants in St. Louis told Nelly it was okay to wear band-aids on his face.
So I clicked play, waited for the video to buffer, and stood up excitedly to dance along. My hands grasped the bottom of my shirt, ready to tug each side to and fro, all whilst remembering at some point it was a prerequisite to brush my shoulders off. The song started, it didn’t sound very Harlem Shakey to me. Confusion set in as there was a lone Caucasian fellow bobbing his head in the middle of my screen. I waited for him to start Harlem Shaking, but to my disappointment he just kept on bobbing, like a duck pecking the water for fish and other aquatic morsels.
The beat dropped and suddenly there were dozens of strangely dressed people making wild movements. Some performed sexual acts on blow-up dolls whilst others climbed trees like retarted sloths. I had been hoodwinked. Just as A$AP Rocky came through in the clutch for the New York area, a group of secret trendsetters had come together to soil his hard work of putting Harlem back on the map.
I realized I had wasted my Internet bandwidth, only to be bamboozled by these beings claiming to be Harlem Shaking. I decided to go on YouTube to research the hogwash. There I found video after video of organized buffoons in different setups, all looking like crazed savages. Uptown Manhattan had taken a blow. People of the world, I beg of you, please stop. I laughed at your planks and showed you your Kony errors. I informed you of how you actually didn’t have the blood of a tiger running through your veins, and I saved you from owling.
But I’m tired; I cannot take it any longer. Put down your cameras and save your costumes for Halloween. You’re not Harlem shaking. Besides, Jesus didn’t die for this. If you’ve already made a video, it’s okay… Just stop while you’re behind. If you’re reading this and you were thinking of making a video, please save yourself the trouble. We don’t care. Not one of us.
Be a better citizen, not a zombified sheep. If the new craze was filming your sexual exploits with beautiful models, would you engage in that too?! Okay, that was a bad example. Let go of the Harlem Shaking. It’s over.