Suffer the Felines

Its getting very cold and snowy out here on the prairie. The white stuff has fallen from the sky every day since the semester began, and T.O.C.E. is obviously coming down with a nasty case of Cabin Fever.

In her insanity, she's decided to pass the time until the first thaw (June '08) by entering us in the next season of Dancing With the Stars. I am, of course, the star member of this team. I am also the one who is getting mercilessly tortured.

Behold a recent rehearsal. Insert that Gloria Estefan "Shakeyerbodybabydothaconga" song here:

I think this is me trying to do the Macarena. You can't see my face, but I am looking into her eyes with my Evil Laser Beam Stare. Also note how, even in my state of duress, I execute perfect "jazz hands."

Here, we attempt to do the lift that stumped Baby and Johnny for so many summer afternoons. Unlike Baby, I would certainly rather to be put into a corner than endure this humilliation. As you can see, T.O.C.E. appears to be having a grand old time. Moron.

Apparently, next week we will start practicing with costumes. Kill me now.