I Have Seen The Human Costs Of Drive By Twerking

Trent Borbidge
Trent Borbidge, syndicated thinker and opinion holder

By Trent Borbidge

As regular readers will know I’m not one to raise unnecessary alarm or to stoke the fires of paranoia without due call.

But today I have something serious to talk about. It’s an epidemic. An epidemic that’s happening right under our noses, across our great country.

I’m talking about twerking. Specifically, drive by twerking.

“But Trent” you say, “isn’t twerking a harmless teenage activity that the likes of Miley Ray Cyrus and Justin Beaver do? Just frolicking around in lively dancing?”

“No!” I reply to you, slamming down my strong and supple fists onto your flimsy kitchen table (in this scenario, you and I are having dinner in your kitchen. You made me a tuna pasta, which honestly I found less than adequate).

The truth is that twerking is ruining lives. And communities. Let’s have a look at some of the suggestive names of this so called dance:

  • butt-cheeks clapping
  • the “wild woods”
  • the shoulder hustle
  • the suggestive pelvic thrust (I actually made this one up but you get the idea)

Twerking is simply the latest in a series of underhand attempts by the Clintons and the Labor Party/ Greens (the LabraGreendongles, as I pithily call them) to subvert our Australian way of life. To smash our culture like a 50 tonne bulldozer heartily crushing a child’s Barbie doll on its day off.

What local bus stops will shortly look like due to twerking

We’ve all heard the savage, heart stopping stories of drive by twerkings affecting the elderly and the vulnerable. Of good neighbourhoods being turned into ghettos due to repeated exposure to underage provocative dance moves. Maybe these stories don’t mean that much to us reading them in the comfort of our private man or woman cave. Maybe we feel a bit removed from the twerking phenomenon, thinking “surely, it can’t happen in my safe leafy, 90% Anglo suburb?”

Well I have news for you. The terrors of twerking are at our gates. For I have seen the human cost of twerking.

I too have been the victim of a drive by twerking.

It happened last Saturday. I was out on the front verge, having a pleasant time with my leaf blower and a new podcast of “Tony Abbott One On One: Hard Hitting Questions From Tony To Himself”. Suddenly around the corner a large black SUV came driving wildly (I say wildly but it was only doing 12 kms / hour so I’ll be kind and say “erratic”.

Model twerking
A model kindly re-enacts my twerking trauma

From out of the window, a young girl leaned.  She was about seventeen. She may have been beautiful once. But the ravages of twerking had taken their toll. Her eyes were wild. Folds of fatty skin could be seen under her low cute blouse. She had a discolouration on her forehead.

“Hey old man,” this unkempt beauty yelled at me “Shake your booty! Shake your booty!”

I wasn’t one to refuse a lady, no matter how wild looking or impolite she was. So I tried my best to do a funky sidestep and shimmy, whilst holding the leafblower and the dulcet tones of Tony Abbott still muttering in my headphones.

The car roared off, leaving me shaken.  But then half way up the street it did a U turn and charged back. This lady meant business. The twerking kind of business.

Before she could suggestively point or lift up her dress at me I stopped in front of the car and held up my leaf blower like a police weapon (which it is in several states of Sydney’s north shore). “Stop right there!” I roared.

The car screeched to a halt. The girl leaned out of the window. It was at this point I realised she was also the driver. “What’s your problem man?” She asked in a whiny kind of female voice.

“Don’t you dare twerk!” I yelled hoarsely.

“What are you on about?” the girl screeched nasally. “You idiot, you’ve got a snake in your boot! Snake in your booty! Snake. Your. Booty!”

I looked down and sure enough a grass snake had curled itself into one of my spare gumboots (I always bring along a few for the tricky business of leafblowing). I quickly rained blows down upon the reptile and proceeded to tear it apart with my teeth. After a ten minutes it was finally dead. This made the girl cry and she promptly left.

So I was never able to ask her why she was patrolling the peaceful suburban streets on “twerk patrol”. Nor could I find out what the long term game plans were of these troublesome twerkers. But one thing’s for sure, if not for that grass snake I could have been twerked far more viciously.

There’s a war on our streets. And the time to act is now.

Trent Borbidge will be a regular guest contributor to AweStralia.