The Emperor decrees that twerking will stop
I have been declared Emperor of the World. Let us not waste time explaining why or how; let’s all simply accept the fact that we are better off, as a result; hence, my next decree:
Emperor’s Decree No. 4440: The way the Emperor sees it (i.e. the way you will also see it), those who twerk and those who enjoy the sight of twerking are sub-standard human beings. They are devoid of any hint of subtlety or of any inkling as to the meaning of true sensuality. The Empire can only be improved by their absence. The Emperor’s world is drowning in a flood of sexual literality and in-your-fasceness. Coquettish innuendo has given way to boring, ubiquitous, cookie-cutter shamelessness.
The Punishment: Twerkers and, if you will (let’s face it: even if you won’t), “twerkees,” will be gathered up by the Imperial Dance Police and taken to what we like to call the “Dungeon Twerk-off.” The judges: famished Imperial lions. After all, if people want to be seen as meat, why should we stop them?
Now, go forth and obey.
The Emperor will grace the world with a new decree each Tuesday morning.
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I see twerking (and I hate to even type the word) as a conjunct to the ubiquity of large and loud car bass speakers. Both fashions are cheap, annoying, simple, and require no more than an elementary education and maturity level.
Any idiot can do either one. While I raised a daughter during the 80’s, 90’s and early 00’s (and that time provided countless sleepless nights), I am grateful that I did not have to encounter the twerking complication.