on the papa foxtrot

A craze is sweeping the dance-floors, recreation halls, skating rinks, and hook-up-bars of America: the papa foxtrot. Not so much a dance as it is a series of poorly-timed and more-poorly-executed maneuvers that lead to everyone stopping what they are doing and looking with abject glee at the clumsiest, least-coordinated nincompoop in the room, the papa foxtrot, or pf, which is an abbreviation of the term party foul, is what all of the cool kids are doing. Ginnifer Ryan Wandlov, a girl of 14 whom we waylaid at a downtown bus-stop, when absolutely forced to speak, said, “Yeah. Yes, all my friends are doing the papa foxtrot. Do I do it? Not too often – I mean, when I can help myself not to, or when I think that no one is looking, then yes – but I try not to papa foxtrot too often, or too many times in a single night. I mean, come on, guys, at least spread those pee-effs around a little bit.”

Known for its tendency to end all conversations at once and to elicit a shout of “Who brought the cool guy?” from the least cool guy in the room, the pf has over the years become so socially acceptable as to be practiced by persons of nearly every race, age group, political inclination, and sexual orientation. “Back when I was young, it was usually one of the nerdy kids, or a colored boy, who would commit the party foul,” said Blaine Q. Mores, 79, a native – as was the Wandlov girl – of Sacramento, California. “But now, hell, now I see people papa foxtrotting all over the damn place, without any sense of remorse and without the slightest consideration for those of us who know how to and how not to act when in the company of others.”

Various mid-Western and Southern states are considering bans on the papa foxtrot, saying that it violates everyone else's right to simply have a good time for once without someone messing everything up. Persons interested in committing a papa foxtrot – so long as it is still technically legal – would do well to drink the last bottle of craft beer, spill their drink all over that mound of blowcaine in the upstairs bedroom, hit on the host's wife while in his immediate vicinity, or fart in the refrigerator.

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