The Greatest Nightclub on Earth


Suggested Audio Jukebox:

[1] Simple Minds “I Travel”
[2] Rofo “Flashlight on a Disco Night”
[3] The Gap Band “Oops Upside Your Head”
[4] Rofo “Flashlight on a Disco Night (Reprise)”
[5] Styloo “Pretty Face”
[6] P. Lion “Happy Children”
[7] Indeep “Last Night a DJ Saved My Life (Instrumental)”




Welcome my beloved friends to The Greatest Nightclub on Earth. That’s a bold claim to kick off with right? Perhaps it is but I plan to pull out all the stops this evening to make that bold claim a reality. You see, I happen to be no stranger to neon floor tiles and have basked beneath the glitter ball on occasions too numerous to tally so I have a reasonable idea how this works and where the weak spots are in the joinery so that we can raise the roof on this motherfucker and take it stratospheric. I’ve given this a lot of consideration as my time travelling from dance hall to dance hall has served me well and, while my dancing shoes have taken something of a hiatus of late, they still fit and I’ve polished them up good especially for nights just like tonight. Every last factor has been taken into account and there will be nothing to stop you from sliding those heels and wearing that funky groove. You want earth? Got me ten green fingers. Wind? The old guy in the corner has a terrible case of trapped gases. Fire? Then how does a raging hot disco inferno sound to you? One thing is for certain, it sure as shit beats an evening at bingo so what are you waiting for?


First things first, did you notice the lack of queue? That would suggest tumbleweed and a severe lack of personnel right? You can’t have a nightclub without patrons after all and failure to provide them in wall-to-wall capacity would see any disco inferno promptly doused. Given that I have spent almost ten percent of my groove train time waiting on the platform, I can’t allow anyone to be left out in the cold, not when there’s good heat going to waste inside. Thus entry is free, tickets surplus to requirements, and wrist stamps not necessitated. Basically you can just come on in and you need not fret over any excess baggage either as multiple cloakroom attendants are on hand to free you of any undesirable items and save you the malarkey, all of whom are on roller skates. If it sounds too good to be true then we’re off to a decent start and it only gets groovier from hereon in, believe me. I’m not talking Leo Sayer levels of jive, he’s just one set of adoption papers away from being classed an Osmond. This is the kind of stomping ground you would have found the legendary James Brown strutting his stuff and, if that doesn’t fill your trunk with funk, then feel free to wiggle those hips straight to the exit, no questions asked and only light mockery.


Should you still be here, then chances are you will be feeling parched by now and we all know how extortionate drinks are in an establishment such as this. Once they have you where they want you, all that is left is to bleed those wallets and clutch purses dry. Prices soar accordingly and we shudder every time our round comes about as it’s guaranteed to set us back more than seafood lunch with a Kardashian, and would never be entertained, had alcohol not been impairing our logic. Nobody wants to be that douche rifling frantically through pocket change and, I’m pleased to report, there’ll be no reason to uncrumple those bank notes this evening. Not only are all poisons of choice free of charge but they’re already poured and you’re well within your rights to select them of free will. Better yet, should the room start to spin, then you will be ushered into the chill-out lounge and one of our resident love pygmies will provide you an Indian head massage compliments of the house, until which time as things start to level out and you can return to the fray revitalized.


Naturally, even the burliest bladders can only withstand so much punishment and restrooms traditionally have a tendency to depreciate in quality as the night wears on as targets are missed repeatedly. So you’ll be pleased to learn of our state-of-the-art drainage system and pre-programmed Piss Bots. Fret not if these droids get under your feet while you place that toilet paper meticulously around your porcelain throne as they will polish those shoes up a treat while going about their business. In addition, each cubicle contains a built-in B-day to rinse those tail feathers and there are hand basin attendants to administer any puffs of fragrance and straighten those butterfly collars upon departure. We can’t have you returning to the thick of it all disheveled and giving off a vague scent of urine can we now? This isn’t The Greatest Retirement Village On Earth after all. Speaking of which, try and steer clear of any Shit Bots scouring your proximity as they’re pretty much self-explanatory and only too willing to donate a bout of diphtheria to dithering stragglers. That said, anyone looking to get their groove on with a brimming bowel deserves every brown smudge coming to them.


Glance down at your feet and you will discern that the dance floor stretches from wall to wall. That’s no coincidence you know, we can’t be getting overrun with wall flowers after all as those sorry oxygen sappers invariably end up bringing the whole vibe down a notch. Moreover, I’ve got the whole place wired up and, should the tile light up beneath your feet, then you will be expected to pull off a move and encouraged to make that shit tight. Fail to ignite and all fellow revellers will be required to drop immediately and give me twenty. Do you know what that means?



That’s right. They will drag you kicking and screaming to the centre of the floor, form an orderly train behind you and chant Oops Upside Your Head until you see the error of your ways and feel the groove. Catchy tune ain’t it? Only for so long mind. When every oops is laced with collective loathing, it soon gets old believe me. Nobody wants to be the sorry sap that starts this particular trend. Besides, all onus is on you, and that makes you something of a hot butterfly by all accounts. Spread those glorious wings to span, flap them in whatever manner you see fit, accepting that it may well be preposterous, and trust those neon lasers as they’ve only been tasked with doing you favors.


Anyhoots, I’m all oopsed out now and ready to build to the crescendo. Come now, don’t try telling me you didn’t know it would be coming. I happen to adore the word rousing and rouse at every given opportunity so it stands to reason that the chorus line would arrive eventually. Traditionally all hands are in the air once we reach our musical zenith collectively and all those wasted hours of Dance Dance Revolution finally pay dividends. Fret not if you possess absolutely no rhythm as we have strobe controllers on hand to obscure up to 50% of your movements and they won’t allow you to die a disco death on their shift. Should you attempt anything a little more audacious, then this will be rewarded with a smiley face sticker and, should you collect all six variations, then you will be granted an exclusive spot on the stage. Once you’ve made it to the stage, you are officially classed a disco diva and immortalized forever within these four walls.


We’ve thought of everything here at The Greatest Nightclub on Earth as it’s no secret that many of us engage in these pursuits purely to find ourselves a suitable mate and this has been catered for also. Excess alcohol consumption can work against us in circumstances such as these and has been known to impair better judgement. That need never be a problem again thanks to our scientifically engineered disco spectacles and a pair is donated to each and every patron upon entry. Should someone be easy on the eye but lacking anything resembling kindness of spirit, then said bifocals will spring into action and tell the true story. However, anyone out there afflicted with butt ugliness but even mildly agreeable will be fitted with permanent upgrades. Still need convincing? Well The Elephant Man was here only last week and even he ended up getting laid so this technology is both tried and tested. Of course, management are still aware of the difficulty that comes from selecting a potential suitor and have tackled this trifle too.


We’ve all been there, standing at the bar, scanning our surroundings for anybody inebriated enough to consider us even vaguely attractive. careful selection is imperative here as one wrong move and accompanying knock back will reveal us as nothing more than disco algae and drastically lessen our chances of going home anything other than alone. Thus we play the waiting game and this, in itself, is a dicey endeavor. Everyone’s a bird of prey at times like these and there’s nothing more frustrating than a swooping osprey just as you’re shuffling your way over for introductions. Enter dozens of lovingly placed dance floor minions fully prepared to engage in ice breaker duties, willingly taking any knockbacks and face slaps on your behalf. Go to the second or third Greatest Nightclubs on Earth and you won’t receive this kind of V.I.P. treatment. If you want to come out on top of the pile, then must be prepared to pull out all the stops, and that is precisely what we have done here.


Nobody wants to feel like they’ve wasted both their time and hard-earned money and we’ve all been there I’m sure. With five hours left on the clock, we suddenly remember that we would be far more content curled up on our sofa with a stem of red wine watching old Rita Hayworth movies and bingeing on popping candy. Alas, all we can do is endure the remainder of the duration, before spending an hour queueing for a cab in sub-zero temperatures, wearing essentially lingerie. Taking its cue from Vegas casinos, The Greatest Nightclub on Earth pumps out pure oxygen from the vents to encourage us against tiredness and has CCTV cameras strategically placed throughout the premises to keep tabs on those upside down smiles. This may seem a tad fascist but, should none of our exertions manage to raise the bar above grimace, then said sour pussies have no place here in the first place. The Most Depressing Library on Earth can have them and that’s some other sorry loser’s gig.


So you see, you’ve come to the right place tonight. Besides, in just a handful of moments, it is time for our live P.A. and folk travel far and wide just to see this fellow in action. I request that you don’t mock him on account of his clown shoes as this is a strictly no dress code affair and he looks to have polished them up just lovely. He started out just like you, a mere debutante crying out for his shot under the flashlight. Since then he has gone on to become our official mascot and the real kicker is that he offers his services for peanuts. Some call him the Keeper of The Perished Funk, others Richie Groove Pants, but he keeps showing up week after week so we feel obliged to provide him a slot and prevent any awkward silences. Feel free to take him home with you when you leave as it usually gets a little uncomfortable around 3.15 am when the Piss Bots power down for the night. Anyhoots, without further ado, The Greatest Nightclub on Earth presents you… this guy.

Thanks Mr. DJ for Saving My Life



Thanks Mr. DJ for saving my life
it was looking quite grim for a second
I didn’t set out on the lookout for strife
so felt harshly adjudged when it beckoned


I wiggled my hips pulled off all my prize moves
but none went according to plan
I missed countless beats and a half-dozen grooves
and was soon left resembling spam


If the ground opened up I’d have leapt right on in
been shat out in the pit of despair
I surrendered to taking this one on the chin
and had even commenced the lord’s prayer


Then something occurred that seemed simply absurd
indeed you may think me quite crazy
Perhaps I was drunk as my vision was blurred
but the DJ then swooped in and saved me


He dusted me down and provided pep talks
prepared me for swift reinsertion
and as for me sucking he said we would chalk
the whole mess down to over exertion


Once back on the floor every tile then lit up
and I basked in the infinite lasers
this sure as shit beat me just sucking it up
and awaiting my ass being tasered




Whatever transpired doesn’t matter a jot
as it’s all just a matter of heat
I entered stone cold and vacated white-hot
which in my mind don’t sound like defeat


For the most part I’ve found this enhancement delightful
grown accustomed to onlookers glancing
but the lack of an off-switch seems a dash or two spiteful
as I can’t fucking stop myself dancing


I dance to the bank and I jive to the gym
I can’t help but twitch like a wild critter
have you ever bust moves while attempting to swim
tried to twerk with your ass on the shitter


Where at first I felt blessed I could do with the rest
list my whole vinyl archive on eBay
I’m starting to wish I’d been struck down tone-deaf
as I owe this damn curse to that DJ


If I see him about I may give him a clout
on account of his meddling behavior
with both ankles flared up like a hippo with gout
he’s a far cry from this wallflower’s savior


When I break this hoodoo the first thing I shall do
is take that George Michael’s advice
For two guilty feet with no rhythm or clue
never dancing again will suffice



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