Every week or so, I look back through the photos of Second Life dance performance that I’ve posted on Flickr.
Sometimes, I smile. Sometimes, I wince.
And then there’s the times I think up goofy shit.
I like to call this portion of our trip: Don’t Make Me Call The Dance Police.
If you don't tip the venue, the land barons must be appeased with human sacrifices.
So, tip generously.
I love mirror acts. It proves that the dancer is not a vampire, and won't bite me.
Oh, crap... now the whole lawn is going to come up weeds in a week!
Why did Pan Am go bankrupt? Instead of hiring pilots and flight attendants, they hired sexy dancers.
What dancers actually do with all of your tips.
As much as I love Debauche, my favorite thing to do is sneak photos of Sev and Laura waiting for their cue during Simply The Best.
MORTALLLLLL KOOOOOOMBAAAAAAT!
Nothing says memorial tribute like a latex suit and lightning. Rawr.
On the next season of Game of Thrones... Sho is coming.
I've been bad. Very bad.
So, if the B-52's sang Planet Claire, there's a Sailor Claire, right?
Di and Nara hate to wait for the elevator, and walking down 100 flights of stairs in those heels is a bitch.
... and this is when the acid kicked in.
EYEOOOOOOOWWWWWW! ICEPACK! STAT!
Thank you, and stay tuned for the next thrilling episode of Don't Make Me Call The Dance Police.