Dances With Sheryll
Our guest video descriptionist this morning is Sheryll, a Familiar claiming to be descended from Boye, Prince Rupert’s suspicious canine companion in the English Civil War.
Hi, I’m Sheryll! You may remember me from such recent videos as “I’m Not Helping Spike Strobe the Attic Lights,” “Spike Kicks Me Out of His Way Because He’s Working,” and “Spike Doesn’t Remember When I Turned Into a Hideous Salt Monster Because I Glamoured Him (Which Doesn’t Make Me a Vampire, Despite What You’ve Heard).” You also may remember me from last night, when I looked back at you from your mirror, although — mmmmmmmmm — you don’t remember that at all, do you? Course not. Never happened.
Anyway, I’ve been invited to describe Spike’s latest chef d’oeuvre (Yes, I speak French. Northern Minnesota’s this close to Quebec. If you don’t count Ontario), apparently because some people who won’t be named (don’t look in your mirrors tonight, chiennes) insist that this website cease and desist from posting them.
Also, since I don’t actually do anything in the video, I can’t imagine why anybody would want to watch it.
Don’t click that.
Because if you do, here’s what you’ll see:
Not as difficult of a dance, but requires more skill and understanding of native American cultures. You will need two chairs and a native American costume. CAUTION: THIS DANCE CAN BE VERY DANGEROUS FOR YOUR GROIN MUSCLES!
It might also be the last thing you’ll ever see, I’m told, because your eyeballs melt within seconds of viewing it. (No, not mine, silly! I’m a dog! We see you do the strangest things all the time! Also, we eat our own poop. Tell that TV doggie chef we really don’t care what our nutrition tastes like.)
So, presuming this won’t melt your Mind’s Eyeball, here’s how his Native American Costume looks: Start with the Snug Dance Shorts again.
And then stop.
Because he’s not wearing anything else. Unless you count the multiple headbands. And the “prized feather.” And the “valuable metals around my wrists.” And the—
Just to confirm, your Mind’s Eyeball really doesn’t melt, does it? Because I’ve heard conflicting reports from the Familiars Guild, and I’m not positive I can Glamour away purely mental images, and I really don’t need another lawsuit.
Here, sign this.
And initial this.
Okay, then! Everything looks in order. Ready?
And the chest paint.
Ewwwwwwww! What’s that coming out your ears? That’s disgusting! Can I lick it?
So, uh, yeah, and then he stands on the chairs, and sings, and dances, and cramps his groin, and fuck I’m outta here.