You Got Served

There's a horrible myth out there that Norwegians can't dance. Maybe if you put all Norwegians under a bell curve, the mean of that curve would stand somewhere around can't dance, but I'm definitely an outlyer, because motherfucker, I can tear this bitch up.

So the dean of the college I just left calls me and I guess he's sorta kinda pissed that I bounced on down here to Brazil without giving notice. My response was, what're you going to do about it?

He flew down here to Rio with a team of tracksuited men in Pumas and Kangols, and he had revenge on his mind. I saw them approach from my seat at an outdoor cafe. I jumped over the railing and stood on the other side of the street.

"Mads, your time's up, son."

"Oh, we doin' this?"

"Belie' dat."

"A'ight, get a bar."

They started some poor choreographed number. But I'm just too superior for that crap. I was all up in their shit, mixing in some of my own stuff with some tried and true basics. The crowd loved it.

"I think you need to head back to Norman, Oklahoma, dean, because you got served."

He just waved his hand at me in a dismissive manner, and walked off. I, on the other hand, caught the eye of a vacationing Missy Elliott, and got a spot in her new video.