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A Clash of the Titans
2003-04-29 - 11:11 p.m.

My brother and I made a bet this afternoon. The battlefield, Putt-Putt. The game, mini-golf. What was at stake, pride............and loser had to play one game of Dance, Dance, Revolution, on a hard setting AND really try.

Now, first off, I never played Dance, Dance, Revolution, nor have I ever wanted to play. My brother at first copped out on the bet and he seriously thought there was too much at stake for such a challenge. You see, eventhough I might not look it, I'm a former two-time Putt-Putt Super Saturday champion at the Killeen, Texas Putt-Putt Fun Center. Needless to say, probably one of the GREATEST achievements of my short life, surpassing graduation with a Certificate of Merit from High School and getting a black belt in Taekwondo.

Anyways, as you can see, my mini-golf technique is extensive and intimidating to look at. My brother was afraid, petrified at the thought of Dance, Dance, Revolution, the bumping bass, the rampant rhythm. I felt the fear also, regardless of my indestructable stroke. We've all seen those fat kids on that thing, dancing (Well, what THEY think is dancing) their fat lil hearts out, sweating it out, turning bright red, fighting through the vicious chafing........the friction burns and the heat rashes. That 60+ Perfect combo must be achieved and they are in that ZONE-which can be compared to the equivalent of a runner's high or a fat kid pullin' a 4.2 forty to get to the fixin's bar. I lose it everytime when I see a fat kid hoppin' on that bitch, such clumsy finesse. Fat kids haven't danced this hard since Heavy D and the Boyz were in the clubs sayin "OVERWEIGHT LOVERS IN DA HOUSE!"

Oh but what a great machine to bring dorks and geeks of all kinds together to look....like.....idiots. The Power Pad for the next generation, where the nerd with the best eye/foot coordination is king. In this realm, dreams are made and shattered in the language of THE DANCE!

Anywho, on to golf, I beat the living shit out of him the first game, he started throwing his club down at the 7th hole, he was really irate and for a moment, I wasn't having fun anymore, but eventually he lightened up. My brother wanted to remedy the situation and get a second chance of course, and he was lucky I gave it to him, namely 'cause he paid for his chance at redemption and I felt bad for him since playing Dance, Dance, Revolution is a worse punishment then many forms of Inquisition torture.

The second round was pure intensity. The 80s rock/pop blend blaring on the loud speakers added to the tension. Olivia Newton John singing of one of our own terrible fates of "Getting Physical" while we entered the back nine. I was up a 2 strokes coming into the 17th and then my brother's silent prayers were answered by god. He holed-in-one the last two holes out of shear desparation with his back against the wall, my brother looked as if he saved a baby from a fire. Bastard. I stayed on, I fought through it, I parred the last two holes. We broke even.

I'm disappointed that my brother's one run in with making wishes with god were in the realm of mini-golf. Neither of us played Dance, Dance, Revolution, we're were about to both go on that bitch, but there was this grrl on it who was just rocking it out and we didn't want to get a speech or two on DANCE DANCE mastery. So we settled on having a third and final battle, a clash of the titans to finish this, AND THIS TIME, we're gonna document every minute of it, cameras, interviews, commentary, the whole nine, well the whole 18. So, be ready, Bel Air, Putt-Putt, Brother vs. Brother, NO HOLDS BARRED!

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