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 Boyzone — Picture Of You

Take a second to relax, and take a deep breath. I’m not here to assault your delicate ears with the infernal sounds of high-quality pop music if you don’t want to listen to it, but rather to tell you a story that centers around this particular song. For you see, it had, if my memory does not fail me, a nuclear effect when played at weddings and celebrations of the sort during Simpler Times (before two planes crashed into and brought down two skyscrapers and all went to shit). 

Weddings at the time were quite entertaining. Or so my 14 year old self thought. I could not really drink like some of the grown-ups did (but I tried!), so in order to not fall asleep on some chairs from sheer boredom, I entertained myself by sitting close to the dance floor and staring at the mass of intoxicated people dancing in a very funny way. Eventually someone would fall, clothes would be damaged, shoes would suffer considerable injuries, but it was quite the show. It was my version of going to the zoo. 

This changed in the last few years when some raging lunatic, who I hope burns in the Tenth Circle of Hell (I know there are supposed to be nine, shush), thought it’d be a fantastic idea to release at that point of the wedding when people are just about to throw themselves into a sea of debauchery these most indecorous objects: colored wigs, huge plastic glasses, inflatable “microphones” and “guitars”, hats, neon bracelets, and so on and so forth, so that your grandmother positively looks like an extra from “Batman & Robin”.

I’m seriously digressing, so back to story revolving around this song. It was quite late, most people were making a mockery of sobriety, and it was, just before this song came on, a regular celebration. And then this song came on. I have never seen people lose their damn minds faster. And then this one guy pushed with his hands the people who were around him, formed a circle, grabbed not one, not two, but three ladies and absolutely fucking murdered the dance floor. He was a virtuoso, and just before the last chorus, just before Ronan Keating belts out an extended, “…the only one to help me!”, he jumped on the table nearest to the dance floor, pretended to sing the line, and when the chorus exploded again—holy mother of God—everyone cheered in the loudest possible way. Utterly deafening. And then this man was carried triumphantly on the shoulders of another person around the dance floor while glasses were raised and couples kissed. I was in awe, and then suddenly I was pulled into the dance floor. Fade to black. 

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