“You think you’re gonna live another, 60, 70, 80 years? Well, I tell you what. My BELLY is gonna outlive the lot of you! Just look at this thing. Jesus, just check out the hair and the roundness and how it moves to the music. How can something this beautiful ever die? I’ll tell you, buddy. IT CAN’T.”

And the prophesy did say that one day, a man would come who rolled upon his back while air-guitaring, stood on his mighty feet and stomped like a goose, then bobbed his head with a woman of his choosing like some drunken, magnificent chicken.

Did we cheer when this prophesy, in the year two thousand and ten, did come true.

We did cheer.

You thought you got a good laugh at this guy at the festival, calling him “Cletus” and “Jim Varney” and trying to read the back of his tie-dyed shirt. When he left early, you joked that he was going to fix a carburetor for the Dukes of Hazzard and then make some moonshine for Tom Petty.

Who was laughing hardest when you got home late and found him in bed with your mother in a twisted mass of sunburned limbs and hair?

Who was laughing then?

We had a whole hilarious snarky thing in mind to say about this video, but watching it a second time melted the part of our brain that does all that. Guuuhh… viddeeooo not sooo baadddddd… send braine surgun pleeeze.

Bald, blue chest, mottled rear, darting activity as if seeking prey. Excellent preening. It is a shame he is not a bird, because he would be excellent at it.

Like Thriller, but fewer zombies, more hippies and your parents know all the moves.