The Real McCoy

Reviving high waisted chic, taut-muscled man-machines dance the bob and weave. Toe-to-toe they jab to her rhythm (rhythm has your two hips moving). The upstarts fizzle-pop and play the peek-a-boo with nimble dexterity – my what a display of prowess, so puffed! They who know never stop the action keep it up keep it up. Southpaw stance often causes cuts but they roll with the punches, they are no palookas with whimpy whiskers damned to Queer Street, but fresh (pea)cocks. Two more roll up like cherries in a slot machine – ROLL UP ROLL UP! Now four dance the bob and weave, the jab, the boogaloo, the corkscrew punch with comic synchronicity. Cocked and agile, the moving Muybridge’s build on up, their elegant doppelgangers one-step behind. 

NOW YOU’VE SEEN THE REAL McCOY! the headlines read. That real McCoy, but a Kid, a ‘love pirate’, a victor of a hundred prize-ring battles and breaker of a thousand hearts. He’s one hundred and sixty-eight pounds the heavier, and ten wives the better and BIGGER AND STRONGER THAN EVER.

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