|Big old hilarious buggers, like this one here.|
Comedy pay-dirt came with a costume change for the male ballet dancers. They changed into some minimalist tights, fluffy shirts, and some massive cod pieces. My brother and I both remember their crotches gathered and enhanced into six or eight-inch shelves. That was funny enough but what came next was absolute comedy gold. Eight or so male dancers to a side formed a line of two rows facing each other, codpieces in. A magnificent crotch bridge walkway. Then they helped a procession of ballerinas up onto their crotches to prance down the codpiece walkway. The dainty ladies stepped gracefully from crotch to crotch, light as a feather.
It was much more hilarious than any preteen boys could have ever asked the humor gods for. My mom, mortified by our laughter, slapped at us telling us to quit laughing. It was too late, we were at the giggle tipping point. We couldn't un-see what had been seen and humor chooses her own time and place.
Eventually, we regained our composure and took our joke home with us. At home, we recreated our cultural awakening with some balled up socks stuffed down our pants. Then countless hours of jokes about crotch prancing dancers. This is why we must fund the arts, they are full, chock full, of unintentional comedy.
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