Mia Michaels

Mia Michaels is a part-time judge on So You Think You Can Dance. She is a fat 50ish cunt with short "blonde" hair who looks like she is trying to get you to believe she is in an elevated state of existence where she can see ghosts. She has this sort of far-off mystical gaze even when she's looking at the sign on the ladies room. Her "job" is to "create dances." She is a professional choreographer. And a very very shitty one. All the dances she creates are abysmal horrors. Now I know what you're saying. You're saying "abysmal horror" is the kind of tossed-off insult that a fag would use to decribe something he didn't like. A dramatic exaggeration designed to be, well, something a fag would say. But to you I would have to say no. To you I would have to say that when I toss off the expression "abysmal horror" I am not just being catty. Or faggy. Or mean. I am trying to describe something as best I can. For instance, what is the root word in abysmal. It's abyss. What is an abyss. An abyss is a deep, wide, bottomless area "down there" that has no dimensions because it is so huge a depth of nothingness. And horror: What is that really. What is horror. Horror is walking into a picnic area at night with only the light of a full moon and seeing people hanging upside down by their heels from the branches of a tree and then when you shine a light on them you see that they are your wife and your children along with your parents and your own brothers and sisters and everyones' pets. That's horror. So we have the abyss: and we have the horror. Now uproot the tree and float it over to the abyss and attach a long crane holdiing it in place over nothing. All your upsidedown relatives are then released into the emptyness below them and as they disappear in all different directions of Downward you hear their screms, every one, and you can tell them all apart and you have to stand there and watch. That is an abysmal horror. And that is what all of Mia Michael's dance routines are: abysmal horrors; nightmares of extreme unpleasantness; people writhing in pain and fear and dressed in bloody rags and flopping on the floor like mental patients who have been banished to cells beneath the ground with no food or water. THIS is Mia Michael's "Creative Vision." Total, massive, unabating despair and pain and ruin and mourning and loss and really bad horrible fucking dancing that's really mostly straining and reaching and more reaching and then even more fucking reaching. Everyone's always reaching in her dances. Usually while either crawling on the floor and reaching or rolling a few times on the floor and then reaching. Looking off into the distance and reaching. I suppose reaching for the hook to pull them off the stage. Mia Michaels' vision is the vision of a person who should be in a straight jacket under sedation in a rubber room guarded by banthas. You probably think I'm done. Well you're wrong. This monstrosity of dementia actually allows herself to pass judgement on other dance performances. You know, normal, sane ones. Good ones. Happy ones. Pretty ones. entertaining ones. She is always so....perplexed by them. "I feel as though you don't really 'get' what dance is all about" she will say with a kind of unsure hesitancy as she unsurely and hesitantly destroys someone's soul. They probly just did ten billion times more creative shit in 2 minutes than she did in her whole career. "I don't really think that you understand what dancing is supposed to be." Well, Mia, i suppose it's supposed to be something like getting machinegunned only without the blood. Just the pain. "YESSSSSSSS" she will scream as she reaches and reaches and reaches for you longingly. "YESSSSSSSSS!!!" Oh, yeah. She's normal.