Give Me a @#$!

So I may or may not have mentioned that I am "coaching" cheer during our summer school session at my place of employment.

I may or may not have mentioned that I used to cheer in high school and coach pop warner, a local organization that breeds tiny athletes and even tinier cheerleaders.

I may or may not have mentioned that I have NO business "coaching" people how to jump rope, let alone put together a dance or cheer routine.

But, I like a good challenge.

"G-O, Let me hear you say GO, GO
That's Right,
GO, GO
Out the Door,
You're Not 17
and Limber
Anymore!"

But I'm a good sport, and I'm sort of even excited about it all. I have a few willing girls who have no idea that they are about to embark on what would surely be a great Saturday Night Live Skit.

To prepare, I've been watching cheer videos every afternoon. So far, I have learned nothing, but noticed the following:

I am old.
Real Cheerleaders are not.
I am tired after one cheer.
These girls (I am only assuming they are human) on the video go for like EVER. Like little wind up toys. That you want to smash. With a hammer.
Yes. They do talk like "like oh my like gosh, clap it OUT!"
I can understand their language perfectly.
They have rhythm and stamina.
I can barely talk and walk at the same time.
They are so cute in their little skirts and ribbons, shaking their pompoms.
I have no pompoms, but plenty of stuff shakes when I move.
Watching them is better than any diet plan I have ever tried, because after only a few days, I have lost my appetite completely.
And finally, after making me replay chants and cheers over and over and over again, I discovered that Monchichi LOVES cheerleading.

That or he really wants the Wildcats to win.