Friends, relatives, people I just met tonight: I humbly implore you to get this conga line started. We’ve been trying and failing to conga for twenty minutes. But if we buckle down and put our noses to the grindstone, we can get this thing moving.

Okay, Marie, you’re behind Tom, but you can’t be in front of Steve because you two used to date and Steve can’t handle. So Steve, you go in front of Mark, but not behind Stacy, Mark’s sister. While Mark doesn’t want to touch his sister’s hips, necessarily, he also feels uncomfortable having someone like yourself—a self-described “butt inspector”—touching his sister from behind. However, Stacy also describes herself as a “butt inspector,” so she shouldn’t be behind any of Mark’s friends.

We clear? I have a ton of conga experience. Trust me, we can do this.

Okay, now, Fritz, you can’t be between Don and Agatha because they both like to wiggle. A lot. So we need someone like Daryl, who’s good at making quick adjustments on the dance floor. That’s the rumor, anyway. The goal here is to not break the train, people. It’s also called “breaking the chain.” Or “breaking the chain train,” if you want to go deep into conga lingo. But we don’t need to go that deep. We just need to get a good, clean conga going.

So: Gretchen can’t be in front of Ruth because Ruth’s stubby arms won’t reach all the way down to Gretchen’s tiny waist. We need Don—with his spindly, sticky fingers—to be behind Gretchen. Candace, your fingernails are, like, three inches long. You need to be behind the other Don because he’s wearing seven layers of clothing.

Okay, raise your hand if you have only one hand. Great. You three go behind marching band members because they’ll just go in a straight line. That’s an easy one.

Everybody happy? I’m sensing a lot of consternation out there. I’m telling you from experience, consternation is deadly to the conga. Trust me. I’ve been doing conga longer than most of you have been alive.

Where are my baseball players? Baseball players, the six of you need to go between the construction workers. Their steel-toed boots can handle your cleats if you step on any toes. Normally, I’d tell you to take off your cleats, but no one should take off their shoes because of all the vomiting sorority sisters. Sorority sisters, you are the heart and soul of this conga line. Just keep doing what you’re doing. I’d recommend flanking Don, if you can. No, the other Don. Gay Don.

Hook-hand Tommy, you go behind the Colonel. Your hook and his gun holster are a natural fit. What? Oh, he wears his holster on the wrong side… Okay, Tommy, you go behind Stacy’s dad, who wears his gun holster on the right side. Mark Ruffalo, you go in front of Stacy’s dad. Be warned: he too is a certified “butt inspector.” Former United Nations Pres. Kofi Anan, you go behind Don. No, black Don. Black Don with the roller-skates. Black Don with the roller-skates and headband. Don, I know you wanted to be in front of a “butt inspector.” Kofi, can you help Don out?

This is where I need your undivided attention. I’m very skilled at what I do, but I can’t work in complete anarchy. Sometimes I feel like I’m more conga than man. Trust me, and I won’t let this party down. But I demand your undivided attention.

Where’s my miniature horse trainer? Not the miniature trainer of horses, the trainer of miniature horses. Can these little horses really stay on their hind legs the whole time? It’s an eleven-minute song. Okay, if you say so. Where are my Supreme Court Justices? Same goes for you: can you really stay on your hind legs that long? Great. Cowpokes, lepers, samurai, born-agains, cyborgs, Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, Don, umpires, freeloaders, washing machines, clandestine lumberjacks, grocery store clerks, tree people, Pagans, Don, convicted rapists, Don, and former conductors of the Boston Philharmonic Orchestra: do you remember the numbers I gave you? Do you remember your numbers?

Yes? Yes! We did it! I did it. The conga did it. The conga always wins. Take that Mom and Dad! Okay… music starts… let us begin…

Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Stop the music. Where the fuck is Don?