Every once in a while the world needs a really strange thing to go wild over. There are always the typical things that the whole world would be expected to love, like "Gangnam Style" or avocados, but to balance that out we find something truly weird. That's what Lord of the Dance was in the 1990s. Somehow Michael Flatley and his merry band of Irish dancers became as big as the Backstreet Boys. It's as unexplainable as the Blue Man Group.
Michael Flatley's legs are his bread and butter. He flings those things around with reckless abandon to put food on the table for his children. I wonder if he stays up at night wondering, "who am I without my legs? Am I even Michael Flatley anymore? If I can't dance, can I truly live?" Then he farts under the sheets.