the cyborg shuffle

It hasn't been long that I have owned for myself a personal body-bourne music device for the bored generation.
I like it. One of the great pleasures of my day has become the time when I get to perambulate down hill and dale on my lonesome, listening to whichever musical concoction befits my mood of the moment.

I have noticed an odd thing though. When under the influence of my musicular device I find it very difficult to keep a straight face. I see all the Thomasinas, Dicks and Henriettas with their white wires hanging from their various ear-holes, and they are stony faced, serious, inscrutable. I get my head plugged in and I can't contain my enthusiasm, I start to laugh or cry, my body parts flail about, a good drumbeat incites a riot in my joints, I can't stop it. I dance off down the avenues with a joy in my heart that I cannot contain. Sometimes I yell out words like a delirious tourette's suffragette. How are they so collected?