Weekend Quickie #103

The Chicken Dance
Three Iron Writers (to be named by you)
a hot dog eating contest
200 words

6 thoughts on “Weekend Quickie #103

  1. -Oktoberfest in April-

    The music started up, heavy on the tuba with a steady oom-pah-pah, and the crowd began to cheer. Soon everyone fell into the rhythm of the Funky Chicken Dance, clapping and hooting as they made their way onto the makeshift dance floor.

    Oktoberfest was in full swing, with beer sloshing this way and that. There was nothing but blonde buxom lasses in dirndl dresses and equally blonde men in tight-fitting lederhosen as far as the eye could see.

    Suddenly, a redhead popped up from the monochromatic crowd.

    “Come on, shake your tail feathers!” DL called to DL and Mamie, shaking her booty in time with the tune.

    “But what about the hot dog eating contest?” DL replied. “I’ve been starving myself for a week for this!”

    “Funky chicken first,” Mamie instructed, jumping into the fray, a chicken hat slightly askew atop her brunette mane.

    “Funky chicken always!” Brian called, moonwalking past, light as a chicken feather.

    “Aye aye, cap’n!” DL saluted, and joined in with the dance.

    Cheers of “Best Oktoberfest ever!” could be heard above the music, as the Iron Writers danced late into the night.

  2. Christopher and Michael were doing the Chicken dance once again.
    Four bottles of whiskey, three crates of Bud, and a two hour long hotdog eating contest had degenerated into Michael getting out his daughter’s karaoke machine and the two of them, completely stone drunk, prancing around and singing anything that came up on the screen.
    “Nobody here but us chickens!” shouted Christopher, interrupting the song. He nudged Michael and his dancing partner fell over, never to get up again that night. Mathew, still in his helmet due to some unforeseen Iron Writer Protection Program restrictions laid down in the early days, sat on the sofa and watched, sober. He’d been there since the beginning of this farce.
    “Let’s call it a night, eh, Chris?” asked Mathew, going into the kitchen to fetch yet another glass of water.
    “Night? Night! We’ve only just started, eh, Michael? And some of us haven’t even started yet!”
    Mathew put his filled glass of water on the table, and as he was turning around to sit back down on the sofa, Christopher poured its contents into a flower pot and refilled it with vodka.
    “Well, I think I’d better…” Mathew swallowed the contents. “…start! Way-hey!”

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