Five words: panache / vagabond / douche / Omniety / monkey
Location: church
Prop: rubber chicken
Theme: ‘making lemons out of lemonade’
Read the Rules
(I’d also like to throw out that I watched Lost Boys: The Tribe tonight, which clearly had an influence. And would have been so much better if both of the Coreys could have been in it.)

Clocked in at : 1 hour, 20 minutes

Writing Challenge #1

Living the vagabond lifestyle can be a million shades of coolness. For Turk Fitzgerald and Bam Stone, this was kind of a motto. They weren’t intelligent or literate enough to come up with anything more lyrical. They were, however, practically scholars in life experience. They had been on hand for more of the world’s big events than most people even knew had taken place in their lifetime, which, they knew very well, made them way more awesome than other losers.

But living rough and tumble from one place to the next, and never quite knowing where they might roll out of bed in the morning, had a tendency to bring Turk and Bam a fair amount of trouble. They liked meeting people, made a habit of it. Sometimes the people they met weren’t the nicest people, and sometimes the people they met weren’t the peoplest of people.

When they wondered down by the docks forty-five minutes before to crash the badass riverside party to which the hosts had neglected to invite them, it took only a half a dozen fang sightings and one or two nearly drained civilians to enlighten them to the fact that this leather jacket sporting, sunglasses at night wearing posse wasn’t just the average, everyday hellraisers they’d first taken them to be. They were, in fact, a band of the undead.

While it was somewhat embarrassing to make the same error over again, the fact that they had made the mistake once before of following a group of vamps to their favorite feeding spot, at least meant they were prepared.

Sporting the garlic rope necklaces that kept their pursuers at an agreeable distance, Turk and Bam took off at what could be considered a sprint for two people who drank themselves into a drunken stupor nightly and consumed more Ganja weekly than Bob Dylan put into all his Grammy-winning songs put together. Sure, vampires had a certain panache, but it didn’t mean that either of them were ready to trade their humanity for immortality and stylin’ threads.

Moonlight shown down without obstruction on the French countryside. In different circumstances, it might have been lovely. Instead, it was kind of like a football field where the goal kept getting further and further away.

A less optimistic duo might have considered the possibility that there was no goal. That there were no buildings to come to, no humans around to help, that there was nothing but wide open field for kilometers upon kilometers, and they would have to continue running until the sun came up and scared their nocturnal friends back into hiding.

But, in all their travels, Turk and Ben found that Omniety, be it a god, destiny, or simply the universe as an all-seeing whole, had always brought to them protection, so when they crested a knoll and saw the little country church ahead, glowing with warm light, they smiled with glee and raced toward it.

After a round of desperate knocking, the door opened to a diminutive minister.

“Can we come in?” they shouted in frantic unison.

“All are welcome here,” the minister nodded.

Turk and Bam rushed in, turning around and slamming the door closed, the heavy wooden plank falling back across the door to lock it. When the minister looked nervously at them, Turk clapped him on the shoulder.

“No problem, man,” he said. “We’re cool.”

The minister timidly nodded, leading them out of the vestibule and into the church.

“I hope you won’t be too put out,” he warned them. “We’re having a lock in. All the virgin maidens of the village have gathered for prayer and meditation.”

The words didn’t register right away, but the bouncy girl parts did. Thirty virgin maidens, dressed in their skimpy best, engaged in a room-wide pillow fight, where tickling and giggling were fair modes of attack.

“I’ll just leave you for a moment,” the minister said, going off to check on something.

Turk and Bam floated through the flying feathers, the room moving in slow motion, the way that all the best porn directors would edit it.

“Bonjour hotties,” Bam greeted them in a voice not one of them recognized as being his horny come on tone.

“Bonjour,” thirty breathless female voices returned in a chorus.

And this is why Turk and Bam just kept moving through life. When there were thirty scantily clad young virgins hanging on their every word, it was easy to forget about the bad stuff, like cavities and blood-thirsty vampires.

“During our month in Paris,” Turk bragged in his broken French. “I found a wild monkey and made him my pet. I called him Popeye.”

At least that’s what he believed he told them. The tittering that followed his declaration was actually due to the virgins hearing, “In Paris, I had rabid monkey sex and pretended my partners were Popeye.”

“I will not be intimate with a man until I marry,” a virgin replied.

Turk and Bam shared a wide grin and satisfied nod when they translated between the two of them, “I do this totally naughty thing with poultry.”

It was an honest mistake. In her arms, the girl held a rubber chicken she hadn’t put down since they came in, and neither of them had the capacity to put two and two together and get total insanity.

Such a perfect save, and a gentle landing, Turk and Bam had forgotten why they had come to the church in the first place. Even the brutal knocking didn’t catch their attention until too late. Hearing the wood plank being moved and the heavy door sliding open, Turk and Bam jumped up from their maiden pile, rushing for the vestibule just in time to hear a gruff voice say –

“Invite me in.”

And the minister, apparently denser than them, respond –

“All are welcome here.”

“You douche!”

Those were Bam Stone’s last words, nicely summing up his and Turk Fitzgerald’s last great adventure.

But they shall live on forever in the legend of the ‘Coven of the Thirty Virgins’.