Welcome To The Horn Section Y'all!!!

AN: Based on actual events! Enjoy

Chapter 3: Random Dancing, I Think Not.

It was your usual hot day on the practice field, and the homies and I were starting to get bored --as we'd done these drills a thousand times and knew them by heart-- so, naturally, SOMETHING was about to happen: Chicken Dance Outbreak.

Our section leader was trying, as usual, to get us to pay attention by using all the usual tactics; i.e. yelling, making us march dos-e-dos until our feet swelled, and, my favorite, "embarassment". As Waxy, Princess, Chyna, and I had been making a racket and randomly dancing at all intervals of the morning, our section leader thought it would serve us punishment to force us to dance in front of the entire band...how wrong he was.

"SHOOKIE, WAXY, PRINCESS, CHYNA!!" he bellowed with a surprisingly purple face, "SINCE YOU THINK IT'S SOOOOOO FUNNY TO DANCE WHILE I'M TALKING WHY DON'T YOU DISPLAY YOUR TALENTS FOR THE ENTIRE BAND?" He smirked in a most annoying 'ha-I-showed-you" way that just made me want to laugh.

"OK!!" we hollered back in unison... we all had one thing on our mind, which Waxy voiced: "Which dance?" she inquired with the evil little glint in her eye I love oh so very much. Princess and I just laughed as we caught each other's eye. "The Chicken Dance," I declared, this wasn't going to be pretty.

"DUN NA NAA NA NU NAA NAA" we made mouthing movements with our hands. "DUN NA NAA NA NU NAA NAA" we progressed through the chicken wings with the greatest of ease. As the smiles becoming more promintent on our faces we attracted more attention. "NAA NAA NAA NAA" we got low and motioned for our section leader to 'kiss our butts', then the section by section the entire band joined in. "I DON'T WANNA BE A CHICKEN!" the trumpet, trombone, and tuba sections introduced the words into our mangled cries of "DUN NA NAA NA NU NAA NAA" allowing us to fully appreciate the beauty of the chicken-dance. "I DON'T WANNA BE A DUCK" the saxophones, flutes, and trumpets began laughing as the flapped their wings. "SO KISS MY BUTT!!!" the drum-line, pit, and clarinets piped in half-heartedly (not wanting to be left out).

My poor section leader, Curly, could only stand there...flabbergasted at what we had managed to accomplish! Not only did we make him look like an ass, but we wriggled out of punishment-- yet again!-- but roping the entire band into the festivities.

As the girls and I walked back over to our section by the in-zone from where we were dancing on the 50-yard-line, we smiled sweetly and blew kisses at our beloved section leader. He just stood there, brooding on our new-found victory.

As we cleared off the field the Chicken-Dance cries died down, only to be replaced with the trumpets' brassy version played out on their horns, and I just couldn't resist: I siddled up to Curly, slapped him on his rump, and whispered "Better luck next time sweet-cheeks," gave him my sweetest, most innocent smile, and trotted off the field arm-in-arm with my homies.

Today had been a great day.