Gruesome Twosome.

The Thriller dance was going to be the biggest event of our Church-dance career. Nothing could stop us, we were going to show the Thriller video, and we were going to show the entire video.

And nothing would stop us.

We would play the video, and we would have three judges, instead of five, going around. And it would be amazing, it would be awesome, and it would be wicked.

And nothing would stop us.

For all we could care, a pack of brain-dead-bimbo zombies could come knocking on the church door. We hardwired the entry way with hot soup. This would work.

And nothing would stop us.

Vampires could surround the entire building, but don’t worry. We’re in the place of holy. Nothing would let them in. But just in case, we did hire Buffy, you know, the vampire slayer. If, in the slight chance, she were to fail, we even got Dean and Sam Winchester to slaw them undeads.

If our master plan was to fail, we would, ourselves, grab the crosses, the holy water, and we would grab the steak knives, and we would do the job ourselves, because, for Gods-sake-the-help-did-absolutely-nothing-for-the-price-of-everything.

And the dance would go on without a hitch, because this is what we have planned. We penned – not penciled – everything we could have imagined, and we were so sure that nothing would have happened.

The doors were body-guarded, and the music was so loud, the paranormal’s eardrums would have surely exploded within three steps in the door.

Assuming they killed Buffy, Xander, Willow, Giles, Dean, Sam, myself, and the others.

But of course, this wasn’t going to happen, because, well, duh. We planned.

For everything.

We even got food. We paid for a F-List D.J and we weren’t paying a low cost, either. He sucked, everyone noticed, and the night was ruined.

No zombies invaded, but the Gruesome Twosome did. They were the Boo Radley’s of Lethbridge, Alberta, located at the foot of Canada.

They were a mean old dingy couple that criticized everything with an old-fashion-British-eye. White gloves and everything. Whether that was to cover their gnarly hands, or to wipe surfaces clean of dirt, we didn’t know. Didn’t ask.

They stomped right on into the church, their backs hunched, their shoulders droopy, but they meant business. And with absolutely no donation to the church (a minimum of two dollars) stampeded their way to the open kitchen to give us a piece of their grungy minds.

The music was stupid. Akorn something, sounded unprofessional. And by-God! This skirts! Parents are blind these days? They let them kids go out into the public with their underwear on? Well, I have never seen such a—oh, George, I can stand this.

They were dumb.

The water tasted like a bear pissed in it, and the candy was harder than a rock. They also tasted like a rock.

They were just the wet blankets of this party, and we just did not want them here. The slayers and the hunters could do nothing to stop them from grabbing and gabbing, so they left, after assuring us that: no, no vampires, aliens, werewolves, ghosts, or zombies. We didn’t believe them, but it was against the law to force an unwilling participant to stay.

They could kick our butts, anyway. Dean joked his way out of everything and we stood, dazzled, as they left. We returned to Twosome, where they stood, enraged, shaking their fists at the bowl of Valentine heart candies.

These two were like those duplicate texts we always get, they were annoying. And persistent. They weren’t part of the solution.

They were the problem, for most likely speaking.

We’re very sorry, we said. But we have to go. Attend to the dance. We said. They sniffed.

They said: ‘this is very rude, and this is not at all good conduct. We’re contacting the Home Owners Association’.

All right, we said, and we walked away, we did, we heard them sputtering behind us, and we twittered in laughter as we walked away from them, the throngs of dancing preteens was stifling, and made us feel old, tight, and tall. We were not, as a fact, very tall as a group.

For an average we were about 5’7, and that was absolutely nothing noteworthy, because we couldn’t see anything in front of us in a concert.

But we were all right, because, just so you know, we organized a dance, and this just rocks. We did it by ourselves. With the help of the Minister, three of the Choir, and seven of the congregation.

But other than that, we did it all by ourselves. And this thing rocked.

Twelve streamers, seventeen packages of Halloween stickies, and twenty juice packets, we were all set to go, and the dance was a hit, and it was all done at twelve the next night, and we were left to clean up the mess.

The spicy valentine hearts had disappeared, along with the rest of the juice packets. We suspected the Gruesome Twosome, but because of lack of evidence, we could not take them to court, because that has almost no substance.

The clean up was horrendous, but we declared the day as an officially good day. No vampires. No ghosts. No werewolves. No gremlins. No mean spirits. No zombies. This was a success.

We passed the Gruesome Twosome standing by their van. A suspicious pink power pooling around their feet, and crawling away in the wind. We didn’t ask. We also stepped on a couple candies. They cracked, and they were hard. Poor Jessie wasn’t wearing thick shoes. Poor thing, her foot had many indents.

We didn’t look. We knew. What a waste of heart candies.

The gruesome twosome left their emergency lights on for an hour, before they turned them off, and went home. I think, to spit us, they kept flashing their lights on and off.