SFH3 Run #1816: mmP does SFH3: the SSBBTNABBBMYFLYJDO r*n
|:||9th and Lake|
|:||Do Her Well|
“Which number birthday is it this year?” Ru Ru Rimmin asked Cunty Butler, who made an unsuccessful swipe at Titty Boo Boo’s pants from her chair.
She giggled, blinked at him, and cooed, “You don’t think I look a year past twenty-one, do you?”
“When I was twenty-one, I danced with a young Buck Fucka on a piano,” Pole Her Bare sighed. “The world was open before us like an oyster, just begging us to dive in and suck it all down.”
“That’s beautiful, dear,” Weekend at Abba’s patted her arm and took away her party hat. “Now, wouldn’t you like a nap before dinner?” Pole Her Bare nodded in reply and allowed for a helpful push to her room.
Blowqueen looked up, instincts honed by years of experience. “We’ve got two bare bogeys, repeat, two bare bogeys,” he radioed in, moving cautiously towards John Handcock and Just Doesn’t Get It.
“Are the pants in sight?” My Little Porno’s response cut through the static.
“Negative.” Miss Delivery was moving in on the other side, separating himself protectively with a standard issue woolen blanket. “I’m going in, Porno.”
“Where’s Masterbaster with that therapy dog when you need him,” grumbled Backside Banger, watching the ensuing low-speed chase down the hallway.
“Didn’t you hear they rescheduled? We’re getting two stand-up comics, Cockamole and Millimeter Peter—I heard Mr. MP has been collaborating with Dr. Wee Wee on a new program for our residents,” explained Boob Slap, who was making herself useful by clearing the lunch plates. All of the icing was gone from the half-eaten crumbled up fragments of birthday cake. Chocolate was smeared on one chair, but the neighboring table was suspiciously pristine.
“Ah,” Backside Banger paused. “You know, I think I’m coming down with something. Don’t want to give Do Her Well pneumonia, last time she got sick she refused to use the bedpan. Peace.”
“You’re out of sick time!” she called after him, “We’re short-staffed with Hand Pump gone next week so you can NOT pull this again, mister. Just because Roman Showers got her hymnal again, I didn’t even know they had surgery for that…”
“How does he get to just go off wherever?” Meh complained in a low voice, moving towards her. “My girlfriend just had her third blowout and I got bawled out for being half an hour late.”
“Wouldn’t you have learned the hole’s not for that after the second one?” The Perfect Woman chimed in.
“WHO’S THAT THERE?” Mouth Down South poked his cane at the crew. “WHAT ARE YOU YOUNG BUCKS UP TO NOW?”
“We’re not all gents, here, Mr. Mouth,” Boob Slap corrected him.
“GENTILES? WHERE? SPEAK UP LADDY,” Mouth Down South turned and almost fell over. The Perfect Woman carefully guided him to a chair.
“Look sharp, look sharp!” One Night Only bustled into the room, flicking a tablecloth back into place and sweeping a newspaper under her arm. “Visitors, my dears, let’s show then our very best.” She nodded as Saigon Sally led 3 Licks into the dining room.
“She looks much too young to be here,” Boob Slap whispered.
“TOO YOUNG?” Mouth Down South repeated. “HER?”
“Miss 3 Licks is touring the facility on behalf of her grandmother,” One Night Only explained, wincing only a little.
“Adopted grandmother,” corrected 3 Licks.
“Oh, she’ll love it here,” Cockagami powered his Hoveround into the center of the group. “I never got laid when I was living alone.”
“You never get fucked here either, except by your accountants!” cackled Ska Skank, who had followed in his wake. “You’d be surprised, young lady, how fast bruises still heal when you’re my age. But don’t tell Just Alexei that we don’t know each other.” She gave an exaggerated wink and pulled her companion in even closer.
Dr. Wee Wee slid to a halt in front of One Night Only, smoothing her smock nervously. “I think we have a Code Orange.”
“That goddamn asshole!” Whorifist woke up from where he was napping in the corner. “I remember when we got up and felt proud to say that we were from the U-S-of-A. No longer!” Primal Vagina patted him on the shoulder as he fell back asleep, drooling slightly.
“I told you we changed that code, Dr. Wee Wee,” One Night Only widened her eyes and nodded slightly at their visitors. “What seems to be the problem?”
“I told them not to go into that ravine!” Bitch’s Bitch strode into the room, the wrinkles and sunspots on his face the only sign of significant age. “I told them that there was poison oak, but do you think they listened? Do you?”
“Dr. Bombardier and Gobble My Ass have gone on a walkabout,” Wee Wee explained.
“DID YOU SAY GOUT?” asked Mouth Down South. “I HAVE THAT.”
“Did you check Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy’s yoga class?” asked One Night Only patiently.
“You mean the one where he teaches you to auto-sixty-nine?” Cockagami inserted.
“Not there,” Wee Wee massaged her temples.
“The fake bus stop?”
“Full with Closet Twitcher cozying up to Dick Simmons—sorry, Cockarazzi, as he now calls himself. They had his Fisher Price camera.” Wee Wee sighed with frustration, then pointedly glanced at 3 Licks. Years of frustration and poor pay had taken their toll. “I checked that, and when Cockamole arrived I tried to alert her as well, but she was busy putting on a private show for Sister Fister. Next I ran into the UPS guy—Reverse Schoolgirl has a new package of clothes from her family that I’m pretty sure will have to be confiscated for being too risqué… again. So I went by Good Shit’s cooking class, but all of the cock arepas they had made were burned because they forgot how to set the timer on the oven, so I had to stop there to put out the fire. Fuck Norris ate one before it had cooled, so I took her to Stinky Floss in the infirmary, who just gave her some high octane mouthwash and called it a day. Stinky Floss also very helpfully said that she knew where Dr. B had gone but couldn’t remember where it was. And Douchicorn was putting Oso on top of the crumbling wall where that abandoned gloryhole is--”
“WASN’T ABANDONED LAST WEEK,” Mouth Down South added.
“And I asked him what he thought he was doing, and he said it was for Instagram, never mind that the website is defunct and he isn’t even allowed to have his dog here but Crabs keeps sneaking him in on his tuk tuk.” Wee Wee paused for a breath.
“There is no ravine!” yelled Wee Wee.
“Sure there is, that’s where Lizzardo is getting married,” Deadbeat explained. “Dickweed and I are going to be flowerboys, and Rent Whore is playing piano.” He grabbed a piece of cake and scooted out of the room to avoid further questions.
“Will someone find out where this ravine is and why everyone knows about it except me?” One Night Only clenched her fists and pointed in Deadbeat’s direction. “Go!” Wee Wee and Boob Slap, sensing the opportunity for escape, rushed away.
“We’re heading over there now,” Cockamole stepped forward. “Five minute walk, over twenty kegs on tap, and someone said Justin Bieber’s hanging out there tonight. Not that I like him, but… you know.”
“Justin Bieber’s in a ravine?” Meh asked in wonder.
“No, it’s that club,” Cockamole explained. “Where all the residents can get one beer per night on the facility’s tab…” At their stunned expressions, she gulped. “Oops.”
“The jig is up!” Cockagami sped out of the room, headed to The Ravine for last call.
“I’m sorry, Miss 3 Licks,” One Night Only said as graciously as she could. “I apologize most profusely for the… condition that you have found our residence house in. I can only promise that sweeping changes will be made from the top down, and perhaps you can see for yourself if you schedule a visit in a few weeks…?”
“I’d actually like to book a room for her right away,” 3 Licks said with a smile. “She’s not called Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring for nothing.”