SFH3 Run #1831
|:||Presidio Park Entrance, north of 9th and Lake|
|:||Do Her Well|
“Order! I will have order in my court! Settle down or get out.” The judge banged her gavel several times. Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring harrumphed and went outside to continue her conversation with Six Tits a Week, and My Little Porno made a move to follow her before her lawyer cautioned her to stay.
“We have in the docket the US Government versus My Little Porno,” Muff Daddy announced.
The judge nodded, “Opening arguments from the prosecution?”
Just as Buck Fucka rose from the prosecution’s bench, Pole Her Bare burst into the court room. “What are you doing?!” she hissed as she grabbed his shoulder. “Don’t you have any moral standards?”
“Enough!” the judge banged the gavel again. “We spent enough time arguing over jury selection. Rearranging around Ska Skank’s concert schedule has postponed things for at least a month, and if we keep going this will be literally the trial of the decade.”
“I’m not apologizing for that!” Ska Skank shouted from the jury box.
“Right,” Buck Fucka nodded, still eyeing Pole Her Bare cautiously. “I have in front of you a case of egregious debauchery, constant drunkenness, and outright the most salacious proceedings ever to greet this courtroom. And those are just her good points.”
“The crime?” demanded Sir Menage-a-Lot, rising from the defense’s side.
“You were really supposed to tell the jury what we’re here for,” the judge pointed out. “But Just Doesn’t Get It is watching the Tour de France on his phone, Deadbeat hasn’t shown up yet, and Douchicorn is letting his dog vote for him. Cockagami turned this thing into a drinking game—I know you have two shots down for self-references, sir—and Mary Tyler Whore is only participating because someone told her deliberations would include karaoke. Chicken Bone Her is the only one paying attention, but I’m pretty sure she already read about the case in the papers and isn’t going to care what you say anyway. Proceed.”
“I’d like to call Gloryhole to the stand,” Buck Fucka gulped. Once Muff Daddy had sworn him in, Buck Fucka whirled to face him. “Isn’t it true that you collaborated with My Little Porno to have a large gathering on federal land?”
“Not her in particular,” Gloryhole pointed out. “Actually it was—”
“Objection!” yelled the judge. “Yes or no answers, please.”
“No,” Gloryhole decided after a moment.
“Isn’t it true that you caused a large group of people to assemble in one place where they would require a permit?”
“No,” Gloryhole replied. “I didn’t make anyone do anything.”
“Isn’t it true that because of information posted on a certain website, people such as Who’s Your Daddy, Got Wood, and Cheese Turd knew to assemble at a certain time in a certain place?”
“Yes,” Gloryhole allowed.
“And people that you have never met, people such as Dim Suck and Sarah Cunter, they were able to come as well.”
“Yes,” Gloryhole nodded. “I would never prevent anyone from coming,” he said magnanimously.
“And isn’t it true that you might reasonably expect for more than twenty-five bodies to assemble in that area?”
“Objection!” Sir Menage-a-Lot shouted. “Hashers are never reasonable.”
“Sustained,” announced the judge. “Do you have any other arguments, Buck Fucka?”
“Shit,” Buck Fucka muttered, moving towards Vagina Dentata. “Got anything?” he asked.
Vagina Dentata hmmed and looked up from his pile of books. “Oh, these are all romance novels. Princess Allianna is a compellingly strong character and doesn’t just rely on her man to progress through the story. Did you need something?”
Buck Fucka sighed and pulled out an inflatable mattress. “The prosecution rests.”
“Aha!” Sir Menage-a-Lot jumped up. “I’d like to call for my first witness—Smells Like Fish, Tastes Like Bacon!”
The crowd gasped, Good Shit Lollicock pumped his fist in the air, and even Hand Pump pulled off his sunglasses and wig so she would recognize him when she strode into the courtroom. Masterbaster flung the door open, and she quickly made her way to the witness stand.
“Bacon, are you familiar with the hash?” Menage asked.
“Of course, it’s a great wholesome activity for everyone to enjoy,” Bacon began. “We do all sorts of good work—without us, people like John Handcock and Gobble My Ass would be doing all sorts of racist behavior. The Perfect Woman has excellent skills in delegation—he’s not even at this trial, for example. Zippercised might have lost himself instead of just his driver’s license, and even Tonya Hardon’s dog has benefited from expressing his inner size queen. I have in my hands the written testimony of multiple people, from long time hashers like Captain Organ to newcomers like Just Shrishti, and an interesting audiotape from Ru Ru Rimmin, all explaining the benefits of hashing.”
“Do you have any counterarguments, Buck Fucka?” the judge asked.
“Cirque du So Lame is missing a knee, Millimeter Peter complains about taking longer now that he’s getting older, and Roman Showers totally didn’t bring enough pie for everyone,” Buck Fucka replied. “Minor 69er took at least five minutes extra getting ready the next morning, and most damningly— ” he paused for effect. “Wee Wee, Dick Ass Mother Fucker, and Do Her Well all were scarred for life by this misadventure.”
“Nope, all healed!” Wee Wee interrupted.
“And Dick Ass Mother Fucker and Do Her Well are nowhere to be found, it seems,” the judge announced.
“But you’re Do Her—” Gondalerrhea wondered aloud before Fuck Norris slapped him.
“With that, I declare a mistrial!” the judge announced happily. “We’ll hold another jury selection next Monday. Buck Fucka, I assume you’ll be in attendance?”
“Gladly, your honor,” Buck Fucka replied. They all rose to leave, Buck Fucka fumbling amongst his papers. “You dropped something,” he nudged My Little Porno as he passed her.
“Oh, thanks!” she smiled as she pocketed the envelope stuffed with twenties and an unreasonable amount of pennies. “Silly me. See you next week!”