“Hello, and welcome to Brown Eye’s Super Sexy Times Hotline.”
“You thinking about changing that name?” The Perfect Woman asked after he heard the receiver slam down.
“It’s like Nigerian scam emails, I’m selecting for the perfect clientele,” Brown Eye retorted. “Besides, what do you care?”
“Uh, he invested like 2 million Euros,” Pepe Le Poo shot back from his place lounging on the sofa.
“Yeah, about that,” The Perfect Woman said a tad too casually. “See, I never really explained where the money came from, and well… it turns out some of her other businesses are not doing so hot either…”
“What.” Brown Eye said flatly.
“Porno wants what’s hers!” Pepe Le Poo squealed with glee. “And she’s going to send her bruisers to get it!”
“I don’t know why you’re so happy about,” The Perfect Woman muttered. “We put you down as collateral.”
“No!” Pepe Le Poo clutched his chest. “Hand Pump I can deal with, but that Muff Daddy guy scares me.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Brown Eye looked into the distance so he didn’t have to see the mold growing on the kitchen wall. “I have a plan.”
The trio stumbled into a dark and musty entryway off of a pee-soaked alley somewhere in Hayes Valley. “I didn’t even know they had places like this in this neighborhood…” muttered Pepe Le Poo. “Just like home!”
“Password?” asked a voice from the darkness.
“Oh, we’re not customers,” Brown Eye explained.
The voice said something in a language they didn’t understand. “Excuse moi?” Pepe Le Poo asked. “I’m international and this doesn’t even make sense to me.”
On All Fours popped up besides them. “Hi there! Looks like you need a translator!” She exclaimed after removing her ball gag. “Cuming Mutha said you can’t enter without a password. Aussie’s only!” She turned when the door opened again. “Oh, hi Just Christina. Just Erin!”
“Vegemite!” The two said in unison after nodding at On All Fours. Cuming Mutha let them in.
“You see, we’re just trying to help your business grow. Have you thought about expanding your market a bit? Maybe just to Kiwis at first?” Brown Eye wheedled.
“Blasphemy!” Cuming Mutha rose from his perch, which turned out to be a toilet.
“Blasphemy!” On All Fours translated. She flushed the toilet, and the three men stared at the water whirling the opposite direction. After a bit of nausea, they blinked as a door opened and sunlight streamed in.
“What are we doing on Twin Peaks?” wondered Pepe Le Poo.
“With that teleportation technology they could take over the world!” The Perfect Woman exclaimed.
“They can’t even sell a sex dungeon,” muttered Brown Eye. “Moving on… oh look who’s here!”
They turned and stared at the photoshoot happening in front of them. Do Her Well was thrusting her hips forward, Eat My Pussy right beside her, both enhancing their… assets with the help of some carefully placed chalk. Dick Simmons was serving as photographer, and Just Doesn’t Get It was providing inspiration with his own thumb-dickie.
“Almost got it… almost got it.”
“I think it’d look better if she was wearing a burqa,” Brown Eye advised. Dick Simmons looked up, distracted, just as Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy leapt into the scene.
“Fuck you,” Primal Vagina muttered, from where she was perfectly silhouetted against the background skyline of San Francisco. “You ruined the moment.”
“And the moment was?” The Perfect Woman wondered.
“Our audience craves a certain kind of satisfaction,” Dick Simmons explained.
“Chalk dildos?” Pepe Le Poo suggested.
“No, fool,” Primal Vagina frowned. “Men and women with chalk dildos with a backdrop of a woman in front of a skyline being photobombed by a man with long hair. Circle Jerk prepaid for an exclusive cut, and now we have to start all over again.”
“Look, we’re just trying to help you out. I’m sure that Porno is breathing down your necks too…”
“Only for us to produce more and more product,” Do Her Well sniffed. “You’ll find if you check our books we’re doing quite well. Besides, let’s just say that Gondolerrhea was particularly pleased when she dipped her toes in our business. Don’t put your failings on us. I have called your little sex hotline before…” she grinned at Brown Eye’s shocked face. “Oh yes I have, and let me just say that you’re erratic, inconsistent, and you frankly are apt to just lose people in the entire scene. I let Mouth Down South and Twerxes listen in, and I found them gibbering to themselves in Golden Gate Park afterwards. You’ve got some brilliant moments here and there, guys, but frankly… it needs work.”
“You know what I say to that?” Brown Eye started.
“Whorifist, dear?” Primal Vagina turned away. “Do you think you could make me a sandwich?”
Brown Eye was still sputtering even after they got off of Twin Peaks.
“One more stop,” he said when he regained his ability to speak. They were just outside the dog park at Corona Heights.
“Tickets please?” Resting Slut Face placed a strong hand on Brown Eye’s chest.
“Sure!” The Perfect Woman pulled out three passes from his pocket.
“We shouldn’t be paying them!” Pepe Le Poo cried. “We’re here to help them.”
“I had to be on a waiting list for these things, and Douchicorn would have gotten them if I hadn’t taken measures,” The Perfect Woman hissed as they walked through the fence. “Good Shit is even selling binoculars from on top of that house over there,” he pointed upwards.
“Good Shit owns that house?” asked Pepe Le Poo.
“Of course not.”
By then they had made their way through the fence and could only stare at the circus before their eyes. Allahu Aqbark was lying on a platform and Masterbaster was devotedly fanning him and feeding him treats. Tonya Hardon was rubbing her pooch’s paws, while Stinky Floss was letting Public Enema roll in all the mud that he could find. On the sidelines, Fucker’s eyes were going misty with affection, while Three Fingers could barely stop himself from reaching out to touch the dogs. Sister Fister slapped his hand gently with a leather strap.
“You wanted to help?” Cockamole came over while counting a big roll of ones. Reverse Schoolgirl had been trying to put them in the dogs’ collars, which was largely unappreciated by the canines but was definitely enjoyed by upper management. “We’ve got a job for the three of you.” She nodded at the piles of doggie doo doo that lined the field.
“No!” screamed Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring. “Let me! Let me!” But before she could reach the plastic bags Cockamole was holding, I Cunt Here You shoved her aside. He leaned down to pick one up, but Sleazy jumped on his back and ripped out his earbuds.
“No!” cried I Cunt Here You, going down in a pile with her. Ru Ru Rimmin used to moment of distraction to grab the bags and take off towards the nearest pile.
“Sometimes serving others provides the greatest of pleasures,” Cockamole explained to their befuddled faces. “And serving man’s best friend? Priceless.”
“Well actually there is a price,” Resting Slut Face chimed in. “Seven dollars.”
“Look guys,” Cockamole said, taking pity on them. “We all know that Hand Pump is going to remove at least one of your kneecaps, and Muff Daddy…” she shuddered. “But there is someone that we believe can help.”
“Udder Moron?” called Resting Slut Face. “Lead the way for them, please.”
“Why do I have to do everything?” grumbled the man before grabbing three leashes for the trio. “Company policy,” he explained.
Thirty minutes later they reached Duboce Park, because Udder Moron had a long conversation with Crabs and Gloryhole, had stopped for a slice of pizza with Dick Ass Mother Fucker, and then Pepe Le Poop wouldn’t go on the side of a fire hydrant and insisted that they find an actual restroom. (“Why didn’t you go earlier?” hissed Brown Eye).
Sitting down on a park bench in Duboce Park, they carefully didn’t look around when a shadow loomed over them.
“I hear you’re interested in my services,” MUG spoke after a good five minutes of silence. “You know Cockagami has wanted exclusive use—why should I just hand this over?”
“Six point nine percent return on investment,” Brown Eye offered. “And free sex hotline services for life.”
“You don’t even know what she has!” The Perfect Woman protested. They shut up for a moment as Rent Whore walked by.
“Oh, it’s good. And ew, I don’t want your services,” MUG muttered. “Got Wood has been testing the new formula on some unsuspecting subjects, and even Deadbeat ponied up for more. Millimeter Peter defaced public property for Wee Wee after a round with us. And I’d never seen Just Jana laugh so hard. Six Tits a Week can’t wait until he’s not pregnant anymore to try it out.”
“Well with those voices of authority, how can we resist,” Brown Eye said sarcastically.
“You certainly don’t have a choice any longer,” My Little Porno popped up behind them. Everyone in the group jumped at once. Muff Daddy cackled, and everyone jumped a second time.
“MUG, you know you have no rights to the intellectual property you’ve developed while you’re under contract with me, and frankly I think this is the only idea that can save this shitshow of an investment I made. What can I say, I was drunk.” Porno chuckled. “And now, all of your clients will be too.”
“I’m confused,” The Perfect Woman admitted.
“Miss Delivery?” Porno commanded. He wheeled a chalkboard over, and Rhythm Method started sketching out some complex diagrams. After she finished drawing the last sexual position, MUG sighed and began drawing some actual science shit.
“Alcohol can now be transmitted through the telephone,” MUG explained. “Let me demonstrate.” She whipped out her cell phone.
A few feet over, Boob Slap picked up. She listened intently, and began giggling. “Party line!” She yelled, waving her phone and stumbling drunkenly over Fuck Norris. After keying in a few digits, she cried out. “Handidicked! Check this out! I can get you drunk just by talking to you!” A pause. “Well, don’t get mad at me because you’re playing a game of Operation. Oh an actual operation? Oops.”
“You see,” My Little Porno concluded. “The ultimate solution to a project headed by you three? We just get everyone wasted. It’s foolproof.”