SFH3 Run #1839
|:||Bocana and Holly Park|
|:||Do Her Well|
“How did we get all the way out here?” Just Christina asked, pausing for a second. Pepe Le Poop shrugged.
Fuck Buddy grimaced. “It does seem quite a long way from the start.”
“It’s McLaren Park,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker answered. “Which all of you assholes would know… had you bothered to come to a Hand Pump Work Day. Look—over there is the blackberry we dug up. And over there is some more blackberry that we dug up.”
“And that over there?” Do Her Well pointed. The group turned to see Douchicorn, Whorifist, and Resting Slut Face huddled intimately around Just Maverick on a slice of inflatable pizza. As one the pack winced and turned away.
“More blackberry?” asked Oedipussy, trying to steer the conversation.
“No, fool,” Cockamole laughed. “Radish.”
“I think that’s pepperoni topping,” Hoseblower said loudly, still looking at the three men and hapless canine. “And that stringy white stuff looks like mozzarella!”
“Nevermind,” ordered Fuck Norris loudly. “Has anyone got a map?”
“This always happens when Hand Pump is gone,” complained Roman Showers. “Him having is own life? Expecting us to figure out where beer check is on our own? Psh.”
“Isn’t Backside Banger manning the beer check?” asked Ru Ru Rimmin.
“Yeah, just because we’re married you think I have some sort of tracking device implanted in him?” Roman Showers shot back. Her eyes narrowed in thought, and she slunk backwards into the darkness.
“I know!” declared Zippercised. “Let’s call Hand Pump!”
“Maybe if we run really fast…” Just Conrad said slowly.
“That’s not how this works,” Primal Vagina told him. “That’s not how any of this works.”
The wind blew coldly, and an owl hooted in the darkness. Suddenly, the ground rumbled. “Earthquake!” yelled Tears of Semen, who dived and rolled straight into Got Wood. Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy screamed loudly as a bat flew into his hair. The ground sunk down slowly, Just Doesn’t Get It leaping just in time to the edge of the pit that was forming with most of the pack still inside.
“Here, grab my arm!” JDGI yelled, waving frantically at the people still in reach.
JDGI slapped him on the cranium. “Fuck you!” He marched off. The ground sunk even lower.
“Guys, I got ahold of Hand Pump!” Zippercised yelled. “Oh. Oh. I see. Guys, he’s on vacation.”
“I think we’re trapped here,” announced Tuna on Top. “Great.”
“Just as you are supposed to be,” Fucker’s shadow was dim in the light of the waning moon. “I discovered upon my last sojourn in McLaren Park. Besides being a great place for clandestine sex, dumping refrigerators, burying dead bodies, and exploring the newly paved pedestrian and cycling paths… it’s ideal for storing live human beings. After a few nights of coyotes pissing on you, you’ll be willing to do anything… and I mean anything … I say.”
“Coyote piss?” Muff Daddy mused. “The last time I went to a spa they were charging good money for that.”
“Um,” Fucker appeared flabberghasted. He coughed. “Besides, you’re stuck down there with Just Maverick and his little friends.”
Dickgiorno clawed at the sides of the pit, I Cunt Here You leaping onto his shoulders, but both to no avail.
“That’s right,” Fucker laughed evilly. “I’ll give you some time to think it over.”
“But… but… can’t we call Hand Pump?” Zippercised clutched at his phone.
“For the final time, he’s on vacation!” Primal Vagina shouted. She lowered her voice. “Besides… I think he might be in on it. He has been asking more people to turn out for work days… he’ll have more than enough now.”
Betty Cocker strolled over. “Could these help?” she asked the group.
“It’s a bag of condoms!” Douchicorn and Whorifist each grabbed one before making their way back over to the inflatable slice.
“Maybe this bag of condoms could come in handy,” Tears of Semen explained. “If we can just inflate enough of them we could build a stairway out of here. But careful….”
At one, everyone blew up a condom, and at once, everyone popped a condom.
“But wait! Look up!” Hoseblower yelled. They craned their necks to see the figure of Boxcar Willie rising upwards, inflated condom held aloft above him.
“But how?” wondered Yessiryesshesfat.
“He believed in himself just enough,” Tonya Hardon cried in wonder.
“Or he keeps a full tank of helium on his person just in case,” muttered Circle Jerk. “I thought there was something extra in his pants.”
“What about the rest of us?” yelped Vagina Dentata. “What are we going to do?”
Betty Cocker carved out a long tally mark in the side of the pit. “Day one.” She threw the chalk away in disgust. “Fuck.”
A distant laugh was heard. “No my dear… Fuck—er. Muahahahaha.”
The pack was let out of the park approximately half an hour later by a park ranger, alerted by a concerned neighbor who had heard the howling from Just Maverick. Fucker received a $50 ticket for dumping which he bribed his way out of for $100, and the pack received beer.