SFH3 Run #1881
|:||DMV Parking lot|
|:||Cockamole & Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring|
|:||Do Her Well|
“Excuse me, sir, do you know how fast you were going?” Cockamole lowered her sunglasses and arched her eyebrows.
“Um, we’re from out of town?” Backdoor Boyz shrugged and tried to look innocent. Two Finger Goose struggled with a map and gave up as it collapsed in crumpled heap on top of his lap.
“Oh, yeah?” Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring scowled as she strolled up next to the group. “Prove it. Show us something that we’ve never seen before.”
Backdoor Boyz looked like he was about to satisfy her, but Cockamole raised a hand. “License and registration please?”
“We were just following trail, officer.” Muffled sounds came from behind them. “Pay no attention to her.” Screaming O took the sock out of her mouth and gave a quick hoot and a wave.
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to stop you here,” Sleazy attempted to look stern. “You and the rest of your… posse. Why don’t you take a sit down on the curb over here.” She pointed at Gloryhole, Gondalarrhea, and Wash This Asshole, the latter of whom was tipping shot after shot down his gullet.
“This is a sobriety checkpoint,” Cockamole advised them. “We’re going to put you through a series of tests…”
“And you better not fail!” announced Sleazy.
“First, line up. Get behind Hello Titties over there,” Cockamole pointed. “Okay, Tricrapylete, you join in after them.” She shoved him into place. “Put these earbuds back in. Now Fucker, get in after, and Just Omar push right in behind. Jack the Ripper! Leave that virgin alone!”
Jack wiggled his eyebrows. “He’s not a virgin anymore!”
“Vagina Dentata, are you taking notes?” Cockamole pushed Mouth Down South over in his direction. “I expect a full report at the end of this!”
Two Finger Goose lifted a hand. “Officer?”
“Did she say you could speak?” Sleazy grabbed him by his collar.
“Back in line!” She shoved him into Uber Luber, who was recording the scene on his phone.
“This might qualify as police brutality,” Cirque du So Lame said to no one in particular.
“I was provoked!” Sleazy screamed. “Do you see these insolent assholes that I have to put up with?” She pointed to Bierectional, who was pulling off his pants and handing them to Tonya Hardon. “Useless disguises!” She waved an arm at Resting Slut Face who was fluffing Resting Bitch Face’s fur. “Sympathy ploys!” She circled around and placed an accusatory finger at Tuna on Top. “Legally mandated accommodations!”
“Now drop and give me twenty—shots!”
Cirque du So Lame groaned and complied as Cream Chugger cheered him on.
Cockamole turned back to the line. “Okay guys. Ready, set—now conga!”
Dickweed stumbled over Dick Ass Mother Fucker, who ran into Circle Jerk. 9 ½ Wanks nearly cried from laughing so hard. Rent Whore looked around in shock at the multiple fatalities.
“What a catastrophe!” Cockamole shook her head.
“Millimeter Peter, Five Angry Inches, the measuring tape!” Commanded Sleazy. “This is now a crime scene. Dick Simmons, grab your camera. The Perfect Woman, prepare the body bags.” Together they pulled a sheet over The Uniballer and John Handcock.
“Don’t try to cover this up!” Shaft accused. “The city is liable for this! You’ll be hearing from my attorney!” He pointed at Fuck Buddy who pretended to be staring at some pigeons being harassed by Do Her Well and Just Doesn’t Get It.
“Just how much have you been drinking?” Cockamole strolled up to him. “A beer? Maybe you had two?”
Shaft shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable.
“Clearly whatever amount it is… you are over the limit—of sobriety!” Sleazy triumphantly pointed out. “Coherent thoughts? Legitimate accusations? You haven’t even started to dance a merry jig! It’s outrageous that you think you should be out on the streets in this state. Cosmopolitits, send him to the drunk tank.”
Hand Pump’s van opened up, and Shaft was unceremoniously flung in to join Wee Wee and Tears of Semen.
And the pack ran off into the night.