The Secret of NIMBY

 

 

 

They stood silent and still, noses raised in the air as if they could smell their pursuers. “I can practically taste the radiation,” Just Omar said to no one in particular, as they scurried past the rocks bordering the ocean. Fuck Norris ran faster, she had seen the same markings on the containers lining the halls when Good Shit had left and had… not come back quite the same.

 

 

 

“Hand Pump said it would be this way,” Just Get It Over With nodded towards some torn down fencing, instinctively avoiding the streetlight’s glare as she edged through the hole. Suddenly ferocious growls filled the air, and Operation Golden Flow pushed Buck Fucka and Just Justine aside as he leapt out of sight. Together they reassembled a block down the road next to an abandoned bulldozer, out of range of the creature that had detected their presence.

 

 

 

“It almost got me! It almost got me!” Dick Ass Mother Fucker whisper-screamed as he rocked back and forth, and not even a calming pat on the back from Miss Delivery could soothe him.

 

 

 

“Oh, please,” Roman Showers rolled her eyes as she approached them. “Get it together. That chihuahua was playing dead for me with a single word.”

 

 

 

Machu Machu Man paced apprehensively. “This is just the beginning, I knew we shouldn’t have tried to leave. They have designed this entire world, here on this island, and they control everything! Everything!”

 

 

 

The group hushed as a car rolled by. The Uniballer coughed for attention. “I know I haven’t said much either way on this, but I don’t think we have a choice. We have to escape. The things… the things they did to me, in there, well, they shouldn’t be done to anyone. Without lots and lots of safe words.”

 

 

 

“What did they do exactly?” John Handcock asked.

 

 

 

“Look, there are things that your mind isn’t prepared for--” The Uniballer started.

 

 

 

“It was fisting,” Gobble My Ass explained.

 

 

 

“Fisting?!” squeaked Five Angry Inches. “How—they’re like one hundred times the size of us?”

 

 

 

“I just had to narrate a Safe Sex guide, okay?” The Uniballer stomped his foot. “They thought it would be ‘cute’ if I did it. Well, I only look ‘cute.’” He bared his teeth.

 

 

 

“At any rate, I’m not giving birth on this island,” Roman Showers concluded. “We’re going to follow Do Her Well and Just Doesn’t Get It’s route, and we’re getting to a better life.”

 

 

 

“Do Her Well’s probably dead by now!” Bierectional yelled.

 

 

 

“We saw them fifteen minutes ago, they’re fine,” Fucker shook his head. “We keep going.”

 

 

 

The pack ran together, darting around corners and weaving through tall grasses, until they skirted around to the south side of the island. “Backside Banger!” yelled Buck Fucka. “We’re saved—but where are Do Her Well and Just Doesn’t Get It?”

 

 

 

Backside shook his head slowly. “They were worried there were pursuers on their tails… and they took off to lead them away. Hand Pump left to help. Listen, I have these jello shots and these trench coats. If we all stand on each other’s shoulders under the trench coats, we can board the bus and be free of this place.”

 

 

 

“What do the jello shots have to do with it?” Millimeter Peter wondered.

 

“It’s a bad idea to be jammed in a tight space with you lot without them,” Muff Daddy explained.

 

 

 

“But what about Do Her Well? And Just Doesn’t Get It?” Betty Cocker frowned. “We can’t leave them.”

 

 

 

John Handcock had already taken off, followed by Dick Simmons. “Someone has to take pictures for the tell-all documentary!” He yelled, voice fading. Several others followed, while the rest of the group watched nervously.

 

As the sun set, the group stood closer and closer together, gazing into the distance. The return of John Handcock, looking triumphant, forebode a happy ending. Soon after, Do Her Well and Just Doesn’t Get It followed.

 

 

 

“That everyone?” asked Tricrapylete, patting them on the back.

 

 

 

Do Her Well’s whiskers twitched. “Hand Pump is coming right behind me, but I’m worried about Deadbeat and Hoseblower… I tried to call out to them, but it was no use.”

 

 

 

Vagina Dentata pulled her to the side. “We can’t wait for them. We have to organize if we’re going to get out of here safely. Help me with the drinks.”

 

 

 

Vagina Dentata raised his voice. “We have to blend in with the humans now, so we have to practice our sense of human humor. Cum Test Dummy, what did the ghost say to the bee?”

 

 

 

She shrugged.

 

 

 

“Boo bee!” He laughed. “Now everyone, laugh!” Rent Whore bent over forcibly with laughter, while Banana in Public slapped her on the back because he thought she was choking.

 

 

 

“Now, we have to drink like humans. LCB, drink these!” Vagina Dentata pointed to a row of twenty drinks. LCB was very quick to comply, but twenty drinks was a bit too much for one small creature. “Orieanal Express, help him!”

 

 

 

One and Done pulled out a large tablet and tapped it. “The bus is en route.” 

 

 

 

“Quick, everyone, to the stop!” Vagina Dentata pulled the trenchcoat over himself, ushering Millimeter Peter, Rent Whore, Muff Daddy, Dick Ass Mother Fucker, and Just Get It Over With in after him. The rest of the group followed suit, and they wobbled unsteadily over to the stop.

 

 

 

“We can’t just leave them,” Just Get It Over With whispered as she thought of Deadbeat and Hoseblower. “They won’t make it without us.”

 

 

 

The lights of the bus grew nearer and nearer, but just as it started down the block, two small figures darted across the road.

 

“You made it!” yelled Do Her Well gleefully.

 

 

 

“I found Hoseblower at the top,” Deadbeat panted. “And then we turned left at some vines, but I think we should have turned right. And there was a rock wall in the way, so we managed to get out by climbing up a tree.”

 

 

 

“Shhh!” Vagina Dentata yelled from up top. “Humans don’t usually talk to their own asses.”

 

 

 

They quieted down just as the doors opened, and moved into the warmth of the bus. A small snicker from down below, and a rapid squeak as if someone’s ear had been bitten could be heard behind the clink of the quarters into the coin slot. They moved slowly to a nearby seat.

 

 

 

“Sir? SIR!” The driver called them back. “You need this.” She stuffed a ticket in the pocket of the coat when no hands were offered. “The night shift,” she muttered to herself, as she drove the bus up the ramp to the bridge and towards the lights of a city that was, for its passengers, full of promise.