SFH3 Run #1893
|:||Palace of Fine Arts Parking Lot|
|:||Do Her Well|
A slight rumbling through the ground completely disrupted the otherwise orderly and well attended chalk talk. Do Her Well threw herself into the beer van, shouting “Earthquake!” Backside Banger helped himself to another beer just in case.
“I think maybe they are tap dancing in there?” suggested Fix Her Up Her, nodding towards the open door of the Palace of Fine Arts, where performers had been streaming in and out. The ground rumbled ominously once more.
“I think someone had the tummy rumbles,” Bierectional speculated, patting his own and looking around.
“On on!” yelled Just Doesn’t Get It, leaving no more room for debate.
Weiner I Am dashed across the street, frightening small children with his heedless disregard for safety. Fuck Buddy and Bitch’s Bitch followed, while Dick Simmons strapped on his GoPro in case anything “viral” should happen. The pack trod over well-groomed lawns, causing at least one security guard to swallow his fizzy pop down the wrong way.
“But seriously, what is that?” One and Done wondered as he felt the earth’s slightest movement beneath his soles. Around them, traffic continued on unperturbed, indicating it was a signal that was not penetrating into the consciousness of the average San Franciscan.
Minor 69er whipped out her phone and tapped over to the Earthquakes.gov site. “Nothing posted,” she huffed, as the trail took them up and in through the Presidio, where the coyotes looked out at the melee and sniffed in disdain.
“Wait!” yelled Rent Whore. “I want my friend to come!” She held an elbow out for No More Bush, who steadied herself gratefully.
“Don’t be rude, Dick Ass,” grumbled Rent Whore.
“No, I meant he was—I was calling him—Nevermind.”
“Just because I said they looked good enough to eat doesn’t mean I would,” One Night Only claimed, as she handed The Uniballer and The Perfect Woman drinks, which they downed in succession.
Fucker had already taken off, followed closely by Pepe Le Poop. They rounded the corner and dashed down the street, with Tonya Hardon close at their heels. To no one’s surprise, the trail turned sharply into the Presidio once more. However, Just Omar came to a screeching halt at the unexpected sight before his eyes. There, to the right of the newly erected baseball fields, stood two massive giants. One of them was using a baseball bat as a toothpick, while another was trying on the tarp as a miniskirt. It was entirely naked otherwise.
“Um, did anyone NOT imbibe at the drink check?” he asked, staring upwards.
“I didn’t,” Motormount answered. “Wow, those are big.” It was unclear whether he was referring to the giants as a whole or in part.
“So you’re seeing what I’m seeing?” asked Just Omar, uncertainly. “And it’s not because of the Fireball.”
“Yeah, totally. I mean, after my beer mile practice session I didn’t want to push it too much. Hey, I wonder if those can ride the pink elephants that were back by Lombard.”
“These are not my neighbors,” Tuna on Top said with suspicion. “Usually there’s an entire bulletin that’s sent out when someone new moves in, and I’ve gotten nothing.”
“Sure looks like they’re moving in,” Masterbaster remarked. “Now, we just have to edge around them…”
At that point Jizzard couldn’t contain himself and ran up to the giants, barking like a madman. One of the giants pointed and laughed, throwing the baseball bat it had been using like a stick across the field. Jizzard darted across, retrieving it and bringing it back, saliva and all.
Unfortunately, the other giant was not as distracted by Jizzard’s antics.
“Mine!” it yelled, pointing at Circle Jerk, who nearly bashed his cranium on an overhanging branch as he ran in fright. Golden Snowball nearly was grabbed in the confusion, but luckily Five Angry Inches ran right between the giant’s legs, causing it to reach after him and somersault over.
But the giants were still gaining on them. “You’re lucky they weren’t at the Gay Games,” Gingervitis remarked to Eat My Pussy. “They would’ve beaten you easily and would have been eager to do it.”
The falling darkness couldn’t quite hide Eat My Pussy’s blush.
Together they all ran back towards the waterfront, Wee Wee and Millimeter Peter tag teaming the giants, Wee Wee distracting the giants with her new bling on her finger and Millimeter Peter flashing them with his… light. As they darted down the pier, a pair of passersby flagged down the group.
“We’re looking for a bullet,” they demanded. They pointed to a map, several pictures, an eight hundred year old document, and a picture of Nic Cage. “Can you help us?”
“So are we!” shouted Flushlight, not stopping. Do Her Well lingered for a moment more, captivated by the prospect of a damsel in distress, but even she had to move on when Machu Machu Man pointed out she was spoken for.
“What do we do?” wondered Sniff My Box. “Is this a part of your trail?” she demanded of Tricrapylete.
He looked at the giants, who were batting a goose back and forth like a volleyball. “Of course,” Tricrapylete puffed up his chest. “Everything is going entirely… um… entirely to plan.”
“We’ll do what we usually do,” Wash This Asshole. “Drink beer and hide from the cops.”
One of the giants stumbled into the column supporting dome rising above them. The concrete groaned and started to crumble. Simultaneously, the second giant knocked into one on the other side.
“Oh no! Oh no you don’t!” Sleazy yelled as the giants started to book it. “You, over there. And you! Over there!” The giants moved under her guidance, grabbing the top of the dome and holding it into place.
“Ah.” Hand Pump ambled over. “Now it seems that you all have caused a bit of a disturbance.” His mustache itself spoke to them of their shame. One of the giants nodded slowly. “Now, you’re going to have to stay there until it gets fixed.” The second giant nodded in agreement, and they stood together in place.
Muff Daddy put a virgin vest over each of the giants’ big toe. “You can drink for free tonight. Next time it’s $7… er $70 dollars.” When Fuck Buddy frowned at him, he shrugged. “What?! They’re ten times our size!”
Chicken Bone Her grabbed her beer before the giants worked out how to get to the keg without letting go of the dome. “Think they’ll make it to the next hash?” she wondered.
“At the rate the city schedules its repairs?” Fuck Norris answered. “Not fucking likely.”