“This is a Murder Woods,” Cockulus Oculus said. “Exhibit A—“
She gestured towards the dark behind her, where a high pitched squealing could be heard.
“It doesn’t quite sound like someone dying… “ Do Her Well argued.
“It’s definitely someone coming rather than going…” Wee Wee Wee All the Way Home added.
“I think that’s Tonya Hardon?” Visitor Can’t Eat Pussy was a quick study.
“A gal after my own heart,” Screaming Orgasm sighed. They listened as the sounds faded into background of howling coyotes, hooting owls, and someone taking a dump behind the school. Tonya Hardon was off on business of her own devising.
The pack continued, on into the darkness, Wrinklepecker sniffing out flour underneath the light of the full moon as Hello Titties and Got Wood stroked their special lights together. Millimeter Peter ducked under a branch, while Gloryhole rounded the lip of a pothole with ease. Sir Menage A Lot was not so lucky, but his quick recovery had Dickweed speculating about his quickness in other areas.
“Hey, anyone wanna play dog versus human?” Bierectional pointed at a mound tastefully marked by a small pile of flour. No one answered him.
In true SFH3 fashion, the pack continued on in pure silence until another blood curdling screech resounded through the woods.
“Not Tonya Hardon,” Cockulus Oculus pointed out triumphantly. “That would be Exhibit B.”
“It sounded a bit like Backside Banger,” One and Done proclaimed. “Which is silly-- I just loaned him the latest report on the likelihood of kids moving back in with their parents after age 18, so he has plenty of reading material, and no real reason to be wandering in the woods all by himself.”
“It could have been Eat My Pussy,” Skid Mark debated. “I think someone mentioned the latest report on car break-ins in SF.”
“It was me,” admitted Fuck Norris. “I dropped my phone.”
“In Vienna,” remarked Fuck Buddy dryly. “Two weeks ago.”
“I had a delayed reaction,” Fuck Norris answered.
“Let’s keep going,” Banana in Public suggested. “It’s time to just get it over with.”
“Nope, I’m with Muff Daddy and the walkers,” she popped up, disappearing into the dark as quickly as she’d appeared.
“Are they playing at The Fillmore?” wondered Just Doesn’t Get It.
“I had no idea there were this many forests in San Francisco,” Cosmopolitits remarked.
“Are we still in San Francisco?” Machu Machu Man asked.
“EEEEKKK!” Pepe Le Poop screeched. “It grabbed me!” He pointed at a still figure lying on the ground in the middle of trail.
“Exhibit C!” Cockulus Oculus declared triumphantly. “A dead body!” She danced a little jig.
“I’m a metaphor,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker said from his prone position. “For the way that life and the hash have disappointed me at every turn, just as I have disappointed the ones who have come before me.”
“So he’s not really dead?” Worst Bottom Ever asked.
Good Shit prodded him with a toe gingerly. Dick Ass didn’t move. “We have beer near,” Good Shit suggested. Dick Ass still didn’t move.
“He’s dead,” Good Shit declared.
“Maybe we should do something about that?” Tricrapylete wondered. “It can’t be good for the environment.”
“I think he might be compostable,” suggested Mary Tyler Whore.
“Maybe we can carry him?” Dick First Ass Up tried to pick him up.
“Whoa Whoa Whoa.” Dick Ass Mother Fucker stood up. “Okay man. Okay.”
“I was just trying to help...”
“That’s another metaphor. Two many dicks spoil the broth,” Dick Ass Mother Fucker announced.
“I think that’s an idiom,” Bush and A Rack pointed out.
“Hey, watch who you’re calling an idiom,” Vagina Dentata refereed.
“Whew, we thought we lost you guys,” Flushlight and Golden Snowball tumbled out of the darkness.
“Well, I think we lost ourselves,” Cockulus Oculus declared. “We’ve been going for miles.”
“Funny, I’ve only been out a few,” Cuming Mutha emerged from his tesseract. He consulted Fucker’s trail map and blinked. “My it was a long one, wasn’t it.”
“Only as long as you’re miserable,” Hand Pump pulled the beer van up to them.
“You should’ve seen the Murder Woods we went through,” Vagina Dentata told him.
“Oh, that’s not where they bury the bodies,” Hand Pump assured him, pulling a cap down over the scrape near his hairline. “Not anymore, they don’t.”