SFH3 Run #1918: Mardi Gras Trail
|:||Washington Square Park|
|:||Mary Tyler Whore|
|:||Do Her Well|
Once upon a time in a land far away, there lived a beautiful princess who cared deeply for his people. His days were spent in toil, and his nights were spent sleeplessly tossing and turning as he worried over the burdens they faced.
“Oh Princess,” pled Mary Tyler Whore on one fine evening. “You must cease worrying and come frolick with us. I have prepared an evening of delights, with tasty food and drink that not even Worst Bottom Ever would frown at. Circle Jerk will be there, and Fuck Buddy too! I even heard that Pornarazzi and Mount Me have journeyed over two hundred leagues to grace us with their presence.”
“Alas,” said he, turning his face away from the dying light of the day. “There is simply too much to be done.”
“Cum Test Dummy!” cried Mary Tyler Whore. “Bring forth the djinn!”
Some banging could be heard in the background, and a yelp that might have come from Limbo Bimbo’s mouth sounded through the hall.
“Wow, I thought you were supposed to be the quick messenger,” Cream Throat Willy muttered, only to be silenced by a steady glare from Cum Test Dummy.
“Madam,” she said gravely. “The djinn.”
He was a skinny man, wearing only a vest and loose silk pants. His curly hair sprung up slightly as if teased by a light breeze. “Djinn Dick Simmons here, at your service, Princess.”
“Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy! Yessiryesshesfat! Prepare my carriage. We are going out.” To the djinn, the Princess stuck out his hand. “I am Princess Menage-a-Lot. Let’s get started.”
They emerged from the castle into a lively crowd, already preoccupied with the night’s games. Wrinklepecker was telling stories to a small crowd including Five Angry Inches and Bloqueen, while Cosmopolitits and Wee Wee were cutting and divvying up the cake.
“So how many of these wishes do I get?” asked Princess Menage-a-Lot.
“Oh, three is usually the standard amount,” the djinn said absently, clearly taken by the crowd.
“Yes, but how many do I get?” Menage-a-Lot persisted.
“Well the wishes are for everyone, aren’t they? Oh, are they running?” The djinn saw that some of the crowd had taken off, with Udder Moron yelling excitedly and Just Doesn’t Get It blowing a whistle. “I love running!” And with that he was off, darting after Dickweed into the night.
“Oh. Oh no.” And Menage had no choice but to follow. “Excuse me, excuse me!” He puffed through the masses, pushing past One Night Only. Courtesy Flush was regaling Miss Delivery about the ruins that were still standing when he had last run by over a century before. Just Jakob was nodding along, while Just Jeff was peering around for his virgin to no avail.
“Excuse ME!” Stinky Floss bowled over the ten schoolchildren that were blocking the streetcorner.
“Have you seen the djinn?” Menage yelled to every person he passed by. “Any djinn?”
“Well, gin’s good,” Mouth Down South remarked. “But it’s no Malort.”
“Oh yes,” Tuna on Top said. “I saw him. I was wishing that I knew where the beer check was.”
“And?” Princess Menage-a-Lot held out his hands.
“And now I do,” Tuna nodded and ran off into the night.
“That’s one down,” muttered Menage grimly.
Deadbeat pointed him in the right direction, and Menage found encouragement from Sister Fister, who insisted the djinn had just passed. But upon encountering Good Shit Lollicock his hopes quickly fell.
“I thought it was pretty clear,” Do Her Well retorted. “ ‘I don’t want no stinking tunnel of love. I’ve been down that too many times. I wish that I never find myself anywhere near it again.’ I mean, what else was he supposed to think.”
“He said ‘maybe you’ll have better luck with men!’” Good Shit wailed.
“Oh no, I felt a tingle when he said it.” Good Shit shook his head. “I swear I did.”
“Herpes?” Do Her Well shrugged. “Look, let me share my discount code for Good Vibrations, just in case.”
“Christ,” Menage-a-Lot ran off in chagrin. “That’s two wasted.”
The night was getting darker and colder, but still Menage persisted on the track of the djinn, past the fine drinks Sleazy was offering, past the white caravan driven by Hand Pump, past the walker’s oasis where Shaft was entertaining Muff Daddy, Brown Eye, and Whack-a-boob with card tricks.
“Aha! Vagina Dentata!”
“Who? Oh yes, me, that’s right.” He draped Menage with at least ten pounds worth of beads. “Sorry about this, I was trying to sort it out, and not even that weird chap from out of town would help me.”
“You mean the djinn?” Menage gasped.
“Yeah, that sounds right. He was standing right by me, just looking, and I said ‘I wish I could figure this out.’”
“And then he just said, ‘I know how to do it.” And ran off. Straight away, no help whatsoever. Can you believe that?”
“So there’s still a wish,” Menage let out the breath he was holding and sped off into the night.
He caught up to the djinn in the park taking selfies with Minor 69er and Princess Labia.
“Thank god I still have a wish, right?” Menage blurted out. “I mean, do I?”
“Oh, yes, right. One wish coming up. What will it be?” The djinn straightened up and eyed Menage carefully.
“All my life I’ve cared for my people, and all I’ve desired is their happiness and satisfaction.” The crowd grew quiet and still. “I don’t even know what to wish except that they may know how deeply I love them and that they may feel how much I value them.” The Princess’s voice grew louder and more melodic, and Menage’s eyes widened.
“I can show you the hash…”
Sonorous notes rolled over the crowd and a long and heartfelt melody emerged. The group rocked slowly back and forth through all sixteen verses. As the song came to an end, Sister Fister clapped slowly, and Can’t Eat Pussy wiped a tear from his eye.
Menage too needed a moment before he could gather himself. He frowned suddenly, coming back down to earth. “Wait, that was it? That was my wish?”
“Yep!” The djinn popped out of existence.