SFH3 Run #1974
|:||Do Her Well|
"Hello, agents," Mouth Down South puffed on a plastic pipe. "I see that we've assembled all across the city--"
"And the East Bay!" piped in Cream Throat Willie.
"And the East Bay," allowed Mouth Down South. "In order to carry out our secret, elite, prosperous, agile, and thrilling top secret mission. In the event of your demise, please understand we will disavow any knowledge of your activities, and perhaps not even admit that we know who you are."
"We probably would do that anyway," Cream Throat shrugged.
"Do you think you are prepared--"
"Food's here!" Dildo Baggins jumped up.
Do Her Well tried to figure out if she had something in between her teeth her camera view. CPA almost julienned a finger off, while Hand Pump adjusted his video so the fog level was appropriate for a call coming from San Bruno.
"I'm back! Can I plate, or..." Dildo Baggins shrugged.
"It's really best we are off," Mouth Down South declared. "We will reconvene in one hour's time. Be silent. Be safe."
"Be sexy!" yelled Cream Throat, before they all logged off.
"Hello? Hello?" Can't Rush Anal peered into her screen, not quite believing her eyes.
"It all went according to plan," Cream Throat was still breathing heavily. "Don't worry, if he wakes up, he'll just think that he fell asleep for a really long time and had a long hallucination. Just like all of us!"
"Who's that? And why are you in... Pee Wee's Playhouse?" Can't Rush Anal hazarded a guess.
"Well yeah, duh, how else was I gonna capture Paul Reubens."
"I thought we were just... supposed... to go on a run? Alone?" Can't Rush Anal shrugged.
"I've written an excellent ransom letter," Do Her Well informed them. "I encapsulated it in a story of Just Doesn't Get It's cross country cycling in the nineties."
"But if it's a ransom letter, aren't people supposed to, you know... understand you are asking for ransom?" Can't Rush Anal wondered.
"They can just read between the lines," Do Her Well assured them.
"I've found the blueprints to the nuclear power station," Just Erin logged on. "And I have made a scale model of them using buttercream and fondant on an excellent vanilla and bourbon sponge cake so we can plot our plan of entry."
"I think you were supposed to find the blueprints to Bare Bottle and Seven Stills... which are breweries." Mouth Down South had logged back on at last.
"Breweries, nuclear power plants, they both have lots of vats. It's pretty much the same thing," Just Erin assured them.
"I will let you know that in spite of my continued work commitments, I managed to secure the email account information and passwords of no less than ten top executives at Exxon."
"What the fuck do we want with oil?" Cum Test Dummy shouted. "Oil is worthless right now! Look, as I understood it, you were supposed to get the account information of Essential Oil sellers on Facebook. We were going to use their world-wide pyramid scheme to both ascertain the wellbeing of our loved ones and to gain monetary resources to purchase a plot of land in Lodi which would serve as the manufacturing plant for our new line of beers. After I had stolen the hops from various Bay Area breweries-- and no, nuclear power plants will not work instead-- Hand Pump's network of distributors along with the delivery driver Dildo Baggins had kidnapped-- you did kidnap him?"
"Um..." Dildo Baggins grinned widely and nervously.
"Nevermind. Using Mouth Down South's viral meme-making abilities and capitilizing on the controversial yet still reminiscent specter of Paul Reubens, we would have launched our brand at the perfect moment to take over majority market share for alcohol distribution and sales worldwide. Except none of you managed to do anything right at all!"
"Excuse me, I had to work," Tuna on Top crossed her arms.
"I captured Paul Reubens!" Cream Throat protested.
Cum Test Dummy leaned in. "That's totally a dummy. You can see the string."
"No one will notice! No one's seen him in years!" Cream Throat threw back.
"Hey, I totally made some memes," Mouth Down South chimed in.
"Yeah, about Joe Exotic, you and ten million other people," CPA muttered.
"Hey, what were you doing?" Do Her Well pointed out.
"Yeah, fair," Do Her Well shrugged. "But wait, I did my ransom note. That counts?"
"No one was going to use it, we just needed to give you something to do," Mouth Down South informed her.
"Well, I still have my beer distribution network, if anyone's interested," Hand Pump grinned.
"It seems that tonight hasn't been a total waste, after all," Cum Test Dummy allowed, and they all proceeded to get shit-faced.