Outside the bar, the wind blew damp and blustery, dashing a slight drizzle into the faces of any who would step oustide.
Within, Crabs and Backwash were intent over a chessboard, Crabs having made several risky moves of late. Already having lost a rook and castle in one fell swoop, his daring provoked comment from even the barkeeper.
"King me!" he proclaimed.
Backwash stared. She moved her queen. "Check." Then, "I doubt that he's coming tonight."
"That's the worst of hashing on Nob Hill," replied Crabs. "Tourists, hills, the scent of urine. I guess because people will sell their left arm to live in a shithole, they think it doesn't matter."
"Mate," followed Backwash. "You can be white this time."
Crabs narrowed his eyes. The door of the bar slammed. "Muff Daddy!" he stood to greet the tall, circumspect man who had shuffled in.
“Good, you’re here.” Muff Daddy slumped down onto a stool. “I got denied by 5 cars before I got a ride.”
“Oh,” said Backwash. “That’s never happened to me.”
“Yeah.” Muff Daddy pulled out his phone to demonstrate. He clicked on a car on the screen. “See! Denied.”
Backwash frowned. “I didn’t know you could have negative stars on your rating.”
“I’m sharing an account with Uber Luber. They wouldn’t allow me to have one of my own.” Muff Daddy shifted and produced a shoebox from the depths of his hoodie. It landed on the table in the middle of the chessboard. A fly lazily emerged and slowly circled their heads.
“What’s this?” Crabs asked, grabbing for the box. Muff Daddy pulled it back sharply.
“Careful!” He waited until Crabs pulled back his hands. “You both know I’ve travelled in the subterranean food scene for a long time. Anywhere brunch is under $2, and I’m there. Well, I was saying goodbye to one of my old haunts— “
“Bombay Indian Restaurant?”
“Yeah, how did you know?”
Backwash rested her hand on his shoulder. “It’s on the box.”
“Yeah, okay. Anyway, they’re getting a visit from the health department, and they obviously had to get rid of this, so they entrusted it to me.” He opened the box to reveal a small, wizened brown nugget.
“It looks like poop!” yelled Crabs.
“It smells like it too,” added Backwash.
“It’s the Monkey’s Turd,” said Muff Daddy, proudly. “It’s supposed to grant a man three wishes. An old Fakir put a spell on it.”
“Why did he do that?” asked Backwash.
“Why would I know?” replied Muff Daddy. “It’s great! I already had my three wishes.”
“Well, why don’t you let someone else have a turn?” Crabs reached for the box again, only to be blocked by Backwash.
“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” she cautioned. “Maybe we should just focus on our trail tonight, and give this more thought.” She stood up. “Come on, we’re already late.” Without waiting for them to follow, she headed out to the street.
Crabs stood to follow, and Muff Daddy bent to tie his shoe. Crabs glanced towards the door, then back to Muff Daddy. Reaching swiftly into the box, he palmed the turd and thrust it into his pocket.
Arriving at Huntington Park, the three were pleased to see that a large crowd had gathered. On All Fours and Cuming Mutha, having eschewed the traditional cow costumes, were gaily decked out as the San Francisco Twins; in contrast Tears of Semen and BloQueen just showed up in what they’d been wearing the night before. As always taking any excuse to be slutty, ABAAH had found his best pair of torn fishnets and was exchanging notes with Foul Balls, who had to date kept his pair intact.
Crabs and Backwash gathered the group together, explaining the marks to Virgins Vincent and Hallie, and pulled everyone into a group photo.
“Trail starts that way!” yelled Crabs. He reached into his pocket absentmindedly. “I hope everyone has a real good time.”
The universe paused for a fraction of a second, then chaos broke out.
Wrinklepecker flopped unceremoniously on the ground, teeth gnashing wildly, hammer*ead whipping back and forth. Backwash moaned.
“Oy vey!” yelled Squeal For Me. “Somebody do something! He’s drowning!” He looked down at his chest, and flexed his arms. “It’s me! I should do something.” He leapt forward, wrapping his arms around Wrinklepecker’s torso and fins, then flew them both upwards into the air. Seeing the fountain in the park, he flew towards it and dropped Wrinklepecker into the shallow waters. “Oh, if my mother could see me now!” he said proudly.
Meanwhile, Fluffer had escaped from Cowlick and Shaft, who were shuffling themselves uselessly towards the street. Faster than you could blink, he had latched onto Hepatitis Seeing Eye Dog. Slap a Bag of Dickzz pulled his hound away, but it was too late. HepC grew fangs and with a gigantic lunge forward snapped her leash. Both dogs ran off into the night.
“No me puedo creer que esto no sea mantequilla,” remarked Buckfucka, tossing his hair over his shoulders.
“Everybody believes in something and everybody, by virtue of the fact that they believe in something, uses that something to support their own existence.” Dick Simmons said sagely. “But don’t you eat that yellow snow.”
“Crabs,” moaned Backwash with great effort. “Did… you… wish?!”
“No wish mummy woman,” Crabs crossed his arms.
“Je veux du rock n' roll tous les soirs!” Roman Showers cried, holding her baguette as an air guitar. Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring flew above her, sprinkling her with fairy dust.
“Incoming!” shouted MUG, flying straight into Sleazy. They both crashed to the ground. “Shit, I’ve got to get the hang of these.” She dusted herself off, picked up her wand, and looked around on the ground. “There you are!” She bent down to pick up a very small Cockagami, fresh from his dental extraction. “I’ll take care of you,” she said, tucking him into her bustier. “Hey Tut!” she yelled at Just Syd. “I know they didn’t have dentists in Ancient Egypt! Open Wide!”
Cockagami shrugged from the depths of MUG’s cleavage. “No complaining here.”
“It’s working!” squealed Cockamole. A pig flew through the air towards her and crashed into her open arms.
Cherry Poppins looked down in dismay at CumDog Milionaire and Twerksies Like Xerxes, whose noses were twitching at each other. Their fluffy tails wiggled when he handed them an apple. “I never thought I’d say this, but no, I don’t want to fuck like bunnies tonight.” He looked at Crabs. “Do something!”
“Yeah, Crabs,” Masterbaster sidled up to him. “I mean, I really need to take a dump.” He almost scratched his nose before pulling his blade-enhanced hands away from his face. Hoseblower nodded in agreement, waggling his hook hand. “This is going to kill our chances with the ladies.”
“Speak for yourself,” Masterbaster retorted. “Crabs, seriously.”
“Yes, yes, white man,” Crabs muttered, fumbling in his pocket. “Me wish everyone normal.”
“Oh my goodness, what a mess,” exclaimed Marisa. Danyn nodded and bent to help her clean up. “What are people thinking, leaving a park like this?” she added.
Tiffany scrunched up her nose. “Why do I feel like writing? And shouldn’t I be home getting ready for bed at this time of night? Who are all you people?”
Johnny blinked rapidly. “I’m sober!” he exclaimed. “As I should be. Goodnight everyone!”
The crowd broke up, as if emerging from a dream, everyone finding their own way home, until the only three left in the square were Muff Daddy, Anne, and Jeff.
“What happened?” asked Anne.
“I think you made everyone normal,” explained Muff Daddy. “With your three wishes on the Monkey’s Turd.”
Jeff reached into his pocket, throwing the poo onto the ground in disgust. “Then why do you know what’s going on?” he asked incredulously.
Muff Daddy shrugged. “This is my normal?” he suggested.
“Fix it!” insisted Anne. “I just don’t feel right!”
“Ok, ok.” Jeff bent down cautiously and applied one finger to the Turd. It still felt warm. He thought for a moment. “I know. I wish none of this had ever happened.”
And that was how the universe ended.