SFH3 Run #1750
: 01/11/2016
: West Portal Playground, by Lenox & Verdun
: Bloke Ween
: Do Her Well

Some would say that I am mad, but a creature such as myself has not the capacity, has not the desires that would drive mortal men insane. For though I have lived on this earth quite an age, and seen many roads here and yon, it is myself that I have remained true to. Myself, and the old man.


It is hard to say how the idea entered my head, how I first considered embarking down this dark and forbidden trail, but once it was there I could not remove it! Far too long I had been subject to his impositions, and though his kind face had long encouraged me, the weight of his demands I could stomach no longer. The Saab grill—it might be that at last, it was the Saab grill! When I thought of it, my blood ran cold, my heart shuddered, and I trembled with the weight of it dragging against the wind. With just one move, one casual false turn of my engine, and I would be rid of it, their belongings, and their demands forever!


You must think me mad, considering a scrapyard a better fate than the weekly journeys that we embarked on. But you know nothing, nothing of the demands of one such as Eat My Pussy, nothing of the casual way that Rocky Mountain Oyster slings a door open. Even the kind words of Tears of Semen cannot lubricate the microabrasions in my engine.  And so I proceeded—with what caution you cannot imagine! I was never nicer to them but the night before I killed myself. I did not tumble the weight of my door on Just Jackie, I pleasantly held Heracknophobia’s wind up vibrator for her while she changed. I even congratulated Sir Menage-A-Lot on his gay marriage and got not one word of thanks. With this, my resolve was steeled.


As we drove to the beer check, I was more cautious then ever before. I nearly ran over Just Aaron in his headphones due to my distraction, but the close call further bolstered my resolution. The hour was nigh. I crept towards the parking spot inch by inch, waiting to cause my own doom. As I felt the fluid spray from within my engine, I must admit feeling a pang of regret, as sharp as the IUD that Just Anna kept talking about entering her like a space shuttle.


The old man came up to me in a flutter, the neighbors had raised a cry. I said nothing. For several minutes I did not move a cylinder, and then at last my engine shuddered to life. Bloqueen gave a hollow cry of relief.


But it was to be short-lived, for the old man quickly discovered that my work had been done. A groan emerged from him, not a groan of satisfaction or of fatigue. The only sound that overroad the chortle of my engine was a groan of mortal terror. But it was too late, the work had commenced. No brakes, no steering, it was only by the skin of his teeth that he was to get me to the crest of the hill.  I knew what the old man felt, and pitied him, but my heart also welled with satisfaction.


Slowly the hashers gathered to our side, the hare receiving some pointed phone calls. Chicken Bone Her and Who’s Your Daddy quickly gave up the plot and transported themselves to a bar, while Perfect Woman attempted to locate some fluids for me, though I can aver that none of my fluids are as white or as thick in nature.


While they were grousing, as Banana In Public pulled his second pair of jeans out of the back, it was then that my senses detected it. Thump. Thump. Bitch’s Bitch showed up and immediately started to lighten the keg. Thump. Thump. The sound enraged me, it was my very own pump betraying me for the old man.


The group conferred, Titty Boo Boo rushing off with Fixed Queer and Cunty Butler to figure out a backup plan. Backside Banger stationed himself next to the keg to better supervise. Thump. Thump. None of them had noticed the pounding, increasing slowly in fervor.


Mandatory Fun introduced himself to Just Justin by whipping out a glove. Thump. Thump. Gloryhole pulled Hoseblower to the top of the hill, only to watch him scramble away backwards on trail. Thump. Thump.


I smiled to myself. What did I have to worry about? These half-minds hadn’t heard or noticed a thing. All I had to do was keep quiet and they would be dumb enough to walk away. A nice gust of wind could dislodge me from my perch and send me careening down the hill. Thump.


Allahu Aqbark sidled up next to my engine, sniffing for treats, and I froze in terror. The wily canine tugged his Masterbaster ever closer, whining slightly. Thump. Thump. The jig would be up, but Masterbaster had been summoned by Drunkin Honuts to confer with the old man. Thump. Thump. We were momentarily safe.


It was but moments later that Titty Boo Boo arrived back with his poor excuse for four wheels, and all bags, food, and beer had been nestled firmly on the backseat, at least what the rest of the sorry crew had not absconded with. One by one, they drifted away into the night until only three solitary figures remained.


The trio split off around me, surrounding me on all sides. The slow rasp of zippers broke through the night’s stillness, and though I braced for it, I could not stop a shiver as warm liquid graced the inner walls of my tire wells, pulsing in a familiar tune.


“Villains!” I shrieked. “It is I whose deed this is! Open the engine, here, and here, and see all is well! You may drive me to the start, and then a carwash, for what you hear is the beating of my hideous pump!”


“Did you hear something?” Deadbeat asked John Handcock as he zipped up.


The other shrugged, and started to make his way down the hill along with Just Doesn’t Get It. Deadbeat followed, leaving the Van alone, and slightly damp, in the darkness.