SFH3 Run #1780: Rubik's Cube
|:||Buck Fucka & Heracknophobia|
|:||Do Her Well|
Heracknophobia frowned and tapped at her phone. “It’s simple. If you follow the Singmaster notation denoted here, and use the appropriate algorithm…”
“I’ve removed plenty of hares’ pants in my day,” John Handcock replied sternly. “I don’t need a fucking Wikipedia page to tell me how to do it.”
Heracknophobia looked at her still-clad behind. “A multi-sided state of mind could change your life,” she said sagely. “You’ll soon see,” she added, running off.
Just Get It Over With put a hand on his shoulder. “May I ask for a small offering of clothing?”
“Yeah, my jockstrap.”
Tears sprang to her eyes, and Just Get It Over With quivered with delight. “A full set! How blessed am I, a sinner!” She pulled off her bra, holding it in exchange, but John Handcock had already disappeared into the light of the setting sun. Luckily Chicken Bone Her was there to grab the prize.
“I trained for this bullshit,” Stinky Floss protested. “Long, hard hours of sweat and blood went into this and they just hand it to you?”
“They didn’t even save a beer for me,” added Minor 69er.
“It’s not about the destination, but the journey.” Cockamole leaned towards them. “The arduous twists and turns that bring you closer and closer to the solution, just to force you to break the pattern again.”
“And then one glorious, final move brings you to the beer check!” Bitch’s Bitch threw his arm out towards the van.
“I wasn’t aware we were drinking Kool-aid tonight,” Titty Boo Boo groused. “Besides, none of you were prodded as hard as I was with Cunty Butler forcing me to mismanage the marathon beer check.”
Just Chris shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his behind. “I might debate you on that point—make that eight points.”
“You want to talk about painful, let me tell you about my last date,” Just Louisa snarked.
Buck Fucka patted Just Chris on the back. “I feel the spirit of the Cube inside you already.”
“Maybe you should stick this up there instead?” Vagina Dentata offered him the hashshit.
“Non-pointed totems are a sin against the Cube,” Heracknophobia proclaimed.
“The Cube abides,” droned Perfect Woman and My Little Porno. Just Doesn’t Get It edged away from them.
“You might have made the trail clearer,” Brown Eye complained to the two hares.
“Straightforward marks are a sin against the Cube,” Buck Fucka and Heracknophobia declared.
“The Cube abides,” chanted Wee Wee and Just Jaci.
“It’s like they’ve all been brainwashed,” muttered Sir Menage-a-Lot. He leapt when Saigon Sally put a calming hand on his shoulder.
“There are over three billion combinations of thoughts, but only one solution,” Now I Know My STDs told him.
“The Cube abides,” Slug and Liquor Faster chorused.
“I’m going to the bar,” Mouth Down South hurried off. “I already gave all my money to the Flying Spaghetti Monster.”
“Let’s bring Just Jesse and Fucker up for birthdays,” Millimeter Peter attempted to rein in their attention.
“The mysteries of the Cube are timeless,” Pythagorass said. “But this year it turns forty-two.”
“The Cube abides,” intoned Bitch Pimp and Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring.
“Visitors?” Cockagami questioned, desperate. Snot Rag and Fifty Shades of Gay presented themselves.
“Fifty shades?” shouted Drunkin Honuts. “Forty-four too many! Get him!”
Douchicorn and Just Ben chased after Fifty Shades, who avoided them by changing directions. “Remove his shades. Remove them, I say!” Heracknophobia and Buck Fucka took chase, while Dick Ass Mother Fucker cut off his last remaining exit.
“This way!” Hand Pump pointed into the open van, where Fifty Shades of Gay gladly jumped to safety. Hand Pump swiftly closed the door after him, locking it quickly. He looked at the approaching crowd, each member clad in One True Color. “The Cube abides,” he said somberly.
“The Cube abides.” They chorused as one.