“We’re here at the SFH3 gala, and everyone’s decked in their finest threads,” Humpy Slowcum stepped back to allow for a full view of the crowd. “Luckily for you, I’ll be your referee to judge who owned it, and who boned it.”

“Just Get It Over With here has exchanged some harsh words with our sponsor, Dick Simmons, but even she managed a monochrome modality.” Just Get It Over With simply turned up her nose, while Dick Ass Mother Fucker took the opportunity to show off the lengths he had gone to for his finest black and white threads.

“Meanwhile,” Humpy continued, undeterred, “after some controversy, Muff Daddy has enforced the traditional dress for newcomers.”  Wine Rack mouthed ‘I’m sorry’ as she handed over a bright orange vest.

“And this is all leading up to the prestigious runway event, which I am told will begin any minute now.” Humpy lowered his voice as Dickweed and Blowfish lined up, with Fucker and One and Done close behind. The lights dimmed, and in step, they marched, Cockamole and Miss Delivery taking their turn, followed by visitor Uptight Butt Good. At the end of the runway, the group paused and stopped entirely. Dickweed took one tentative step forward, and then looked back at the mass, uncertain.

“Ah, an auspicious start,” Humpy grabbed Dick Simmons from the sidelines. “Dick Simmons! Can we have some commentary from our designer?”

“Well, you see, they really should know where to go from here. Let’s just watch…”

Five Angry Inches ran full-speed from behind and crashed into the mass of hashers.

“Where are our stage directions? How can anyone know what to do or where to go!?” Do Her Well whispered from behind them. Cuming Mutha stood behind her, arms crossed. In the audience, Motor Mount and Jizzard stood up to grab refreshments, with Backwash gesturing to them to grab extra for her and Wash This Asshole. Look Who’s Coming To Dinner was already at the bar.

“The spirit of artistry really does demand some freedom within the confines of even the most formal occasion,” Dick Simmons nodded sagely, eyes fixed on the stage. “Let’s see where this goes.”

Hoseblower and THUNDERPISS ran across the stage, udders flapping in unison. E=McFucked was climbing one of the curtains. In the background, epic pictures of Alcatraz, the Golden Gate Bridge, and Ghirardelli Square flashed rapidly by, as Boner Marrow and Fuck Buddy tried to geolocate by birdsong and the positioning of the artificial sun. However, the birdsong turned out to just be Gloryhole, whistling.

“It’s exit stage left!” Hand Pump whisper-called, but Just Doesn’t Get It simply leapt off of the front of the stage, nearly falling into Just Diana and Just Karin. Pomegranate Pullout negotiated a more graceful exit, leading Touchmaster 69 and Famous Anus off to close out the show.

“The whole night’s been a bit of a wash,” Crabs remarked to Humpy. “The models kept muttering about looking for small balls, which I honestly had no hope of helping them with. I think I’m going to be late for my cucumber and yogurt facial, and someone keeps trying to shove ice cream in my beer instead of beer in my ice cream. I am going to give this whole thing Three Fingers.”

“No fingers!” shouted Humpy.

End Scene