“They started as many, but became one. And then as one became many once more,” Hoseblower remarked, digging through the trash bag. Wee Wee looked at him skeptically as he pulled out a bag of Maple Bacon potato chips.
Good Shit Lollicock rubbed his belly. “Gimme some of that. I’m about to rebirth a food baby.”
“I’m Just Helen.” A comely harriette approached him, sliding an arm alongside the small of his back. “I come once a year. For One Night Only. And tonight is that night.” But Good Shit could not hear her over the crinkling of the bag, and it was as if she had never spoken at all.
“Flour in the wind,” Backside Banger sang to himself. “All we are is flour in the wind.”
“Uber Luber and Ru Ru Rimmin did leave a lot here,” Zippercised pointed out, mostly to himself. “Well this should be interesting.”
And the pack took off, Dick Simmons holding camera aloft. “I capture these moments, but myself am outside them,” he opined. “Is it better to have a transient glimpse of life as it were, or to live fully within the them with no record of what has passed?”
“As long as you get my good side,” Stinky Floss remarked.
“Your utilitarian view suits you well,” Fucker commented. “But it is ultimately all meaningless, for all will be destroyed by the progress of time.”
The pack paused at the split. “Turkey, Eagle, what shall we do?” asked Cirque du So Lame.
“It is best not to live on extremes,” Fuck Norris told him. “We shall take the middle route.”
“What the hell is she on about?” Just Cam asked. “Trail doesn’t go that way.”
“It’s like in Snow Buddies when the dogs decide they have to stand up for their friends. Sometimes you can’t follow the course proscribed,” Just Ben explained.
“Yes, but I would like to get to the beer,” Just Chris insisted.
“I think you’ll find more enlightenment in sobriety,” No Shit scolded.
The pack, as a whole, paused and stared. Double Man Cum edged away from him nervously.
“Um, I think we should just go back to the start.” Weekend At Abba’s suggested, turning and walking away quickly. In silence, everyone followed.
Quickly Zippercised and Millimeter Peter convened Circle, calling up the Hares to unearth the truth about what was going on.
“We celebrate what is neither seen nor unseen,” Uber Luber proclaimed, kneeling to the ground.
Ru Ru Rimmin knelt beside him. “We cling to things that are impermanent and therefore unsatisfactory. We leave behind the transient and move toward what remains. And what remains is nothing.”
“And I thought we had the good drugs,” Zippercised remarked. “And all this involves having no beer?”
“Alcohol clouds the mind and separates us from the true path,” Sodomentary Cock explained.
“So you want us, at a drinking club with a running problem, to stop drinking?” Cockamole asked, then turned away to keep from laughing.
“Yes!” Uber Luber said with increased urgency.
“And how exactly are you going to… make us?” Millimeter Peter asked delicately.
Uber Luber and Ru Ru Rimmin looked at each other and nodded. “Oooooooooohm.” They hummed in unison, and were soon joined by at least half of the pack. “Oooooooooooohm.”
The sound was unceasing, impenetrable, and increasingly aggravating. Allahu Aqbark, Scatmaster, and all of the other dogs in the neighborhood echoed the sound, howling to the moon. Wrinklepecker and Masterbaster tugged their hounds to no avail.
“Ok, ok, ok fine.” Zippercised agreed. “We’ll try it your way, just shut the fuck up. I think we have some birthdays?”
Sister Fister, Buck Fucka, and Allahu Aqbark all came forward. “It’s my five thousandth,” Sister Fister announced proudly. “But I don’t think I look a day over two.”
“Oh, please,” Cunty Butler rolled her eyes. “Everyone knows the soul is no more permanent than that cup that you’re holding.”
“That’s bullshit!” Titty Boo Boo thrust his flask behind his back as all eyes turned to him. “I told you I was a bobcat in my last life.”
“Just because you’re an Manther now…” Just Doesn’t Get It muttered.
“Have none of you even studied Buddhism? Everything you’re going on about seems like it was arbitrarily pulled from a Wikipedia page!” Roman Showers proclaimed.
“Um,” Do Her Well looked around guiltily. “I mean… ohm.”
“It’s like none of you have even read all of the eight precepts!” Roman Showers ranted.
“Huh?” I Cunt Hear You looked up.
“Like do you really expect anyone from this group to stick to precept three for more than a week?”
“What exactly is precept three?” Uber Luber asked. “For anyone here who doesn’t know. We know, for sure, of course.”
“That’s the part about abstaining from sexual impropriety.” My Little Porno chimed in helpfully.
Uber Luber and Ru Ru Rimmin looked at each other, panic rising in their eyes. “In that case, pass the bottle opener!” Ru Ru Rimmin turned to Twerxes, who shrugged guiltily, hash-shit-less. Six Tits A Week passed him a beer.
“Well, as long as we are back to our selfish, drunken, sexually capitalist notions, dues are due!” Perfect Woman reminded them.
And just as circle was about to commence in this trash, just when Mouth Down South thought he was about to escape drinking for new shoes in the written world as he tried in the physical, he is called up once more for beer to be poured into the best vessel of all. And now I shall have to close instead of following along with the songs that were sung as he awaited his down down, for they went on so long and so interminably that it can be said the pack truly reached nirvana.