Look at this. Aren’t you the lucky one? Instead of one shitty hash trash you are blessed with eight shitty hash trashes. Enjoy.
Cuming Mutha dived into the bushes and scraped mud underneath his eyes. He paused as Douchicorn ran past. Behind him, Just Oso trotted and paused. With a human like voice, he screeched, “I’m coming for you!”
Cuming Mutha shook his head. The dog had grown in power, starting in the government lab, and each remarkable feat had increased his cuteness tenfold. Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring, just tonight, had actually melted at the sight of him. Literally a puddle on the ground. It’d been all that Agent Wrinklepecker could do to distract the rest of the pack.
It was Cuming Mutha’s duty to separate him from the rest of the pack and…
“Yo, big C!” Do Her Well waved anxiously. He could actually see Brown Eye setting trail in the distance. Apparently other duties would have to be satisfied tonight.
Me No Engrish once again started her wind up generator on her flashlight. Tonight was the perfect night to test it. She had barely gotten it out of the pile of supplies in her closet, so best to make it count.
“Look, gifts!” Zippercised pulled out a package, then frowned at its size. Unwrapping it, he could not control his dismay. “Batteries!”
Me No Engrish dived as the package left his hand, catching it before it touched the ground.
“Well I’m glad someone wants it,” Zippercised remarked, taking a step back. At that instant, Millimeter Peter knocked over his beer. “I can’t win anything tonight!” he groaned.
Me No Engrish furtively stashed the pack inside her coat. The apocalypse was only nine weeks away according to the stars, and every advantage would count.
Earlier this week in Tahoe
“What have you done, Vagina Dentata!” My Little Porno looked at her creation in the oven, which was pulsing rhymically.
“I thought I was making weed cookies?” He held a bag of powdered greenery.
“That’s seaweed?” she smelt the bag. “And it doesn’t work like that anyway. Where did you get it?”
“Um. A cultist?” He watched as the cock cookies began to wave like tentacles from the creature’s mouth.
“Is that Cthulhu?” asked Gondolherrea. “This is piss poor timing, I’m supposed to set trail on Monday.”
“Can we bring it?” asked Vagina Dentata.
“No!” shouted Just Get It Over With. “Simply looking at it will drive you insane.”
They all looked at each other and shrugged.
“So what do we do with it?” asked My Little Porno.
“Eat it!” Just Get It Over With braced herself and stuffed a piece in her mouth. “This recipe needs work,” she said, chewing gamely.
And lo, the power of the highest was with her that day, for Can’t Rush Anal did look upon the frothing masses with compassion. And she pulled from the depths of despair one bottle of cucumber vodka, and from that one bottle she made enough shots for all of the hashers. And it was then that Hand Pump fell on his knees, for he had seen the power within her, and he worshipped her.
The tip top secret naming committee gathered together and compiled their notes.
“I heard Just Cam ran a marathon,” one of them mentioned.
“I heard Just Fiid has a rainbow cock helmet,” said another.
The third had dropped their notes all over the ground. “Just Liz owns a polar bear?”
The group collectively growled at the figure and then rushed towards it and strangled it. “What was it,” the figure gasped through dying breaths. “I thought lies were okay?”
“Not funny enough,” the group droned.
So if you don’t see a hasher around again, that’s why.
Tricrapylete and Dickery Doo are celebrating birthdays today. How wonderful! They are partying like there’s no tomorrow.
And in fact, because it is their birthdays, they might actually have several more.
Eat My Pussy tucks away his iPhone. He took pity on the pair because of the occasion. Other hashers were not so lucky. Those photos of Dick Shank Redemption, Whorifist and Saigon Sally were not for his Grindr account, nor were they for the SFH3 Facebook page, nor were they for “private” use. You see, Eat My Pussy, in some twisted Picture of Dorian Gray fashion, had managed to suck the youth out of people through photography.
Dick Simmons, having already captured unlimited youth through years of work, was the only one who would escape.
“Shit!” the piece of chalk broke under his fingers. Dewalt Thunderpussy cursed his luck. Ever since he had complimented that lady on her butt he had been breaking things. He thought she must have been a witch. Failing the GMAT because of a broken pencil had been bad enough, but now he couldn’t even mark trail.
“Maybe you can mark it with my blood!” Roman Showers loomed in the darkness.
“Ew,” Dewalt said.
“Maybe you can mark it with the hash shit!” Gondolerrhea waved the cock at him menacingly.
“No, I simply couldn’t risk destroying it.” Dewalt demurred.
“Maybe this will help?” Abba held up a bottle.
“But what if… what if I destroy it too?”
“I’ll pour it into your mouth for you.” Abba was the best friend a Thunderpussy could have.
Six Tits a Week pulled his dune buggy up to a stop, letting Primal Vagina and Fuck Buddy get in. Perfect Woman jumped aboard as well. “I like being part of the hash trashes that are pure fantasy!” he declared.
On All Fours, in the navigator’s seat, encouraged him to drive up the Baker Beach stairs, luckily just missing the scant numbers of hashers going down. On the way they picked up Cockamole and Minor 69er, who complained about the lack of room, and then stuffed in Hoseblower and Rhythm Method to boot.
At last they got to the beer check, where Masterbaster watched them get out. “Is that some kind of a clown car?”
Dick Ass Mother Fucker slapped a hand over his mouth, restraining himself, while Fucker and Wash This Asshole politely looked away.
"Are you thinking about vaginas now?" Masterbaster asked. "Because that's the best way to end a Brown Eye trail."