SFH3 Run #1807
|:||Precita Park (Folsom St & Precita Ave)|
|:||Yessir Yesshesfat & Code For Penis|
|:||Do Her Well|
“You sinned against me,” intoned a loud, foreboding voice.
Dick Simmons quivered.
“you have slandered your god.” Thunder roared in the distance. “And for that, you must pay.”
“Jesus Christ, it’s a bit soggy,” Code for Penis groaned. Yes Sir Yesshesfat just grunted. The rain was going parallel into the flour bag. Code for Penis had stepped in something he wasn’t entirely sure was water. Laid before the hares were two choices: set a short, easy trail in the rain and get the fuck to the bar, showing their ability to improvise and keen instinct for crowd satisfaction… or not.
“Is that street flooded?” Code for Penis asked. He watched as Udder Moron paddled by in a canoe. He was scooping up the sewer rats two by two. Yes Sir Yesshesfat grunted in acknowledgment. The hares continued their mission.
“you have persisted in thy sins.” A loud voice intoned again, breaking the silence of the park. “And for that, it shall rain for forty minutes and forty seconds. For the duration of the hash.”
“Did you hear something?” Tricrapylete asked. Dick Simmons shook his head and gulped.
“Yeah, it sounded like my mother,” Brown Eye answered.
“What I require is a sacrifice,” the voice buzzed through their consciousnesses. Do Her Well fell down with a loud whoop.
“Is your butt ok?” Just Liz asked, voice filled with faux concern.
“That doesn’t count,” the voice continued. “She’s still alive.”
“Mom?” Brown Eye called. “I did my laundry, don’t worry.”
Douchicorn yanked Just Oso, swinging him overhead like a bolas.
“Not the dog!”
Just Jana rushed through the darkness, dragging Silence of the Trans through the muck behind her. She knelt by Just Oso’s limp form, folding him into Silence of the Trans’s lap. She massaged his still body, stroking it up and down, and with a sudden shake he began to breathe once again.
“Thank Me. We’ve got a Dog Backlog. Since they all come here,” the voice explained apologetically.
“What is that noise?” Tears of Semen complained.
“You know the idea that if you believe in something hard enough, it might come true?” Dick Simmons whispered.
“I believe in something hard enough every night,” Perfect Woman answered.
“No, I shall take from you what is most dear…” The voice trailed off, and the rain resumed with fury. The pack, fearing the worst, scrambled to find trail like they had never scrambled before.
“You don’t think…” Blowqueen began. “It wouldn’t take…”
Masterbaster looked at him blearily. A drop of blood trickled from his nose.
“What on earth possessed you?”
“That’s a good question,” Blowqueen was studying him. “I don’t usually believe in higher powers…”
“Does anyone want the junk in my trunk?” Just Doesn’t Get It interrupted. Dr. Bombardier jumped at the chance, and they disappeared for the rest of the evening.
“You have made your choice,” the voice arrived to gloat at last.
“What choice?” Ska Skank complained. “We don’t even get beer for our down downs tonight, and I’m still fucking here.”
“One of you has revered me for years. He prayed to me every night, studied my works every day. And now he has left my flock.” A light shone down upon the tousled crown of Dick Simmons. “You have placed other mapping services before me.”
“It’s Map My Run?” Wee Wee asked incredulously.
“But, like, no one uses you.” Millimeter Peter pointed out. “The other services are so much…”
“I do!” Brown Eye knelt down on the ground before me. “Let me worship you, Father.”
“It is too late!” Lightning struck a tree branch. Just Maverick howled and tried to bite the voice, just barely restrained by Resting Slut Face. Most of the pack ran away. I Cunt Hear You sipped what dregs of beer he had wrested from the keg.
“I’m too old for this bullshit,” Glory Hole complained, sitting back in the Laz-e-boy he had bought to celebrate his retirement.
“Isn’t that the point of a god?” Circle Jerk asked. “To be there only when we need him and to be ignored at every other time?” When the smoke cleared, there were only charred ashes left on the ground.
“Abbah, I think you are right. Let the keg runneth over!”
“Oh shit!” Backside Banger ran off to tend to the now foaming tap.
“Abbah, you saved us,” Mouth Down South gasped. “This is better than when you did me a solid in Tahoe.”
Abbah shrugged absentmindedly, stroking the hash shit.
“What I wouldn’t do for my boy,” the voice said lovingly.
“Abbah is your son?” Roman Showers asked incredulously.
“It’s a Colloquialism. but his hair is fantastic.”