“Once upon a time, there was a very, very evil Tiara…” Douche of Hazzard began.
“Tiaras can be evil?” Vagina Dentata asked. Just Get It Over With hushed him.
“It ruled the land with an iron filigree, and all trembled beneath its mighty gaze.”
“Tiaras have eyes?” Vagina Dentata whispered. The other two ignored him.
“But a band of fighters arose, to take down the evil force overwhelming their land. A brave group, fierce and strong, willing to risk their lives in pursuit of justice. And so every year, we must gather anew, to find it and quell its power.”
“We do?” asked Vagina Dentata.
“Yes!” snapped Douche. “Every year we hold the Tiara R*n to draw it out and trap it. Tiaras love competition.”
“I don’t remember this last year…” Vagina Dentata argued.
“You weren’t paying attention,” Just Get It Over With retorted.
“So how did it get away if we caught it last year?” The other two ignored him.
“The signs of the tiara are clear. So much chaos and pain in the world, and so much turmoil. Lives lost, families broken. Just last week my favorite deli shut down.”
“Are you sure that wasn’t the free market?” Vagina Dentata took a preemptive step away from Douche.
“We will draw the Tiara out with a Tiara shaped trail. We will advertise prizes, and we will capture it before night’s end.”
“I don’t know that what you’re suggesting is strictly, you know, legal,” Cum Guzzling Cockaholic took a long sip of beer. “Tiaras have rights you know.”
“This one is a despotic dictator of a tiara,” Vagina Dentata argued. “It’s apparently responsible for everything horrible in San Francisco, from high avocado prices to that pothole on 16th Street.”
“I don’t commute on 16th Street,” The Guzz answered. “But avocados… okay, I’m in. I think we can argue that the Tiara’s behavior is against the Geneva Convention and also the Preamble of the Constitution of this United States of America.”
“Argue?” Douche replied from the other end of the bar. “I was just going to put it in a sack and toss it off the side of the Golden Gate Bridge.”
“Everyone’s wearing these blinky cowboy hats,” Just Get It Over With whispered. “I think ABBAH’s costume closet started procreating.”
“All the better for us,” Douche whispered back. “Something that tacky will make the Tiara feel safe amongst its own kind.” She looked over towards Fisty, preparing the drinks according to her meticulous recipe. “Truth serum’s ready. It won’t be able to hide. Now go, and remember… the Tiara needs to tire itself out. Otherwise it may sense the trap. So make sure trail is nearly, but not entirely, impossible to follow.”
Meanwhile the pack milled around uncomfortably. They had not been used to the presence of such an ominous cloud overhead, namely a church, for quite some time. Luckily, Muff Daddy was there to draw any lightning from an angry god.
“Did you hear the one about the Catholic priest, the Southern Baptist preacher, and the schoolkids on the plane?”
“Yes,” Do Her Well cut him off, slapping her thighs preemptively. Unfortunately for her, Cockamole refused her offer of thighs to slap and instead decided that trail should begin. As they ran away, they could hear Muff Daddy warble, “So the plane was going down, and there were only two parachutes...”
Indeed, as Douche had instructed, trail was nearly impossible to follow, and so only the nearly insane did so. While some hashers like My Little Porno, Cockagami, and Gondolerrhea visited a Thai takeout boy, others like Cunty Butler and Titty Boo Boo visited the restroom. Oddly enough, never the twain did they meet. The dregs of the pack that made it to the drink check were greeted by a very friendly Douche and lots of fizzy drinks.
“Why do I feel so odd about this?” asked Wee Wee, reclining in a lawn chair as Douche fanned her gently with a discarded tourist map.
“I dunno,” Tears of Semen answered. “It seems like she really wants us to drink these? Maybe it’s just because we’re a small pack tonight.”
“I’m not used to people doing nice things for me unless they want something,” Udder Moron chimed in.
“Like your body?” Blowqueen asked sympathetically.
“You have that happen too?” Just Hawkeye asked incredulously.
“It happens to all of us,” Yes Sir Yesshesfat replied. “You’re not alone. In San Francisco, a man is nothing but a nice ass somedays.”
“That’s enough!” declared Douche, shoving them off into the drizzle. Lucky for Just Arno, who had already raced off into the distance, trail quickly wound around to another beer check where they were at last able to doff their soggy clothes for warmer, dryer supplies encapsulated by Hand Pump’s van.
Back at the start, Douche and Just Get It Over With put their craniums together to conspire. Vagina Dentata wandered over. “Ska Skank looks really suspicious,” he added to their discussion.
“Psh!” the pair scoffed. “Have you not been paying attention? If she wasn’t fantastically dressed up it would be weird.”
“Okay, then, Douchicorn’s not running. That’s strange.”
“He’s obviously recovering from life-long racism,” Just Get It Over With scolded. “Don’t set his progress back.”
“So the priest says, ‘What about the kids?’ and the preacher says ‘Fuck the kids!’” Muff Daddy said around a mouthful of Cheetos.
“What about Mary Tyler Whore?” Vagina Dentata said a tad desperately.
“I thought she was dead?” Douche asked incredulously.
“Maybe her condition improved?” Just Get It Over With suggested.
“Definitely suspicious,” Douche concluded. “Good job.” Vagina Dentata beamed.
“What about Dildo Baggins?” asked Just Get It Over With. “It’s his birthday.”
“People sometimes get older,” Vagina Dentata argued.
“But he does it every year,” she pushed back. “Regularly.”
“We’ll keep an eye out. But the real tell… is the tiara competition.”
The three waited impatiently through circle until their hour of judgment came. Millimeter Peter summoned the tiara contestants forward and marched through the ranks until he had whittled the masses down to Do Her Well and Circle Jerk.
“A final competition!” Douche proclaimed. “An eating contest—first to finish this mouthful of creamy goodness wins!”
Do Her Well’s eyes grew wide, and she forced her mouth open and swallowed as best she was able. Though Circle Jerk filled himself quickly, he could not slurp down the long mass as rapidly as she did. Opening her mouth, Do Her Well raised her arms in triumph and showed all that she had gulped down every drop.
“The face of Evil!” Douche shouted, running forward. “The Serum I fed you will compel you to tell the truth. Answer me, are you or are you not the Feared Tiara of Darkness?”
“Uhm. No, I guess I just was hungry.”
“That was pretty normal for her,” Just Doesn’t Get It added. “No one lost a finger even.”
“We must destroy the Tiara!” yelled Just Get It Over With. The crowd started milling around. Dick Ass Mother Fucker grabbed one of the leftover down downs, and Hoseblower started bartering with Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring for slightly stained haberdashery.
“It has lube in it!” Six O Nine suddenly noticed. “Get her!”
And with that the crowd was on top of Do Her Well, ripping the lube and condoms off her cranium, carefully removing the safety pins, and stashing the supplies in their pockets for later. The Evil Tiara was thoroughly destroyed for another year, and all three hares set off towards the bar, satisfied. Do Her Well stood slowly up, stretched her legs, and wobbled down the street. “Not what I usually look for in an orgy, but it’ll do,” she declared.
Muff Daddy swallowed the last Oreo. “And then the priest looked at the pastor as the plane plummeted through the sky. He asked, ‘Do you think we have time for that?’”
And Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy laughed and laughed.