The pack milled around distractedly in front of the Mission Pool. Several very hunky firemen were massaging their bare chests, to avoid any life-threatening cramps after their exertions, but not even Ska Skank was drawn in by their manly wiles.
“This is an utter disaster,” Muff Daddy wailed. Udder Moron nodded in agreement, and Glory Hole gnashed his teeth.
“No need to worry, I’m here,” Cockagami strolled up, ready to fit the empty B2B kegs into his vehicle. He puffed his chest, looking around to make sure Big Cock Chains and Three Fingers were watching, for he had patented the move—his Reverse Clown Car always drew intrigued glances.
“That’s fine, Cockagami,” Hand Pump patted his back. “But I don’t think you can salvage this situation.”
Dick Ass Mother Fucker nodded, his usually serious demeanor exaggerated by the circumstances. “It’s worse than we could have imagined. Someone told the group there was pussy in the tree, but now no one can find it.”
“Wait a minute,” Just Doesn’t Get It held up a finger. “Feline or female?”
“Does it matter?!” Tears of Semen shouted in distress. “It’s gone now.”
“This calls for a special investigator, a bloodhound to be nose to the ground on the case,” Who’s Your Daddy announced, whipping out a women’s tech shirt, smelling it, and pulling it on. “And I am the man who fits the bill!”
Weiner I Am leapt on top of him, tugging at the hem of the shirt. “I thought we were partners, asshole! Why do you get to play the lead here?”
“Because you couldn’t detect your way out of a paper bag, not to mention into the correct prelube…”
“What on earth is going on?” Double Man Cum (of the non-SFH3 variety) asked, putting his arm around FUPA.
“Par for the course,” Do Her Well answered. “They each want to be the private dick here… let’s just say only one part of the term fits.”
“Well, only one thing to do,” Mouth Down South concluded, his canine companion nosing nervously at his heels. “Come on Leela, time to put your nose to the test!”
And the pack was off, darting through Dolores Park, Cuming Mutha leaping to the front when Prison Wallet took time to roll in the grass and get some good scratchies. Dr. Bombardier, jealous of the canine’s exuberant spirits, took some time to mark his territory, not even minding when Dick Simmons snapped some footage for his special private archives.
Cosmopolitits and Just Megan were not deterred by the site of their drooling fellow hashers, dashing downhill as if drawn by the scent of a freshly tapped keg. Just Nathan, wondering what on earth Just Megan had initiated him into, was forced to follow at top speed. Finally, the group rounded one final corner after a lovely jaunt through urine-soaked alleyways and were greeted by the friendly van with a very proud Fuck Norris touting her new position as FRB.
“Does that mean you caught that pussy?” Circle Jerk asked anxiously.
“Uh… no,” Fuck Norris looked around nervously. “But those cops over there sure caught someone…”
The pack scurried faster than cockroaches under a flashlight, Eat My Pussy secreting away his beer vessel to parts unknown, and The Perfect Woman carefully providing cover for the more scurrilous looking amongst them. Slug comforted Deadbeat, who had been having PTSD flashbacks to that time an officer gave him a parking ticket, but she reassured Saigon Sally that his trauma would be resolved with another beer. Saigon instantly made the case that after that trail he very probably needed some comforting as well, but was disappointed when it was Pepe Le Poop who came to his aid.
“Everyone keeps going on about pussy,” Kneecrophiliac commented to Bangs on Trail.
“I think they were talking about that piece of foam over there,” she replied. “It was stuck in the tree, and some of the neighbors thought it was a cat.”
“You mean we were running around like fools for nothing?” Mayor Blew Me complained. “They promised tits and twats on trail, but all I see are a bunch of twits.” Fifty Shades of Glazed offered him solace in his arms.
“What you have to realize is that this group is a bunch of delusional assholes who have somehow convinced themselves that they are having fun while torturing themselves,” Minor 69er explained. “They go to great lengths to reassure themselves that they make fun of serious runners—I used to believe that sort of hypocrisy and self-delusion was beyond human capacity…”
“But look who’s in charge of our country now!” Cockamole exclaimed. “It really makes you believe anything is possible.”
“That’s right, guys,” My Little Porno chimed in optimistically, putting an arm around Gondolarrhea. “I’m a dreamer too… one day, if I’m lucky, maybe we’ll have friends who want to spend a getaway weekend in cozy mountain cabin up in Tahoe with us, parked by the fire sipping at cups of hot cocoa and watching the snow fall outside after a full day of skiing.”
“Don’t stop believing,” Just Get It Over With patted her soothingly. “The right people will come along one day.”