SFH3 Run #1851: Turkey Trot
|:||Duboce Park at Duboce & Steiner|
|:||Weekend at Abba's and Reverse Schoolgirl|
|:||Do Her Well|
“I find it very gratifying on Thanksgiving day to help the less fortunate,” Brown Eye said loudly. “I get such a sense of satisfaction knowing that I have warmed someone’s heart with my consideration.” He patted Cockamole on her beanie.
“Aww,” Six Tits A Week enveloped him in a hug, pulling Tuna On Top and Tuna On Top’s bag of spare exercise clothing in as well, and then Blowqueen and Tears of Semen for good measure. “I love you guys.” Ru Ru Rimmin patted them on the back, and Shaft took a picture in between the tears streaming down his face.
“And now!” Weekend at Abba’s stood on a bench. “For our feature presentation…”
“What do you mean, feature presentation? We just did over five miles, uphill both ways,” Good Shit complained.
“It better be another drink check,” Fuck Norris added darkly.
“I’ve been working late at night in the lab for this,” Reverse Schoolgirl said mysteriously. “What would a turkey trot be without… a giant turkey!”
The beast stomped down through Duboce Park, nearly crushing a chihuahua, whose owner was cursing his dog’s choice of late-night pee stops. It craned its neck and emitted a loud and threatening ‘Gobble gobble gobble.’
Tuna on Top broke free of the still lingering embrace and scrambled away, leaping onto the revving up bike of Udder Moron to escape into the night. Just James decided it was high time to fuck off to the bar.
Circle Jerk screamed, “It’s a chicken!” while Just Tony leaned in to get a shot of the cloaca. He wasn’t picky about species. Meanwhile, John Handcock had dialed his producer, cursing when a snort and then a dial tone greeted his explanation. Instead, he grabbed Dick Simmons’ camera and started shooting, only hindered by the fact that Dick Simmons was still attached.
“Fuck, I already posted that I was at Toronado,” Who’s Your Daddy complained. “Do Her Well, can’t you just take care of this?"
“I draw the line at harming birds,” Do Her Well shook her head firmly.
“I don’t!” Chicken Bone Her dived in with a carving knife. The turkey, however, simply flapped its wings a few times, evading her handily. It didn’t, to the contrary, avoid Rocky Mountain Oyster, who had to dive Matrix-like out of the way of its feathery bottom. Dick Ass Mother Fucker was not as lucky.
“Why’s everyone running?” I Cunt Hear You wondered as the pack streaked passed him. One claw crashed down to his left, the other to his right, and only by virtue of a rapid swoon did he avoid decapitation.
Bitch’s Bitch began to run backwards along trail, and the rest of the pack followed, thinking he had a grand plan in mind instead of doing what he always did nearly every hash. Tonya Hardon tried to convince the turkey to land on the statue in the middle of Dolores Park alongside the pigeons, but it was happier going down the slide and nearly crushing RMO, who had chosen to shelter at the slide’s bottom.
They sped down Castro Street, Liverdance seeking respite inside a bar, avoiding the cover charge by impressing them with a two-step. Kerry’s Cumcakes was not so lucky. The turkey was bounced immediately, leading to another hue and cry as the group ran back towards Corona Heights.
“Why don’t we just follow where my trail will go?” suggested Rent Whore, but Just Zach and Just Keith were already scrambling away to Buena Vista, leading the rest of the pack in their wake. “It’s the same thing anyway,” she muttered, and followed after them.
Banana In Public watched as the chaos passed him. His jeans were as good as camouflage to the mad turkey Pavlovianly primed for running clothes. The pack ran back to Buena Vista, where Just Doesn’t Get It tried to captivate the turkey with a flashing strobe light. Unfortunately, the display of power drew the attention of some of the park’s residents. Luckily for JDGI, he stuck the beacon inside of RMO’s jacket, so it was he who was dragged deep into the darkness instead. Just Antony started to go in after him, but he was held back by Buck Fucka and Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy.
Down to the Haight, back through the panhandle, Just Dara tugged at Foul Balls’ arm. “Is it usually this mad, mate?” he gasped.
“No,” Foul Balls reassured him. “Mostly worse.”
“I am sure someone has a solution!” The Perfect Woman announced, when they were nearly back to the start.
“Oh yeah, what?” Bum Sucking Electric Fag begged.
“I didn’t say I did,” replied The Perfect Woman.
Just then, Five Angry Inches made a leap over a traffic cone, clearing it barely. The turkey followed, but was not so lucky. Cirque du So Lame winced and crossed his legs, Just Deirdre cried out in horror.
Do Her Well frowned. “I don’t think this makes biological sense.”
Just Oso leapt out of Douchicorn’s clutches and went in for the kill. “No!” shouted Douchicorn, but he was too late. “Now that he’s tasted blood, he’ll be unmanageable. He won’t ever be able to be around the scent again without going mad.”
“Sucks for your dating life,” Brown Eye consoled him. “By the way, I’m single.”
With that, all departed to Toronado, except for Just Tony, who was simply tapped out.