SFH3 Run #1907
|:||Alta Plaza Park|
|:||Backside Banger and Dick Simmons|
|:||Just James (as transcribed by Do Her Well)|
It may be the holiday season but all I have to say is bah humbug. Instead of being nice and warm, here we are on this travesty of a hash. Uphill, downhill, uphill, downhill, someone could get shaken baby syndrome from this.
And don’t even get me started on the hares—Backside Banger didn’t so much as lift a finger, which is a fucking great omen of things to come, and Dick Simmons had to be rescued by Hand Pump (which is not a surprise, because I’m pretty sure Hand Pump saved my ass somehow last week as well, I don’t even remember how I got home). But anyway.
Between Muff Daddy bugging me for hash cash and Vagina Dentata trying to give me chalk talk I didn’t know which way to turn at the start of trail. At least I think it was Vagina Dentata, it could have been Mouth Down South. Or Douchicorn. Or Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy. Or Just Chaz. God help us if Masterbaster decides to grow a beard. So sorry if it’s a little confusing, and maybe I did whine and demand for chalk talk to be explained again. Excuse me for having to have things explained to me more than once. I’m learning a lot these days, it’s almost like every little thing is a brand new experience.
Anyway, I heard reports that trail was fucked up almost immediately, my hearing range hasn’t been destroyed yet by rock music, so the dulcet tones of hashers whining made its way immediately into my ears. Udder Moron and Just Doesn’t Get It teleported almost immediately to the beer, leaving the rest of those sorry motherfuckers to go up and down and then back up the Lombard Steps, as anyone with half a brain knew the hares were gunning for. Unfortunately for the pack there was no late night yoga session at the top, so Pepe Le Poop and Cool Handjob Luke were able to FRB their way through without stopping.
I heard Blowqueen grousing about the lack of checks—apparently they are a sign of good fortune and a blessing of fertility, and so few means the entire pack will be suffering for erectile dysfunction for the next few weeks. Thank god. From the tales I have heard from Tuna on Top, this is the only way the pack will make it into the New Year without some cock up. Hah.
Luckily for the pack, after Dick Ass Mother Fucker picked up trail in the Presidio it was a sprint to the Palace of Fine Arts, where there was an excellent stash of beer—I didn’t even get a sip!—as well as one elbow that The Perfect Woman proffered for Hello Titties to lick (and I didn’t even get any of that either).
Thank god for the good sense that some of the pack had to start back towards the park, I would beg for Fuck Norris and Fuck Buddy to remember that Mondays are a school night, and even if the school in question is out, well, some of us need our beauty sleep. Not me, of course, but Cuming Mutha definitely.
Anyway, it wasn’t long before I Wanna Pee On Ya was racing Bierectional up the last hill, where Fix Her Up Her was calmly sipping on a beer and hoping someone would do something stupid. Unfortunately with our usual Hash Flash’s duties being fully occupied by haring, there is no video evidence of anything that transpired that evening. So you’ll just have to take my word that Fleshlight and Golden Snowball brought a turkey that they had dressed up as a baby, and they reenacted the nativity scene with CPA, Sperm Donor, and Dickweed playing the three wise men, and One Night Only throwing everyone out of the AirBnB at midnight.
I think that’s about all for now, Stinky Floss keeps on pinching my cheeks, and it’s time for Roman Showers to feed me.