SFH3 Run #1912: MLK Day Hash
: 01/21/2019
: Ruth Asawa School of the Arts, Parking lot on O'Shaugnessy Blvd
: Hand Pump & Co
: Do Her Well

The winds blew stiff late into the night, coming under doors and through the cracks of windows to creep underneath even the most tightly clasped bedsheets. Thunderpussy Ho shivered, dreaming of warmer summers, while Bloqueen stayed late into the night devotedly tending the fire.

Muff Daddy could only frown at morning’s light, as he dumped the last bit of preserved meat and the three remaining carrots to make a meager broth for stew. “Barely worth putting in your mouth,” he muttered.

“That’s… what… she… said,” Vagina Dentata whispered, shivering.

So in the middle of winter with no other choice at hand it was up to Hand Pump, Ultrahead, and Hoseblower to wrap their feet in scraps of cloth and gather the masses to depart in search of greener pastures. Or any pastures at all.

“We have three options for you,” proclaimed Hand Pump, to the group at large reverently listening. “There is a trail, fierce and steep, but at its summit you will see truly and clearly. It was trod by Miss Delivery years before, but I believe the path will still be clear.”

“And another,” Ultrahead added, “A way that Cream Chugger once told us of before she too left into the night. The risks there are greater, but the path shall be shorter.”

“But the last,” Hoseblower cautioned. “The most deadly and dangerous shall be trod by us alone, slowly and directly cutting across the land like a scythe. But be warned for this is the most treacherous path of all, and can only be traveled by the bravest amongst us.”

Dual Tools shuddered and did not even dare contemplate such a fate, nor could CPA take so much as one step forward without trembling. But Sleazy, almost cavalierly, strode forward, saying “I’m up for it!” Slug was quick to join her, as were Peekabooby and Screaming Orgasm. Concerned about the fates of these brave women, Brown Eye decided to throw his lot in with theirs.

As for the rest, the wheat went quickly from the chaff, with the resounding knowledge that they might not meet again. Yessiryesshesfat wiped a tear from his eye as Dick Ass Mother Fucker disappeared into the darkness, and not even Fleshlight could restore his empty spirits. They soldiered on into the night, through hill and dell. Wrinklepecker lit the darkness with his brave canine companions, and Do Her Well’s discovery of Miss Delivery’s socks drew a brief cheer from the pack, although the Guzz’s alternate use for the cloth soon turned the hurrah into a shudder.

The journey seemed endless, Cum Test Dummy barely keeping her body temperature in positive digits, while Just Lily cursed the day she had met the group, while Just Jeff couldn’t even think to remember before such horrible times. Geordi asked to no one in particular, “Why does this always happen I’m in town.”

“Well,” said Missile Anus, “If everyone you meet is an asshole…”

“It’s the root problem that is leading to the decline of society in an otherwise idyllic time?” Circle Jerk finished.

“Sure, man,” Crabs said. “But did you see that light over there?”

And sure enough, emerging from the darkness to the happy calls of Five Angry Inches and Can’t Eat Pussy, there was a small crew gathered around a flickering fire. Above the flames rows upon rows of potatoes were steaming, topped with mounds of melting cheese and oodles of curling, popping bacon. Sir Menage a Lot’s mouth watered at the sight and Gondalerrhea nearly fainted, having to be propped up by Golden Snowball.

“It’s a Christmas miracle!” Dick Simmons clasped his hands together.

“Technically not even Russian Christmas,” Roman Showers pointed out. “We’re all out of pagan festivals until Lupercalia.”

Rides Them Hard and Wet dug in quickly, joined by Fuck Norris and Cuming Mutha in quick succession.

“Ahem,” Mouth Down South drew their attention. “I’d like to take a moment to remember the ones that didn’t quite make it. Their bravery paved the way to a better society and better hope for the future. Cockamole. Tonya Hardon. Just Will. Tears of Semen. You could not be with us tonight, but your memories will be with us for a lifetime.”

Fuck Norris and Stinky Floss hugged each other while Boner Malfunction wiped away a tear.

“Enough sobbing, more drinking!” The Perfect Woman proclaimed, bringing spirits up. Gloryhole discovered a stash of cookies, which he passed around to Cosmic Pussy and Got Wood. Backside Banger was quick to serve as much beer from the tap, and Masterbaster was just as quick to quaff it.

“Ah, magnificent,” Cuming Mutha declared rubbing his belly as he took in the empty trails and contented smiles. “I wonder what we have to look forward to for tomorrow’s supper?”

Cum Sail Away popped up from the food stores, tugging on Hand Pump’s jacket. “I can’t find where you put the rest of the supplies? I thought I’d start prepping for tomorrow while I’m still awake?”

“Ah,” Hand Pump smiled beatifically at her. “Don’t worry about that. We’re completely out.”

“Out?” Udder Moron raised an eyebrow. “As in no more?”

“No more,” Ultrahead reassured him, grinning.

“So we completely finished all of the food stocks that you had in one evening?” Chicken Bone Her’s voice was flat.

“Totally. 100%. We’re bone dry. Sold out. Finito. More done than the Spice Girls. Finished faster than a teenage boy. Empty as a witch’s tit. That’s all folks.” Hoseblower took a bow. “The End.”