SFH3 Run #1919: Green Dress Run
|:||Do Her Well|
“Oompa loompa doompati do,
I have another riddle for you
What do you do when you’re in a bad mood
And want to sing songs particularly lewd?”
“Oompa loompa doompati dee,
If you are wise, you’ll drink what you see,
Come to the hash, it’s sure to impress,
You’ll turn all the heads in your best Green Dress!”
“Who the fuck thought it would be a good idea to invite the Oompa Loompas?” Masterbaster groused to Just Tina. “I bet it was Dick Ass Mother Fucker, he has a bunch of odd friends.”
“They seem nice?” Just Tina soothed him. “They haven’t bothered anyone.”
“…Yet,” Masterbaster added. “Those guys give me the creeps.”
They watched as an Oompa Loompa posed sexily for Dick Simmons.
“You know, in New York we have to sometimes give them beer to get them to go away,” Geordi La Foreskin advised.
“I once knew an Oompa Loompa who ran a brothel around here,” added Courtesy Flush. “It was nice, they had a dry cleaning business attached, very efficient. Only thing was his breath smelled very strongly of Rice-a-Roni.”
“Couldn’t you just point them to the beer check?” suggested Mouth Down South. “They could have their beer and then leave, and we’d all be happy. Also we could just go straight to the beer.”
“Hah!” barked out Masterbaster. “You won’t get it out of me that easily. You’ll just have to follow trail, won’t you?”
“You… don’t remember where the beer check is,” Do Her Well guessed.
“Of course I remember where the beer check is,” Masterbaster puffed out his chest. “It’s where the beer is located. C’mon, Tina, let’s go. Leave whenever you all feel like.”
“Oompa loompa doompati dale,
It looks like it’s time for us to run trail
Do you want to be an F-R-B
Solving the checks like Cream Throat Willy?
“Oompa loompa doompati dart,
Vagina Dentata has a plan that is smart,
Let Five Angry Inches run right along,
And take the path that he thinks is wrong!”
“This is highly distracting,” Yessiryesshe’sfat whispered to Cosmopolitits.
“Don’t look at them, they might roll you off somewhere after tricking you into eating a blueberry,” Tuna on Top hissed. “That happened to my cousin.”
“I think Cuming Mutha knows how to get rid of them. He was talking to one, and it just got confused and walked away,” One Night Only advised them. “So maybe we should just have them all talk to Cuming Mutha.”
“That means we need to find Cuming Mutha,” Vagina Dentata thought aloud. “And that means we need to solve this check. Let’s see… we came from that direction, and Five Angry Inches ran right… so maybe we should go left?”
“You’re just playing into their hands!” Udder Moron protested, but he followed along behind them.
“Oompa loompa doompati diss,
This sidewalk smells faintly of piss,
Following marks as the sun fades fast,
With Can’t Eat Pussy running past,
“Oompa loompa doompati led,
Cockamole better mind her own head,
If she was wise she’d do a Circle Jerk,
Helmets make brain trauma lots of hard work!”
Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring finished mummifying Cockamole with a flourish. “It’s too bad you gave two of your dresses away, we might have been able to use the extra padding.” Cockamole tried to protest, but it was a tad muffled under all the wrapping.
“There’s no way she’s going to have brain trauma now,” Backwash approved.
“Can’t we just give her lots of alcohol?” Gondalerrhea suggested.
“You see? Somehow we manage to make trouble for ourselves in spite of any and all protective gear known to man,” Circle Jerk remarked to Just Jason.
“My helmet makes me look like a giant boner,” Just Jason told him.
“It’s okay,” Shaft comforted him. “Some people are into that.”
“Some people are into cannibalism, it doesn’t make it a good way to find a partner,” Fuck Buddy pointed out.
“Oompa loompa doompati dark,
We’ve found the beer check inside of the park,
Just Get It Over With manning the shots,
Hashers are going to drink lots and lots!
“Oompa loompa doompati wood,
Eat My Pussy ran fast as he could--
But when you start late, there’s no room to be glad
You’ll find all the liquors already been had!
“That is not true,” Eat My Pussy told the Oompa Loompa. “I caught up to the pack just fine. Look, Chicken Bone Her’s not even here yet.”
“Only because I was at the bar,” Chicken Bone Her popped up beside him. Eat My Pussy didn’t quite shriek, but the sound resembled Hand Pump’s van door enough that Six Tits a Week began to spontaneously salivate.
“Oompa loompa doompati debt,
You’ve realized that the hash is not done yet,
We’ve still got quite a massive hill,
That’ll give Cum Test Dummy quite a thrill!
“Oompa loompa doompati deer,
Back to the start to start guzzling beer
Let’s line up in our most fancy of dress
To see which hasher has done the best!
“They’re still here,” whispered Just Courtney to Princess Labia. “Should we call someone?”
“I think they want see who has the best outfit?” guessed Gloryhole.
“Yeah, they told me that if Hand Pump doesn’t win, they’re going to fucking riot,” Muff Daddy laughed.
“Well we can’t just rig the contest,” Big Cock Chains protested. “It goes against everything that the hash stands for.”
They all turned to watch the Oompa Loompas bouncing up and down ominously.
“Above all, the hash stands for beer,” On All Fours declared. “To Hand Pump!”
“To Hand Pump!” responded the crowd.
“I mean, I’m not saying he has a bad dress. He probably deserves the win,” Big Cock Chains reasoned. “I just wanted an unbiased, private vote so hashers can declare their choices without fear or favor.”
“Oh there will be a private vote all right,” Masterbaster winked suggestively. “I’ll be sure to arrange for one at the on after.”
And with that, all the Oompa Loompas disappeared from sight.
“Hah, got ‘em good,” Masterbaster declared victoriously before stomping off towards the bar.