“Do you know why they call me The Count?” asked Do Her Well.

 

 

 

“Literally no one calls you that,” Wee Wee replied with a dead stare.

 

 

 

“Because when I get to a check, I Count. I Count one,” Do Her Well persisted.

 

 

 

“Can we go yet?” whined Udder Moron.

 

 

 

“And then I Count two!” Do Her Well continued. Just Doesn’t Get It was already halfway up Lombard.

 

 

 

“And I Count… On ON!” Do Her Well screeched.

 

 

 

“That’s not even a number,” complained a virgin, but the small group was off onto the streets of Chinatown.

 

 

 

“Do you like games?” Bierectional asked the crowd.

 

 

 

“I do, I do!” yelled Cream Throat Willy. “I played a one called Identity Theft last week. I think I lost.”

 

 

 

“No one has time for games when there’s beer on the line,” Fucker grumbled.

 

 

 

“Because my new friend Muppet Dick has a fun game for you guys!” Bierectional paid him no mind. Got Wood just grunted and continued running.

 

 

 

“Muppet Dick,” Cosmopolitits looked at him askance. “Isn’t that Just Ben with a fuzzy jacket on?”

 

 

 

“I’m not Just Ben,” Muppet Dick proclaimed. “That’s some weirdo who looks exactly like me.”

 

 

 

“Ok, Muppet Dick, I’ll bite,” Muff Daddy grinned lecherously. “Just how do you play this game?”

 

 

 

“Uh, I dunno. He’s in charge?” Muppet Dick pointed at Bierectional and ran away. Dickweed, easily excited, ran right after him.

 

 

 

“Ugh, this game is too complicated,” groused Mouth Down South. “Can’t we just do a simple straightforward game for once?”

 

 

 

“I know how to fix it!” Can’t Eat Pussy ran off without telling anyone his secret.

 

 

 

“It’s pretty easy when you know you can go both ways!” Bierectional laughed.

 

 

 

“Looks like we just got a letter,” Hand Pump pulled out a grimy envelope. “It has three letters on it.”

 

 

 

“The first letter is F!” Backwash announced. “Can anyone help me with the second letter?”

 

 

 

“It looks like it’s a C!” Nappy Headed Homo cried out. “C as in—”

 

 

 

“And there’s one final C,” Tuna on Top interrupted him. “And that means we’re getting a fine.”

 

 

 

“I know I’m fine,” Five Angry Inches winked.

 

 

 

“Oh no, I have a solution for that.” Hand Pump nodded decisively.

“What’s that, Hand Pump?” asked Miss Delivery.

 

 

 

Hand Pump, still nodding sagely, placed the envelope on the hood of a random car. “Someone else’s problem now.”

 

 

 

“I can think of only one thing left to do,” Cockamole announced.

 

 

 

“Was it welcoming the visitors to your neighborhood?” Cheaper at Kroger asked.

 

 

 

“Was it greeting my virgins? I brought as many as Do Her Well can Count,” Just Jeff advised.

 

 

 

“Was it relaxing at Coit Tower for the five millionth time in the last month?” asked Mary Tyler Whore.

 

 

 

“Was it singing weird songs about my mother for no reason?” Dick Ass Mother Fucker wondered.

 

 

 

“Was it singing weird songs about your mom for a good reason?” Dick Simmons retorted.

 

 

 

“Was it going to a bar and drinking until we don’t remember any of this?” Cum Test Dummy raised her hands up in supplication. CPA and Bush and A Rack nodded in agreement. In fact, all of the hashers except Hello Titties nodded in agreement, and that was because he was too busy eating the spicy Cheetos.

 

 

 

“No!” Cockamole yelled. “It’s Bay 2 Blackout.”

 

 

 

“I have never heard of such a thing,” Masterbaster said.

 

 

 

“Yes, please tell me more,” Gloryhole added. “Especially if it starts raining again.”

 

 

 

“Do you want to get drunk?” Cockamole asked.  Fix Her Up Her nodded eagerly.

 

 

 

“Do you want to meet lots of interesting people?”

 

 

 

CPA held a hand up. “Define interesting.”

 

 

 

“Do you want to run and drink beer or walk and drink beer or complain and drink beer and maybe other drinks too and even food and prizes?” Cockamole’s voice had gone a little high-pitched. She waited for a reply, then answered herself when none came. “Of course you do! So give me money.”

 

 

 

“Aah,” sighed the hashers. And then the show was finished and they dispersed into the night.

 

 

 

“Hey, picture of the happy couple?” Dick Simmons asked Stinky Floss and Tongueless’s Penis as they walked away.

 

 

 

“Couple?” Stinky Floss asked. “We just live together and share a bedroom and never go anywhere without each other and always talk about each other. Sooo….”

 

 

 

“Expect an answer to this question in about twenty years,” Tongueless’s Penis concluded.

 

 

 

The End