SFH3 Run #1943: Burning Man FOMO hash
|:||Victoria Manolo Draves Park|
|:||One and Done and Hello Titties|
|:||Do Her Well|
Worry not, citizens of San Franciscopolis, you have nothing to fear. Dry your tears, Vagina Dentata. Because where criminals congregate, where wrongdoers rendezvous, where malefactors muster, a lone agent shall rise against their foul works. It is not a Telegraph Hill parrot, it is not a Virgin jet, it is the one, the only--
"Flip-Flop Man!" cries Sister Fister in glee.
The scene is quiet for a scene with twenty runners dashing through the streets with no regards for traffic laws. Dick Tracy's Pussy stops to gather a read on the action.
"There's trouble about!" she says to Golden Snowball, who has pulled up beside her.
"Trouble. In San Francisco?" Tonya Hardon declares in disbelief. She hastily kicks an empty syringe behind a trashcan.
Gingervitis stops Good Shit from crossing a four-lane street filled with three lanes of traffic. Good Shit keeps on going after the bus clears. "You might have said 'thank you,'" Gingervitis yells after him.
"It's Ticky Dicky!" Douchicorn yells in terror. "He's been kidnapped."
"Of course it was fucking Ticky Dicky," Masterbaster grumbled, comforting Allahu Aqbark. "He's just so fucking cute, kidnappers can't resist."
"Who saw him last? Which corner were we on?" Worst Bottom Ever yelled.
"Let's use the trail to retrace our steps!" Can't Eat Pussy suggested.
"Were we even on trail?" asked Bierectional.
"Someone call Flip-Flop Man!" shouted the Uniballer. "Surely he'll know what to do."
"Umm, I think Ticky Dicky is right behind you," Banana In Public suggested. "He keeps out of sight whenever you turn around. It's kind of cute, actually," Banana laughed awkwardly.
"Looks like we didn't even need Flip-Flop Man," Buck Fucka shrugged. "On on!"
"Aww, I was looking forward to laying back in his strong arms," John Handcock said to himself as the pack took off again through Chinatown.
"Not if I get there first!" Dickweed claimed, darting out in front, and the chase was again on as the group ran through Union Square. Cream Throat Willy went yay and Queen went yon, but it was Fucker who led them into Yerba Buena gardens where they met a sinister character.
"Look at that running club go!" the villain proclaimed, holding a terrified woman in his arms.
"Us, a running club?" Do Her Well fainted in shock, Circle Jerk stepping up from behind to catch her.
"You! You! You!" Got Wood couldn't even say anything coherent.
"Those are fighting words!" Humpy Slowcum proclaimed.
"You have no idea, and I mean no idea who you are dealing with," I'd Do 'Er advised him.
"I will fucking knife you," Just Kirsty mentioned.
Vroom, Vroom, revved Can't Rush Anal's motorcycle.
"Dammit," Cockamole muttered. "The last month of my GM-ship has to end up with the entire pack in jail. Well, saves me from finding a replacement. If only Flip-Flop Man were here."
"Actually," Banana In Public stepped up. "We both drink and run, sometimes even both at once. By performing both activities, we can cater to people who like one a little more than the other, or both equally, and thus foster socialization during and after exerting a little bit to burn off the excess calories and to release endorphins.
"Oh," said the miscreant. "Well, that sounds nice. Have a good evening!"
"You too!" shouted Banana In Public as they rushed off, gallavanting through alleyways and nearing the beer van.
"Have a good time?" Hello Titties handed Three Fingers a beer. One and Done was fanning the smell of urine away from himself and sending puffs of flour into the air.
Three Fingers looked at Hello Titties and One and Done. "Average job, guys!"
"Well, thanks, but it would have been an utter disaster if Flip-Flop Man hadn't--"
But they never found out how Flip-Flop Man saved the day yet again, as Hand Pump had turned up and Muff Daddy was rounding them all up through the park.
The group convivially caroused as they made their way back to the start, back in warm clothes with full cups of beer. It wasn't long before they managed to get themselves together for circle, Vagina Dentata and Cream Throat Willy presiding.
"We have a very special occasion, and I'd like to make you all a cake to mark it!" On All Fours announced. "It's Cuming Mutha's birthday!"
"But how do you make a cake?" asked Just Doesn't Get It.
"I heard you need some flour!" yelled Today Is Monday.
"Got a lot, right here!" Hello Titties offered, adding it to the man.
"I heard you need some beer!" yelled Miss Delivery.
"Would you look at that, we've got some beer here!" announced Backside Banger, throwing it on the pile.
"And I heard you need some eggs!" Uber Luber proclaimed. "You see, the proteins in eggs provide structure and stability and the water provides moisture to help with the leavening."
"I've got some eggs here!" Just Get It Over With proclaimed. "I always have them on me, you never know when you need to make a cake or deter a suitor."
On All Fours cracked one after another over Cuming Mutha's cranium, but instead of rising forth proudly older, Cuming Mutha began to cough.
"Is it salmonella?" asked Eat My Pussy.
"I think he might be having an allergic reaction," CPA told them. "Someone get an Epi-Pen!"
"At some hashes I've been to they sacrificed the oldest hasher at the end of the night," Captain Nine Grinder advised Squiddley Diddly.
"Well, if they are doing that, they're making a pretty bad job of it," Squiddley Diddly replied as Cuming Mutha continued to cough.
"Just James has some chalk!" Roman Showers held the baby up like a lantern. "Would that help?"
"Why isn't Flim-Flam Man here," Muff Daddy groused.
"Here, have this beer," Banana In Public offered. "Some of the flour probably went up his nose, happens to me all the time." Cuming Mutha patted his back in thanks.
"Wow, lucky for us that we didn't need Flip-Flop Man after all!" Cockamole giggled.
"No you didn't," Banana In Public grinned. "We managed to find a solution amongst ourselves. Well, I could use another cold one. Who's up for going to the on-after?" He nodded to the dwindling circle and strode off into the night, the sound of Birkenstocks slapping the ground gradually fading into the distance.