“You know, ever since all of us escaped falling into that giant sinkhole that opened up an hour after  circle last week, I’ve had this funny feeling.” Fuck Buddy shrugged.

 
“What, like fate is out to correct its misstep?” Humpy Slowcum asked. “Death’s got his eyes on us?” In the background, Fix Her Up Her pushed Bierectional out of the way of a falling crane.
 
“No, no... nothing like that,” She stopped in thought, before turning to One Night Only. “You didn’t to happen recently write up your will, or anything like that recently, right?”
 
Wee Wee whistled, and the pack was off as rain threatened to fall. Gloryhole shoved Cuming Mutha out of the way of the door flying open from the back of the restaurant, leaving him splat in the middle of the twelfth backcheck of the evening. 
 
“Good on ya,” Cuming Mutha acknowledged. “I might’ve had a concussion, and now I’ve got one for sure!”
 
Hello Titties was already off in the distance, ducking around a mound of unexplored ordinance that Shaft lobbed a match at as he passed. Dick Simmons struggled with his light settings, but had to give up capturing the moment when sirens sounded in the distance.
 
“Was that really necessary?” Stinky Floss grumbled as the bridge she was crossing gave out suddenly, forcing her to leap to grab at the sole remaining support beam.
 
Dickweed shrugged as he grappled with the guard dog that had been inexplicably left untied in the middle of trail. “This wasn’t in chalk talk.”
 
“Maybe it’s on the map?” Do Her Well wondered, pulling it out of her pocket. “Oh shit!” She waved her hand furiously as blood fell from her finger tip.
 
“That’s gonna get infected for sure,” Tuna advised as they clambered over the bags of medical waste from SFGH. “I heard Orieanal Express telling us he’d already survived a case of tetanus, but we shouldn’t ask about the lockjaw.”
 
“Don’t worry,” One And Done whistled. “I just happen to have a solution.”
 
Suddenly, a large bird fell from the sky and nipped off the end of Do Her Well’s finger. 
 
“Hawk! Hawk!” Just Doesn’t Get It cried. “I win!”
 
“It ate my finger, so obviously I saw it first,” Do Her Well retorted, and they went off bickering into the night.
 
The pack continued running, during which the trail helpfully led the group through both sides of the tent encampment so that Dick Ass could crow like a rooster at everyone, before drawing them into the middle of the street where Just Serg could make friends with the local truckers on their routes. Finally they arrived at the beer van and Bloqueen standing proudly by the keg.
 
“What did you think? Only one fatality that I know of, and I was able to ID the body as Can’t Eat Pussy.” Bloqueen toasted Tears of Semen.
 
“What did I do?” CEP wandered over to them. Behind him, Coitus Repeatus was nearly crushed by the closing van door.
 
“Oh, erm, well...”
 
“You were talking about me,” Cream Throat stepped up. 
 
“Ah, so you are ok,” Bloqueen stated unsurely.
 
“I got better. It turns out you only need a quarter of your blood supply and even less semen to survive,” Cream Throat assured them.
 
“The more you know,” Backside Banger mumbled before wandering off.
 
Meanwhile over by the keg, Vagina Dentata was groaning in anguish. “I can feel my body shutting down.”
 
“I keep telling him it’s in his mind,” whispered Just Get It Over With to Hoseblower.
 
“Oh! OH! The agony!”
 
“Is something wrong with the beer?” asked Cockamole.
 
“It’s poison to my lips!” groaned Vagina Dentata.
 
“Technically all things are poisonous if you drink enough of them,” Muff Daddy advised.
 
“Nothing wrong with this beer that wasn’t wrong with all the rest of them,” Hand Pump grumbled.
 
“What’s wrong is that I can’t have any of them— and it’s killing me!” Vagina Dentata slumped over. Masterbaster carefully led Allahu Aqbark away from him. CPA lowered his voice out of fear, if not respect, and not even Six Tits A Week could look straight at him. Truly there were some fates worse than death.