SFH3 Run #1967
|:||Golden Gate Park Senior Center|
|:||Humpy Slowcum & Muppet Dick|
|:||Do Her Well|
A single blob of flour anthropomorphically rested alone under the picnic table in the middle of the field, unable to prevent Dick Ass Mother Fucker from trailing his foot down its middle as he passed. The pack milled around the van behind the Senior Center, as Do Her Well exposited aloud that typically on nights like these with two newer hares trail could be trusted to be cold, dark and minimal. Indeed, Humpy Slowcum and Muppet Dick were nowhere to be found.
"Whatever are we going to do?" Muff Daddy aporically asked as the small children and some of the adults in the crowd began to wail.
Luckily, Cream Throat Willie alliterated, asking attention all around. "Time to tell of trail?"
"Huh?" Muff Daddy raised an eyebrow.
"Chalk talk!" hissed Cream Throat Willie.
Like a bolt of lightning, Muppet Dick similed into the middle of chalk talk. "Trail's off that way!" and Just Doesn't Get It antagonistically defied the attempts off the crowd to delay the start any further.
The bison bellowed atmospherically as Cum Test Dummy and Eat My Pussy raced past, but Cuming Mutha's eyes were metaphorical hawk's as he picked up the true marks of flour, and they came as a group to the edge of the park.
Ironically, Bierectional explained to Just Irving that usually trail would have hit a huge hill by this point.
John Handcock blazed to the front of the pack as they raced towards the VA, with One And Done right on his tail until he aphoristically muttered, "Never gamble on a shart," and beelined to an open Port-a-potty.
The pack milled around searching for a plot device, until Bloqueen spied the way through the back of the VA past the graffiti clad bunkers. Just Serg and Fix Her Up Her digressed through some of the bushes, but all came back together as the pack encountered a backcheck. Dickweed headed downwards to a cliffhanger, but Cosmo's deus ex machina identification of true trail saved the rest of the pack from his fate.
Gingervitis flashed back to the last time he had to go running though Golden Gate Park without a bright light, but he was saved by the cacaphony of the soccer fields as trail went round the edge. One Night Only anteceded the second of the Turkey Eagle splits, where Fucker fell into the fallacy of trusting that the hare's arrows would be big and bold at all the important bits.
Vagina Dentata found himself at the same dichotomy, but after an epiphany he just kept going, following Puke Caroline and Masterbaster into the darkness.
Hand Pump foreshadowed his way along the eagle, allowing Circle Jerk to realize there would be no beer check and cut trail off at the Polo Fields. The rest of the pack was not so fortunate-- Three Fingers and Fuck Buddy had to allegorically go the long way around before sipping on the freshly tapped keg for all their troubles.
By that point things were getting out of hand-- Titty Boo Boo had left his Chekov's gun behind by accident, while Shaft was grousing that he had forgotten his reading glasses at home. Cunty Butler and Cockamole were engaged in a subplot involving lots of chocolate and stuffing, while Gloryhole went on a soliloquy regarding when he first hashed through the wilds of Golden Gate Park when cougars prowled the lands. In The Ass Dear shuddered at the thought.
"I know what you're going to say about the trail," Cream Throat Willy procateleptically called circle together, "and that's that there wasn't really a cohesive narrative. Half of the pack wasn't even truly engaged in the storyline, we're only introducing Crabs and Mary Tyler Whore at the last moment, and it hasn't really felt like we've reached a true climax."
"I'll say," muttered Bush and A Rack, and Peekabooby nodded along.
"Well, you see," muttered Closet Twitcher almost to himself, "there are lots of different ways to set trail historically, and what's most important is that each hare develops his-- or her, eh?-- own voice, so that they're just not copying and pasting together bits of plots that they've read in the past. A fine line, a fine line, eh?" He nodded at On All Fours, who helpfully filled his glass back up.
"Right," Cream Throat Willy nodded. "And another thing--"
Anticlimactically, at that point The Uniballer appeared as DFL, and so circle was brought to a close.