SFH3 Run #1970: BYOB (bring your own beans)
: 03/02/2020
: 34th Ave. & Wawona St.
: Circle Jerk & Raspukin
: Do Her Well

"What I am getting from this are notes of over-concerned soccer moms and a overwhelming sense of one's own mortality," Wee Wee swished the mead over her tongue. "An interesting mix."

"I did drive this batch through Marin with the news radio station playing," Circle Jerk admitted. "I think you'll find more of the local flavor in the next batch."

"Ah, there's definitely a sense of a coyote dragging off a poorly supervised Pomeranian--" Hand Pump began.

"Stern Grove," interrupted Raspukin.

"Fog ruining most of the wedding pictures," Hand Pump continued.

"Also Stern Grove."

"And a forty year old actor who never made it big," finished Hand Pump.

"Still Stern Grove," Raspukin winked. "Did you know most of this trail is actually recycled?"

"Really?" asked Do Her Well. "Some of it seemed like we hadn't been through in a while."

"Well yeah, I was the only one there. By trail I might have meant me and Circle Jerk just riding around on MUNI," Raspukin admitted.

"Do you have anything for us young bucks?" Sir Menage A Lot asked.

"Here you go!" hiccuped Bierectional. "I've come up with my very own drink I call Feel the Bern. It's Tito's Vodka. Humpy Slowcum loves it."

Fix Her Up Her began rolling out the tarp.

"That reminds me of the time I drank a Manhattan that tasted like that reservoir water we ran by," Stinky Floss told them.

"I finished trail with a martini glass full of my favorite You've Been Fucked-tail," Puke Caroline offered. "Hints of despair and loneliness."

"Hey, I was right there with you," Three Fingers pointed out.

Despair and loneliness, mouthed Puke Caroline with wide eyes.

"You know my favorite drink? It's that sour taste of phlegm going down the back of your throat when you are pounding up the eleventh hill on trail and there's just another hill smack dab in front of you," Cream Throat Willie reminisced. "One And Done knows what I'm talking about."

"Don't pull me into this," One And Done muttered, passing his wine glass to Backwash, who then passed it to Deadbeat, who then passed it to Sperm Donor, who then passed it to Bloqueen, who then passed it to Fucker.

"Is Coronavirus vegan?" shouted Muff Daddy standing by the orange food.

"I hope there's a vaccine soon," Mary Tyler Whore muttered. "Good Shit keeps offering to inoculate the virgins."

"I don't hear them complaining," Good Shit yelled from the crowd.

"That's because you have selective hearing," Tuna countered. "Let's ask Just David what his virgins think."

"It'll take him too long to compile all the data," Six Tits A Week advised. "I remember when I was that young. A virgin, two virgins every week."

"It sounds like you had at least three..." Orieanal Express raised an eyebrow.

"Nope, definitely two at most," Six Tits A Week nodded. "I should know, that's how I was named."

"But surely we have the technology these days," Just Serg suggested. "To discover the best guidelines, the best methodology to attract and retain newcomers. To formulate the best plan for putting together the biggest, best structure to become the most loved, well regulated, and profoundly stimulating drinking group with a running problem ever?"

"Data's overrated," Tears of Semen pointed out.

"Rules are useless," Fuck Buddy responded.

"Next thing you'll just want to add a bunch of flashy lights just to make something look cool," Big Cock Chains chimed in.

"Administration is just another word for procrastination," Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring admitted.

"Let's just run this plane into the ground!" Just Doesn't Get It raised a glass.