It was a nice trail. All the trails had been nice so far. There had been several of them, and backchecks and falses hadn't quite been invented yet. But if you looked towards the west, clouds could be seen massing in the distance. A storm was coming.
"You think that was what She was going for?" Humpy Slowcum nodded at Tuna, who was brandishing a flogger. It had a massive, dick-shaped handle, and blue flames licked up and down each of the black leather tails.
"It's been a busy... time," Tuna yawned. Days hadn't yet gotten into a state of being. "Here, take this. I'm having a lie in."
"Er," Humpy said and held the butt of the flogger squeamishly between a finger and a thumb. Somewhere in the trees nearby, a parrot chirped gratingly.
"I don't see why this has to be the end of it," grumbled Circle Jerk. "Don't you remember that hash back in the 1400s?"
Humpy Slowcum shuddered. One of his goals for each and every day was to forget that hash in the 1400s, and despite the best of his intentions, he all too often failed. "Maybe it's because of that hash in the 1400s?"
"I just meant," said Circle Jerk, eating the raw end of a string bean, "That if we kept going after that, why would we stop now?"
"Isn't it all in Her plan?" Humpy Slowcum thought aloud. "I mean, the hash had a beginning. Stands to reason it has to have an end."
Circle Jerk hummed to himself. He had gotten to liking the hash, over the millenia. Sure, sometimes it meant he had to lay a trail, thwart some of Wrinklepecker's wiles, and he had developed an odd allergy towards poison oak (which seemed rather unlikely for a celestial being such as himself, but the persistent, oozing blisters were hard to argue with). "I just wonder, can't we put it off for a bit?"
"Can't we just put it off for a bit?" Wrinklepecker grumbled.
"Put what off?" Cosmic Pussy looked up from where she was filling boxes of sidewalk chalk with dark blue pieces.
"The end of the hash. The triumph of evil over good. When we all go to the eternal On After. Yadda yadda yadda." Wrinklepecker picked up a stack of Neighborhood Watch posters, shuffled them, then plopped them back down.
"Can we?" Cosmic Pussy asked, raising an eyebrow.
"It's just that I still had a lot of wiles to perform, that's all. Look, last week I enticed Cum Test Dummy into walking over to her bottle of rum instead of running an Eagle-- that one took decades of planning," Wrinklepecker boasted. "Maybe we just... shouldn't run it?"
"Not run the trail?" Cosmic Pussy frowned. "Wouldn't that just make last week's trail the last one?"
"Of course not," scoffed Wrinklepecker. "You can't just have a last trail without any notice."
"I don't like the sound of this," One Night Only shifted from one foot to the other. "Wouldn't that just make my trail the last one?"
"Don't be silly," Wrinklepecker peeked at Humpy Slowcum from the corner of his eye.
"We figured it out," Humpy nodded. "No hash this week-- that's just an off day. An oopsie. A brain fart. A muckup. A boner. If we do the last hash, however..."
"That'll be it," Wrinklepecker said ominously. "Kaput."
"Okay, so you're just going to stand here. And wait with me, not hashing?" One Night Only asked.
"Of course not," Wrinklepecker snorted. "Muppet Dick will do that."
"Hi," said Muppet Dick.
"I can still have beer, right." Hand Pump wasn't asking a question.
"Of course you can have beer," Humpy Slowcum reassured him.
"And if I wanted to go on a bit of a hike today," Hand Pump continued.
"People hike and drink beer without hashing all the time," Wrinklepecker said. "Sometimes even simultaneously."
"Ah," Hand Pump nodded. "And if I happened to decide on where I was going and what I was doing with a game of chance..."
"No dice," Humpy Slowcum declared, and lit the deck of cards he had pulled out of Hand Pump's closet on fire.
"Oh my," BOTS said, looking down at her deck.
"Those are tarot cards, aren't they?" Sleazy asked her. "What does that one mean?"
"It means you aren't going on a hash today," Humpy Slowcum said firmly.
"But I already planned out my day," Sleazy said. "I have all the directions written down, and I even stacked the deck in my favor."
"Too bad," Wrinklepecker crossed his arms. "None of you are going."
"But MUG has some sweet shiggy socks she was planning on wearing, and Sister Fister already has her costume. CPA even made a signature drink for his drink check."
"Not happening," Humpy Slowcum put the kickstand on Sleazy's bike back down.
"I wasn't going to go, anyway," Dildo Baggins called out from the other room.
"I don't think this is a good sign," BOTS held out a card. The eyes were bleeding red drops down onto the ground.
"I really made an effort to join in on trail this time!" declared Geordi La Foreskin proudly. "Did you see the pics I posted?"
"How!?" Wrinklepecker muttered.
"Why!?!?" Humpy Slowcum screamed.
"Oh. He's on Eastern Standard Time." Circle Jerk said flatly.
"That was your doing," hissed Humpy Slowcum.
"Hello, Tuna," straightened Wrinklepecker. "Fancy seeing you here."
"I'm here to announce today's hash attendance, for this, the last trail ever, of all time, hared by Hers Truly, Cockamole." Tuna stood tall. "Today's hash attendance was: One."
"So that's it, then," Wrinklepecker looked out across the distance. "It was a good old run, I guess."
"To the good times, eh?" Humpy Slowcum put an arm around him.
"Next week's trail will be hared by Che Gayvera," Tuna on Top snapped her book closed.
"Next week?" Wrinklepecker squeaked. Humpy Slowcum quickly took his arm away.
"You heard what I said," Tuna on Top frowned at them.
"But I thought it was the last hash. Ever?" Humpy Slowcum lifted an eyebrow. "Meaning that there would not be anymore?"
"Cockamole moves in mysterious, some might say complicated and confusing, if not outright contradictory ways," Tuna on Top explained patiently. "She does not so much as set trail, but lays an ineffable route of Her own choosing, which might be compared, from the perspective of the hounds, as to hashing through a thick jungle at midnight on a New Moon with endless checks, for priceless beer, with a Hare who won't tell you the marks but smiles all the time."
She watched them both, then continued, "Up on high we think Do Her Well forgot to update the hareline."
"So what happened to my flogger anyway?" Tuna on Top asked Humpy.
"The flaming flogger with the dick shaped handle that I left in your care approximately ten trillion trails ago?"
"Ah," Humpy Slowcum said. "That flogger. Well, you see."
"You gave it away, didn't you," Tuna wasn't asking.
"Well, I had to," Humpy Slowcum rubbed his hands. "The virgins were so cold, and there were storms coming up, and I thought what's the harm, and anyway I am sure they eventually found a use for it."
Tuna just sighed.