SFH3 Run #2072
|:||Geary and Masonic, southwest corner|
|:||Gobble My Ass|
|:||Do Her Well|
The Circle Across The Street From The Beer Van In The Parklet
Some say that the best laid trails can go awry, and even more say that all trails go awry, but I say rye is a type of bread and not a particularly good one. The beer van was parked in the perfect position to force most of the pack onto one of the busiest streets in San Francisco. Two virgins were watching Who's Your Daddy with justified trepidation.
Dick Simmons, eager to start trail, was flipping through the photos he had already taken, while Fucker was judging the right time to change so he wouldn't end up on Dick Simmons' camera roll yet again. Hand Pump was working carefully to repair the door of the van.
"My God!" Dick Simmons shouted. "She's been murdered!"
"Murder? I hardly know her," laughed Blow Queen.
"Who's been murdered?" asked Do Her Well.
"Look, here it is, Gobble My Ass! Covered in blood!" Dick Simmons gestured wildly at his screen. Exactly at that moment, Dick Ass Mother Fucker stumbled into him, causing him to drop the phone. The group was silent as Dick Simmons picked it back up. "It's been deleted!"
"Isn't it just in the cloud somewhere?" On All Fours wondered, gesturing upward.
"I don't think a murder is all that likely," Three Fingers pointed out. "A quiet hash like this?"
"I know what I saw," Dick Simmons said firmly.
"Well there's just one thing to do..." Just Doesn't Get It paused. "Follow that hare!"
Cuming Mutha leapt off with Humpy Slowcum just on his heels. Hoseblower was just behind after drinking his beer and Muppet Dick's beer so Muppet Dick wouldn't be inconvenienced by it further.
"Ah!" Dick Simmons called out, collapsing to the ground at the first check.
"What is it?" Jack The Ripper asked, helping him up.
"It's my sitariphobia," Dick Simmons explained.
"Sitariphobia?" asked Boner Marrow.
"Sitariphobia is a fear of wheat products," explained Circle Jerk. "In this case, flour."
"How can you be afraid of flour and go to this hash?" wondered Good Shit Lollicock.
"Just stick to Cuming Mutha's pack marks," My Friends Are Cumming On Me advised. "And they're made of the ground up bones of his enemies, so it shouldn't be a problem."
"A pack mark is right twice a trail," Fucker cautioned.
Little did the pack know that Cuming Mutha would only point true, but trail would take them to the depths of despair... and beyond.
"I miss the Target," Exaggerating Crack complained. "If we were going to find a murder anywhere, it would be a Target."
"My phone is blowing up," Just Kate complained. "All of these weird crisis messages from the Presidio Nextdoor group. But nothing about murder."
"I know what I saw, I'm not crazy, I'm just -- aaah!" Dick Simmons fell to the ground at the sight of the next check, looming eerily from the darkness.
"Close your eyes and keep going, keep going, just keep going one step further," Exaggerating Crack prompted.
"Thank you, dear friends, thank you," Dick Simmons said, as they came out of the trees into the light.
"Good boy," Just Kate said, patting her dog on the head.
"Gobble My Ass!" Do Her Well shouted. "You're alive! And still bepantsed!"
"Of course she is," Millimeter Peter replied. "She finished her trail before you lot even got out of the first check."
"Not even I could outwit her... this time," Who's Your Daddy muttered. Hand Pump continued repairing the door of his van.
"Looks like reports of your death have been slightly exaggerated." Masterbaster toasted Backside Banger.
"But... I know what I saw. I'm not crazy," Dick Simmons' voice wavered.
"What about drunk?" Muff Daddy asked.
"Or drunk," Dick Simmons added, dismounting from a keg stand.
"Has anyone seen my husband?" Tour de Pants asked.
Wee Wee put her hand up. "Yes, he was going off into a dark alley with a group of strange ruffians."
"But you didn't see him after that, right?" Tour de Pants asked. "And all pictures have been deleted?"
They all looked at her and nodded.
"All good," she said with a smile, "I think I'll have another!"