Cuming Mutha cracked the whip, even as snow flurries crowded atop his bushy eyebrows. The team was off the pace, and without the cask of potent medicine, Sir Menage a Lot and Bloqueen were sure to die of dysentery. Just Paul had stashed it in a Starbucks cup, and a bit was leaking out every time they hit a bump.
"Hash shit! Hash shit!" He growled into the howling wind. Somehow the FRBs found a bit more vigor in their legs, and they plowed steadily forward. Five Angry Inches pulled the lead taught, causing Crabs to stumble into Circle Jerk, who found himself tangled in the line.
"Halt!" shouted Fucker from behind Cuming Mutha. "Halt! We cannot be going in the correct direction. Where's the map?"
"I've got it!" shouted Fast Not Furious as sleet dashed into his eyes. "One second. One second." He hauled a fresh mango, then an ounce of gold, then a freshly ironed pair of trousers, and then, inexplicably, Eat My Pussy from out of his satchel. "It's just down here," he promised, before pulling a crumpled bit of paper with stamped letters reading "For Muff Daddy, Regards, Signed Muppet Dick."
"There's only four waypoints on this entire map!" Do Her Well snatched it and held a lantern overhead. "What could they have been thinking? We will never get the supplies to Hand Pump's infirmary at this rate."
Dick Simmons snapped a photo. "Oh, don't mind me, I mustn't interfere." He disappeared into the darkness, as Rocky Bowel Movement ran up.
"We're just two miles away!" He reassured them. "Keep out progress steady, and all will be well! Hoseblower is only a mile back."
"Hoseblower!" Cuming Mutha gasped. "You've been sending us bloody backwards," he grabbed at the compass, which whirled around nonsensically.
"It's the pole!" Sticks and Dicks shouted. "It's messing up our directions."
"Nobody every complained to me about any pole," Good Shit Lollicock came forward, with Joe Pubic Hare at his heels.
"Can't complain about something you've never seen," Tuna opined, as the wilderness suddenly opened before them and they found On All Fours and Mary Tyler Whore handing out refreshments from in front of the infirmary.
"Are we in time?" Just Cynthia asked. "Are they going to survive? Will Menage and Bloqueen make it?"
"Um. Yes?" Cockamole laughed. "It was just a bad hangover. Nothing a bit of tequila won't cure."
"Hooray!" Humpy Slowcum did a little dance, partially out of happiness but mostly to stop his feet from going numb. Just Susan and Just Georgina cheered, while Tricrapylete helped himself to a little of the medicine as well.
"Wow, I'm glad it wasn't an emergency after all, despite us hurrying through the long, treacherous route," Famous Anus remarked to Slug. "We went over a glacier uphill both ways, and I may have to remove a pinky. In fact, I think I might have dysentery. It's funny, though, I never would have imagined that ninety year old tourist from Florida over there would have the gumption to make the same trek."
Slug looked at him blankly. "You know there's a nature walk path just over there. Barely half a mile."
"Huh," Famous Anus's grin was strained. "Imagine that."