SFH3 Run #2128: Mardi Gras Hash
: 02/20/2023
: Precita Park
: Mary Tyler Whore
: Do Her Well

It was a fairly typical night for the San Francisco Hash House Harriers-- trail had been dispatched of with the usual amount of whining, and only one virgin was lost to the ether. Mary Tyler Whore, Cockamole, Squeal 4 Me, Sleazy, and Just Get It Over With would have been able to give themselves a pat on the back for achieving adequacy. However, Crabs had been turned, quite literally, into a giant baby. It was becoming clearer and clearer that this was going to be a problem.

"He keeps crying for Cream of Wheat," whispered Queen from behind the port-a-potty. "Is that an ale or a lager?"

"You can't give a baby beer," scolded Humpy. "There won't be enough for the rest of us."

"When do we think he's going to be done with Circle?" Do Her Well wondered. "Are babies allowed to RA? Back in my day you had to be at least 21 with the spirit of a 70 year old to RA."

"Aren't you more concerned about how it happened? And how to fix him?" Sack Attack, visiting from Guam, was slightly more disturbed than the other hashers, who were mostly trying to shirk responsibility for feeding baby Crabs.

"It was probably the hurricane check," guessed Muppet Dick, as Crabs crawled by on all fours. "Someone needs to corral him, I saw Rocky Bowel Movement in the grass earlier. Who knows what he is crawling through?"

"No, I saw Crabs talking to Three Fingers and The Perfect Woman on trail," Bloqueen told them. "He even solved a check!"

"Can solving a check do that to you?" asked Just John, starting an urban legend that would plague the San Francisco hash for years to come.

"I got his $7," Muff Daddy bragged. "Like stealing candy from a... well, you know."

"It's clear that Crabs is expressing a deep psychological need," Slug told Fuck Buddy and Backwash. Cockulus Oculus frowned. It appeared that Crabs' immediate psychological need was to watch Vagina Dentata shine his light through plastic cups and Boner Marrow shine his light through his shorts.

"I once felt like a tiny baby rocking on a tree branch suspended high in the winds," Dick Simmons opined. "That was after I met a man who talked like Fucker with a mustache like Cuming Mutha, and after that trip I was never the same." Dick Ass Mother Fucker smiled and nodded.

"Quick!" Circle Jerk gestured to CPA and Blowfish. "Hold him down. I have something that'll make a man out of him." Luckily, Masterbaster's leash tangled between Crabs' legs and brought him to a standstill. A wail resounded through the air. Circle Jerk popped something in Crabs' open mouth.

"Did you give him a hurricane?" guessed Squeeze Box.

"Or a hand grenade?" Tuna wondered. "Great for colic, hand grenades."

"Malort always does the trick," Miss Delivery offered.

"Even better-- a garbanzo bean!" Circle Jerk explained. "You see, it would never be appropriate for a baby to have a garbanzo bean on his face."

Crabs immediately started coughing, and Wash This Asshole ran over to pat him on the back. The garbanzo bean flew out, followed by a small plastic baby.

"That king cake really went down the wrong way," Crabs coughed once more. "Luckily, I'm all back to normal. Now for our down down song-- Creeeeaaamm of Wheeeaaattt."