Once there were four hashers whose names Humpy Slowcum, Crabs, Cockamole, and Tuna on Top. This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away to Crane Cove Park during a baseball game. The park was very new and was covered with people and dogs of all sorts, but despite all of these delights it was truly a very boring park for hashers.

Cockamole and the others had been largely left to their own devices, and there was nought she was more likely to do than to explore the surroundings. Down one alley and up another she went, until she stumbled upon what appeared to be a backcheck. While she had never been behind a backcheck before, and truly any grown adult would tell you there was nothing but a dead end to be found, today she decided to venture further and further. And where she thought her feet would stop her, low and behold there existed a trail beyond her wildest imagination.

"Come here! Come here! Quickly!" she called the others, and while they initially scoffed at her, they too were soon amazed at what they found beyond the backcheck.

"A whole new trail!" They were amazed at the sights before their eyes, as they had turned a corner and suddenly the weather was that of the coldest winter.

"Ah, what sort of creature is this!" Peg Me And Lace Me and Rumple Dick Skin stood before them, hands on their hips. "Could it be... actual hashers? We must find Hand Pump!"

"Yes, we are hashers," Cockamole explained. "And who might you be?"

"We're twins!" they answered in unison.

"Yes, we got that," Tuna replied.

As the twins started to explain more, Humpy found himself growing bored and weary, and instead of staying to listen he chose to wander off by himself. It was not long in the frigid air that he began to wish that he had stayed with the group-- they might have had an idea of where to find shelter.

"Hello there," Muff Daddy almost crashed into him. "Might you be a hasher?"

"Um, yes?" Humpy Slowcum replied. "Where are we? Do you know how to get back to trail?"

"I know many things," Muff Daddy told him. "Would you like a coffee-flavored Oreo?"

Humpy's eyes widened and he nodded hopefully.

"Very good," Muff Daddy grinned slyly. "Follow me. And on our way, you can tell me more about your little hasher friends."

Meanwhile, Cockamole, Tuna, and Crabs had noticed Humpy's absence. The twins were similarly distressed, although the refused to explain why. Instead, they ushered the group uphill, where they encountered Three Fingers and One and Done.

"Ah, hashers!" the two said. "We must get you to Hand Pump!"

"Where is Hand Pump anyway?" asked Crabs.

"Who knows?" Three Fingers replied. "He isn't a tame beermeister."

"I heard he was with Wash This Asshole and Jack The Ripper in Espirit Park," One and Done added. "But we must get there quickly-- now that you are here, it's almost certain that other people will take notice as well."

Tuna paused and looked at him carefully, for behind his words was an ominous tone.

However, fortunately it was not long before they had alit upon Espirit Park to find none other than Hand Pump surrounded by various naiads and dryads traipsing around with flowers.

"A glorious day!" Ocean Spray cried, as she linked arms with On All Fours and Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring.

"Is it?" asked Boner Marrow. "Because it seems to me that there is a great evil afoot."

Slug shivered in terror, and even Fucker looked troubled.

"Is it me?" Muff Daddy blurted out, coming out from behind the beer van with Humpy in tow.

"You're ok!" shouted Cockamole, happy to see Humpy once again.

"Um, no," Boner Marrow answered. "Or maybe? I don't know. I think I may have lost the plot."

"Well, what was the evil you noticed?" asked Fuck Buddy.

"Ah, yes. The great evil. A rogue hash has taken over the lands. And that is why before us four hashers have stumbled from beyond the backcheck." Boner Marrow explained.

"Might that be the BAR Hash?" Cuming Mutha stood forward, eyebrows bristling.

"Yes! You see, they hadn't even run until right before this trail, and now look at all the trouble it has caused. Good haring practice--"

"Do not quote the haring advice to me, Boner Marrow," Cuming Mutha replied. "I was there when it was written."

Do Her Well gasped, and Five Angry Inches reached for the popcorn.

"Well, this certainly isn't my fault," Boner Marrow retorted. "It was a malicious act of the City and County of San Francisco, if anything."

"And you can't beat City Hall," Medium Sized Balls of Fire pointed out.

"Well, after all that," Hand Pump interrupted. "How about some BEER?"

Everyone applauded, and Dick Simmons snapped a few photos as Sir Menage a Lot toasted Rocky Bowel Movement. Just Doesn't Get It leaned over to pet Bitch on Fire, who wagged her tail. Even Cool Handjob Luke's Boston marathon jersey was cheerfully forgiven.

"I'm glad they haven't noticed yet," Muff Daddy whispered to Bloqueen. At his raised eyebrow, Muff Daddy continued, "The prophecy remains unfulfilled, and a curse is upon the land-- it shall be always May but never B2B!" He giggled in delight.

"Oh no, no, no!" Wee Wee held a finger up. "I am certainly not going to pull myself around with not one, not two, but three boxes of Franzia while pregnant if we are not doing B2B. No sir. B2B is most definitely and most certainly on."

Rhythm Method gave her a high five, and Gloryhole applauded. Muff Daddy just sighed. "Fine," he ceded. "Prophecy broken. I'll go get the van."

The End