SFH3 Run #2142: Weiner I Am Memorial Run
: 05/29/2023
: Lower States St Park
: Gobble My Ass
: Do Her Well

There's a trail that once was run,
Chalk scuffed and flour dried.
We'd trod the hills and staircases well,
On on! the pack had cried.

Hares have come and hares have gone,
Gobble My Ass and John Handcock, just two,
The pack has ebbed and flowed with time,
Bringing visitors and virgins anew.

There's not one of us who is quite the same,
From On All Fours to Rocky Bowel Movement,
When you come to the hash, you come as you are,
No qualifications or standards for improvement.

Here Chicken Bone Her has brought BAR Hash,
Where duly Cuming Mutha has plotted,
There Tonya Hardon has cursed a backcheck,
At The Phoenix, we all got besotted.

And yon, Porta-a Hottie stepped into her name,
While Just Get It Over With clinked her glass,
Shaft and Fucker through the Mission have raced,
Boner Marrow now gives it full gas.

Today, Cum You Will Not has come with a friend,
Twist the Head and Pull say's she's a looker,
As even In The Ass Dear can tell you,
She's Clearly Not A Hooker.

Dick First Ass Up finds slides a pain in the shin,
Five Angry Inches relies on Cuming Mutha
Cox Box is just happy to be running again
King Of Bedbugs has some hares to discover.

Just Doesn't Get It winds back up at the start,
Masterbaster pulls up to the pack,
Circle Jerk nods in recognition,
Muppet Dick pulls his coat on his back.

The orange food comes and the orange food goes,
Squeeze Box takes a dip of the guac,
While Fuck Buddy and Do Her Well
Have Hand Pump's van to unlock.

Crabs circles us then and circles us now,
For crimes, Got Wood's given a few,
Muff Daddy eternally letting us know,
That always, dues will be due.

But as Sleazy and Humpy will tell you now,
GMing is not forever,
However redeemed Vagina Dentata's trail could be,
There has to be rain in the weather.

In the wind that stirs the trees,
You might hear Cockamole's laughter,
Looking over Wrinklepecker and Cosmic Pussy,
You might see the silhouette of Scatmaster,

So there we all stand in the dimming light,
The liminal space we evoke.
Hearing the last slap of very swift feet,
Smelling the last hint of smoke.

RIP Weiner I Am