"The problem is, you have to solve the trail to find the beer, but you really need to drink the beer so you'll be able to think like the hare and solve the trail," Humpy Slocum explained to the virgins.

"What we have here is a circle jerk," Do Her Well added.

"No, Circle Jerk's still setting trail," Muff Daddy corrected her.

"And we would show you what the marks look like," Banana In Public chimed in. "But Just Maxwell is blocking them. But he won't move because he doesn't know what the marks look like."

"The good news is we have new beer," Hand Pump told them all. "But we have to drink the old beer before we can drink the new beer, so you won't get to have the new beer until next week."

"When it will be old," Cum Test Dummy replied.

"Exactly!" Hand Pump grinned. Concerned, Cum Test Dummy immediately raided a nearby kitchen for extra glassware.

The pack, somehow less confused than usual, took off. Immediately the virgins defied Humpy's good advice and tried to make sense of trail. Fucker deliberated and finally pointed them straight up Bernal.

"At least it's not Coit Tower," Muppet Dick consoled himself.

Just Doesn't Get It, surrounded by tall grasses, made a crop circle, while the rest of the pack rimmed the base thoroughly.

Trail sorted itself somewhere near the Mission, but the pack discovered a conundrum. A trail without a check must, ipso facto, not have a beer check. A crisis had developed, and Famous Anus was distraught.

"Now, now," Sir Menage A Lot patted his shoulder. "Only one thing to be done."

"Punish the hare!" Boner Marrow swore his vengeance.

"Run the rest of the trail really fast so he knows we haven't been fooled at all," Do Her Well took off.

Menage sighed deeply and pointed the more sensible folks into the nearest bar.

Meanwhile, the FRBs had discovered that the hare arrow had a hare error.

"Someone better sort this out," John Handcock frowned. "Or I swear to god I will take my shirt off." One and Done fled the scene, and Gloryhole swore he had never even been there.

At the start, where the pack once more somehow found itself, Crabs patrolled for crimes like a bloodhound.

"This is my last trail," Pippi Longcocking told him.

"But you haven't been here long enough to leave," Crabs argued.

"I... just won't be here next week? Or the following one?" Pippi Longcocking pointed out.

"Oh, sure, we have plenty of people who do that," Crabs agreed. "Say, you would make a great GM!"

As the darkness grew, Wash This Asshole and Backwash enjoyed the customized chips, while On All Fours and Cuming Mutha drummed up some Red Dress Run excitement.

"It's really too bad that my doctor forbid me from any jerking motions, that's why I couldn't do trail," Dick Simmons told Three Fingers. "I've had to learn to 'brush my teeth' with the other one."

"Maybe next time," Three Fingers shrugged sympathetically.

With the hash, whenever one jerk closes, another is sure to open.