SFH3 Run #2160: Pumpkin spice trail
: 10/02/2023
: Precita park
: Cum Test Daddy
: Do Her Well

Crabs “Fingers” surveyed his domain proudly. The fall air was still, the children were peacefully playing in the park. Dogs frolicked. Crabs passed wind gently.

“Did you hear?” Humpy “Not A Virgin” Slowcum interrupted his tranquility.

“Hear what?” Crabs watched as Circle “ChickPee” Jerk greeted Just “Beam Me” Scotty.
Cum Test ‘Pumpkin Spice’ Dummy is in town. And she’s going to make you pay.”

“For what?” Crabs asked, trying to remember if he had any unpaid parking tickets. But Humpy was gone, making nice with Cocka- “Gauca” -mole and Cockulus “Doc” Oculus.
“You’ll find out,” Hand “Mister” Pump nodded towards the imposing and yet distant chalk talk, which somehow implied they would all end up drunk at Dairy Queen without outright stating it. Muff “Pay Me” Daddy nodded from behind him. “Best get going, if you know what’s good for you.”
Crabs didn’t waste one more second, but took off running away as fast as he could from Precita Park.

“What are you doing here?” he panted as he nearly ran over
Eat My “Hash Standard Time” Pussy at Mission Street.
“You can put it in pastries,” EMP’s eyes grew so wide so you could see their whites all around his irises.
“No, thank you,” Crabs declined and continued to run towards Bernal, pushing past Muppet “Mmmm” Dick and One and “Two if By C” Done.
“You can put it in candies,” Tonya “You Fuckin What?” Hardon whirled around a stop sign menacingly.
“I don’t think I will,” Crabs pushed himself ahead faster, nearly knocking Master “Paint Job” Baster off his ladder. C “Ask Nicely” PA, On All “Or Some” Fours and Wash This “Fresh” Asshole watched as he dashed up the steps two at a time, nearly knocking down five senior citizens and a Chihuahua.
“You can put it in liquor,” Boner “Orthoganol” Marrow waved a bottle at him as Crabs sprinted past.
“You can put it in omelets,” Five Angry “Doing Work In Therapy” Inches leapt out of a haunted house. Three “Or Four” Fingers and Medium “Psychic” Sized Balls of Fire nodded in unison.
“And in orange food. It is orange food,” Cool “Not Cold” Handjob Luke said monotonously.
“It’s in New York,” Cosmo-“Manhattan”-politits pulled out a map covered in orange.

“And Australia,”
Cuming “GDay” Mutha turned the map upside down. The orange started dripping down his fingers and onto the pavement. Rocky Bowel “Sparkle Motion” Movement started licking it up, while Dick “Cockarazzi” Simmons took pictures.
“It’ll give you wings,” Four On the Floor, “Literal” Two in the Air held a bucket of orange, The “Sound Effects” Strapper nodding behind her.
“And just wait,” Fort “Just In Time For Fleet Week” Dixalot held up an orange finger. If It Tits “T-Twister” It Fits raised a blindfold.
“It’s even in the beer!” Mouth Down “Far” South cried triumphantly while a treachery of ravens cackled ominously from above.
“Nooooo!” screamed Crabs, sitting up suddenly only to find himself surrounded not by the eldritch orange covered maws of deranged half mind but by freshly cut grass and possibly the slowly receding remnants of a fart.
“What’s the matter, Crabs?” asked SeXXX-Ray.
“It’s easy to overdose on sweets at this time of year,” Tuna remarked. “Guaranteed to give you nightmares.”
“Oh thank god, thank god,” Crabs muttered to himself. “It was only a dream.”
Fucker frowned. “I hate to break it to you, but it’s still a Pumpkin Spice trail today. We heard your whimpers.”
“Really, you can’t complain about anything after ‘Fingers!’” Sleazy pointed out, Just Get It Over With nodding beside her.
“No, no, that’s fine. I thought someone else was doing Hashoween!” Crabs laughed in relief. “If anyone is going to unleash slimy creatures of sugary death and destruction on the hash… it better be me!”
The End