Oh the year was 2024
How I wish I was at the beer check now,
The brashest missive a crowd did bring
To the scummiest park I've ever seen
God damn them all, I was told
We'd lay a trail for a foolish pack
We'd draw no hounds, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Frisco pier
The last of Who's Your Daddy's privateers
The sun left its last warm rays on the gathered pack, centered around the stark white lines on the ground carefully separating cute cartoon pandas from the matters at hand.
"You've been hashing for a year?" Do Her Well spat on the sidewalk. "You were sucking on your mother's teat when Who's Your Daddy was a veteran. Your talk of experience merely highlights your ignorance. Were you there at at the Charge of The Mint Brigade? The Park Police Raid?"
Cuming Mutha raised an eyebrow but did not comment.
"Who's Your Daddy doesn't think he is faster than us. He thinks he is smarter than us." She looked around at Muff Daddy, dutifully passing out chalk, and at Hand Pump, closing down the beer van. "And since he has Exaggerated Crack helping him, he might even be right."
"Some insults cannot be borne," Bloqueen stood up next to her. "Today we shall show what we are made of. We are the pack and we hash as one. On on!"
Skid Mark unleashed his hound, and they were off. Flour was callously scattered before them, and checks were at the plenty. Racing past the Children's Hospital, Sexxx-ray spared a moment to wonder if there might be any likely recruits available, but they were blazing past with the wind at their backs. Medium Sized Balls of Fire cut across the lawn with Gloryhole on his heels.
The next false lay perilously close to true trail, but the besiegement of the pack paid dividends, and Humpy Slowcum led the way to the foul sight of a Turkey-Eagle split.
"You must go it alone," said Boner Marrow solemnly to Humpy and Muppet Dick. "Our pride forbids us from deviating from our proscribed course."
"We will do you proud," they promised.
Dickweed took the lead, diving though parking lot and over MUNI tracks but to be laywaid by a backcheck.
"This is war!" roared Blowfish, and they were pushing past small children and middle-aged men playing basketball, all callously insensible to the plight at hand. Dick Ass Mother Fucker sauntered slowly past them, holding up a camera and his press credentials.
Circle Jerk sniffed a stray bit of flour, leaving the battle front to find true trail through the trenches.
"My navigational systems are on the fritz!" One and Done looked at his maps in chagrin, but Dickweed grabbed him by the shoulders and gave him a shake.
"Get a hold of yourself!" A few deep breaths and they were off together back up Potrero Hill.
"It's horrible," Uber Luber panted at the Recreation Center. "I just looked down for a moment, and Shaft was gone."
"What do you think happened to him?" Do Her Well asked.
"Never mind that," Cuming Mutha waved his hand. "That's a bloody pack arrow. On on!"
"I wouldn't be so sure about that..." Uber Luber warned.
"This is no time for doubts," Do Her Well raised her drywall. "We have lost our best FRBs. Cockamole-- MIA. Just Rob? Probably at San Bruno by now. Touchmaster 69? In need of service. Now we have no hope left-- There is nothing to fear but beer itself." She speedwalked up the stairs.
But the advice of Uber Luber rang all too true. The pack was in shambles, and if it weren't for Backhoe it is not clear if any would have even survived to tell the tale.
"They dragged me up onto their level and beat me at it," Sheepy groaned. "I'm a sheep, not a mountain goat." Sleazy gently applied Bitchin Sauce to his Mint Oreo.
"They have broken the very rules of war," Sir Menage-a-Lot told a somewhat sympathetic Wine Rack.
"Were we defeated by their clever strategies and tactical planning?"King of Bedbugs opined to Chicken Bone Her. "No, they had none. But we are beaten all the same."
"We have but to toast our fallen brethren and mark this day forever in our memories," E=Mc Fucked proclaimed, raising the Zombie Killer. All went black.
So here I am on the millionth mile
How I wish I was at the beer check now,
It's been six hours since we ran away
On the shittiest trail that ever did lay
God damn them all, I was told
We'd pursue the hares on a gallant lark
We'd lose no trail, shed no tears
Now I'm a broken man on a Frisco pier
The last of Do Her Well's privateers
On In!