SFH3 Run #1755: Love Bites - Fuck Valentine's Day Hash
: 02/15/2016
: 1198 Willard St San Francisco, CA 94117
: Brown Eye for the Gay Guy & Resting Slut Face
: Do Her Well

Massive hangovers on February 15th were par for the course for Just Eros, but waking up outside Kezar Stadium in a waste bin was a little outside the norm. At first, he had thought that it was still V-Day, considering the darkness of the sky and the massive gibbous moon overhead. However, as he looked around, he could see the crowd surrounding him was decidedly not in the mood for romance.


“Fuck Valentine’s!” crowed a shirtless man standing in front of some odd-looking chalk marks. “And fuck you guys! On on!” He ran off with another bare-chested youth.


Just Eros stared after them, pulling out a blow dart from his pocket. His practice on the Golden Gate Bridge earlier in the month had honed his skills perfectly, but luckily for the humans, he had exchanged real darts for his special missiles for this round. A zip, a sting, and one of the men leapt and squealed under the streetlight. That’ll show them, Just Eros thought.


“Excuse me,” piped up a dry, British voice behind him. “You have a bit of… rubbish on you.”


“It matches my eyes,” Just Eros batted his lashes. “You are?”




“Your place or mine?”


“They’re doing chalk talk,” Fucker continued. “Put this vest on and go over there.”


Always happy to oblige a British man, Just Eros shuffled over to a circle around the marks, where he saw many strange things and people. Not to worry, he scoffed to himself, glancing at the chalk cock. I’ll teach this crew what a penis really looks like before the end of the night.


But before he could so much as unload another blow dart, the pack was off, running in the only direction that SFH3 hares understand, UP.


“Hey!” shouted Eros. “I thought we were supposed to stop here to see some titties?” The rest of the group ignored him, thirstier for libations rather than boob liberations. He had no choice to follow, running—okay, occasionally hovering overhead—as fast as he could.


They pounded their way through the Sutro forest, On Ons ringing through the air. “Hey there,” said Saigon Sally as he saw Eros lift another dart to his lips. “We’re checking. No whistling unless we’re On!” Eros winked and blew, pricking Saigon with his silver tip. “Oh my,” said he, and with renewed vigor Saigon flew after the whistle of Three Fingers that rang through the darkness.


Circling the mountain, the rest of the crew were doggedly sniffing out the Jello shots that lay ahead of them. Just Aaron, rocking to the beats once again, heard neither Gobble My Ass nor Just Eros on his tail. A swift hip check took them both out, but to Just Eros’s dismay the landing remained G-rated.  Thank god (himself, that is), the drink check was close at hand.


Sucking down the artisinally crafted gelatin alongside Bum Sucking Electric Fag, Just Eros pursed his lips and blew a dart randomly at the crowd.


“Wow,” Just Get It Over With gazed into The Perfect Woman’s eyes. Red corset heaving, she trembled with excitement. “I think I’m in love.”


“I’m a broken man,” exclaimed The Perfect Woman. “I couldn’t even beat Jack The Ripper off… I mean, he beat me… nevermind.”


“Nothing else matters in this world besides you,” continued Just Get It Over With, oblivious. She knelt down reverently and pulled a shot from the cooler. “Let me taste your essence.”


“I’m unsurprisingly okay with this outcome,” said The Perfect Woman, watching with half of the pack.


However, the other half were r*cist as usual and had already taken off through the shrubbery. Just Eros pursued them to yet another drink check, where the drinkmeister of Tank Hill was decidedly less excited about her wares.


Thunderpussy Ho! jumped at the sting of the dart. Just Eros smiled, pleased that he would help her convince other hashers to drink even more with her newfound lust, but as he tracked her gaze his smile turned into a grimace.


“Aren’t you the sweetest thing!” she cooed, patting Allahu Aqbark’s head. “Here, Masterbaster,” she attempted to take leash from his owner, who looked a tad uncertain. “He looks tired. He can sit and rest with me for a while.”


“I’m getting out of here,” said Eros to himself, and scramble onwards and downwards he did, ignoring the amorous assignations of Buena Vista—they didn’t need his help—for the more sedate setting of the DMV. Fuck Buddy handed him a drink. “You look like you earned it,” she told him. “Poor, poor fool.”


“The night’s work is not yet done!” he exclaimed, “Besides, I think there’s still a serious misunderstanding amongst the pack as to what a penis looks like.”


“Not to worry!” yelled Boner Malfunction, revealing his namesake.


“That didn’t help,” retorted Rhythm Method.


“Second chance?” gulped Eros, pushing Backside Banger forward.


John Handcock shivered in horror. “Keep that man away from us! Have you seen Roman Showers? Her jaw is practically broken in two!”


“Third times a charm!” Eros pulled a spandex-clad Buck Fucka from the crowd. “It’s the pelvic thrust that really drives you insane.”


“He’s driving me somewhere,” purred Eat My Pussy.


“Get a room!” yelled Dual Tools Up My Ass, arms around multiple virgins. “I actually don’t think I’ll need the second one I booked, if you’d like a discount.”


The crowd was getting drunker and more amorous, with Zippercised and Do Her Well aiming to rein them in to little avail. Ready to cause more of a ruckous, Eros sighted their tender flesh for his darts.


“You’re going to fucking drink for that,” yelled Zippercised. “On your knees!”


“Dumbass,” added Do Her Well. “Don’t you know I’m experiencing lesbian bed death, and Zippercised is pregnant with a butt baby? We both are immune to your wiles.”


“Yeah,” followed Zippercised, “If only we had a immunity for Dick Simmon’s viral meme-ber.”


“Spare us the thought! Let’s get to the hares!” Do Her Well shouted.


Unfortunately Brown Eye For The Gay Guy and Resting Slut Face were nowhere to be found, but some suspicious sounds from the nearby bushes led many to suspect what they where they had ended up. It was up to Miss Delivery to reveal himself as the One True Hare and drink for them.


With that, the crowd managed to disperse before the police showed up to pull Brown Eye from the bushes.


“Hey sweetheart!” he yelled to Eros as they frisked him thoroughly. “A little help?”


One more for the road, Eros thought, and he grinned as Brown Eye was handed a ticket.


“I think I might have to investigate you a bit more privately,” murmured the sergeant as she removed some handcuffs from her belt.


Brown Eye’s screams resounded like wedding bells through the night.



The End.