SFH3 Run #1762: Knights & Princesses
|:||The Castle, 1540 Newhall Street|
|:||ABBAA & Foul Balls|
|:||Do Her Well|
“This place looks really familiar.” Craven More Head adjusted her tutu. “Think it’s a circle jerk?” she asked Dick Simmons as they ran down the trail at Hunter’s Point.
“This is a great place for a picture.” He handed her his camera, jogging away from her. “Did you get it?” he called back.
“Shots!” called out Shaft.
Dick Simmons took back the camera. “Sure thing! Hold still.” He blinked when he saw their hare standing before them with a bottle. “Oh, that kind…”
ABBAH grinned drunkenly at them all. “Punsch.”
Dick Ass Mother Fucker flinched instinctively. Wee Wee took the bottle from ABBAH and drank a small sip. “Well, it’s no mayonnaise…”
With only a short respite, the pack took off beneath the setting sun. Village Tool and Shit Eating Grin charged uphill, closely followed by Fucker and Miss Delivery. Split Wide Open waved as Masterbaster passed her with Allahu Aqbark. “Hey Masterbaster, do you know who the GM is this year?”
A cry of anguish soared through the sky, but whether it was man or beast none could tell.
Zippercised and Backside Banger jumped at the sound, along with several other walkers. “Jesus, this is a shitty neighborhood,” Zippercised said to himself. “The RA IRA that Do Her Well told me about last week better be worth it.”
“I’m pretty sure the returns are the remnants of your dignity,” remarked Muff Daddy. “Bwahahaha.”
Zippercised shrugged. “Oh, hey, a poo garden!”
“Shit!” yelled Saigon Sally, as the pack blazed down Third Street, the last glimmers of daylight ebbing away. “This is getting treacherous.” Chicken Bone Her soldiered on beside him, leaping over a curb. “If we don’t watch ourselves…” he muttered forebodingly. In the distance, twin cries rang out.
And all went dark.
“This place looks really familiar,” Craven More Head said slowly. Dick Simmons attempted to hand her the camera, but she waved him off. “No, I mean it.”
“Shots!” called out Shaft, and Dick Simmons trotted over to him instead.
“Heyyy,” called out ABBAH as he lounged on the park bench. “Puncsh?” He sat up as Wee Wee looked suspiciously at the bottle. ABBAH leaned back against, enjoying his buzz. He felt like he had been there forever. He blinked as he saw a shirtless, glitter covered man running towards him. “What’re you doing back here? Do I need to show you where to set ALL the marks?” he asked the approaching figure of his co-hare.
Buck Fucka gulped. “There are marks already. The last… the last two times, I’ve done the same thing, and they’re always there. I don’t remember setting them. I blink, and I’m back in time. What’s going on?”
“Are you drunk?” grinned ABBAH lazily. He waggled the hashshit at him. “Here, have some more…”
“No, he’s right.” Craven More Head stepped forward. “Something weird is happening.”
“On On!” yelled Fucker, running forward.
BloQueen paused. “Are we sure we want to do this? It feels like we are running in circles.” Tears of Semen came up to him, panting. “There was a man…” she puffed out. “He said every way we turn is a dead end.”
Double Dildo Dick My Daddy shivered. “This is getting creepier by the minute,” she said. “What do we do?”
“The last thing I remember was hearing a scream.”
“Twerxes,” the group murmured in unison. “Again?”
“Does this happen every week?” asked Double Diva, breasts heaving in her corset.
“Given that these r*cists barely drink before the start of their runs, I doubt it’s the alcohol,” said Robo Cock. “I think it’s the hash gods punishing them for a lack of boob checks.”
“Here, Buck Fucka,” ABBAH handed his co-hare the hashshit. “You have to save us. You are our only hope.”
“What on earth is he going to do with that?” asked Heracknophobia, swirling her jazzercise skirt anxiously.
“Only one way to find out,” Shoeless Joe Jackson replied, and they pounded down the trail after him.
Buck Fucka had no idea where on trail he would find Twerxes, but his finely tuned senses instinctively told him to head north. He zigged and zagged, forgoing trail for the most direct route to where he thought her cry had come from.
“Sleazy, where’s Twerxes?” he grabbed the harriette by both arms, who along with the rest of the walkers was watching the first few of the pack come to the beer van.
“Uh, over there?” Sleazy held him forcibly away from her body, unwilling to spend the requisite time that glitter removal would require. “Next to I Cunt Hear You…”
Buck Fucka turned, watching the scene unfold before his eyes. The pair were running towards beer, their last bit of energy being spent to reach refreshment. I Cunt Hear You’s foot skidded on a loose pebble, jarring his phone from his grasp. It leapt from his hands, cord unfurling to twist in front of Twerxes’ approaching ankles.
“Nooo!” Buck Fucka dove, closing the gap between them to shield Twerxes from danger. He grabbed the phone, yanking it back along with its wiry death trap. They all slid to a halt, looking at the phone in Buck Fucka’s palm. He raised the hashshit in his other hand, stabbing the phone with the wooden dildo like a stake through the heart.
“My phone!” yelled I Cunt Hear You. “Someone get me to Verizon!”
“Cunt You Hear Me Now?” cried out Zippercised.
And it was good.