“Someone better write a letter to the IOC, is all I’ll say,” Titty Boo Boo groused as Dick Simmons paraded himself in a circle around the group, holding his medal up high. “Whoever scheduled the Short Shorts competition during the Hash Relay is a dick.”

 

“At least you set the Olympic record for the first leg,” One Night Only consoled him.

 

“As the first time the hash relay has been included, I don’t think he could avoid it,” Cunty Butler said less than helpfully.

 

Tricrapylete had turned pale. “I think I lost my phone somewhere, and I’ve got a booty call coming.” He sped off, leaping through the hurdles just as the competition started, inadvertently winning himself another medal. Udder Moron tried to flag him down, but to no avail.

 

“Did you hear Bitch’s Bitch got tossed from the hurling competition for doping?” Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring gossiped to Fuck Buddy. “I heard he got so angry, he screwed the speed walking competitors over by mismarking the route. Dildo Baggins was so off course he ended up at the hospital.”

 

“I thought that was pretty close to trail?” Minor 69er chimed in.

 

“No, that was after he almost drowned in Stow Lake.”

 

“Synchronized swimming is nearly impossible when your partner is a goose,” the still drenched Dildo Baggins explained.

 

“Am I too late to enter the fashion show?” visitor La Gingeracha asked hopefully.

 

“Sorry, only one Mexican allowed,” Good Shit Lollicock pushed him out of the way.

 

“And it’s rigged anyway,” Craven Morehead stuffed a wad of cash down her shirt. Deadbeat strutted his stuff in front of her, and she eagerly handed him gold.

 

Brown Eye paused from swiping left on his phone. “What’s that noise? It sounds like someone… eating meat.”

 

Sir Menage A Lot turned and stared at the bushes, which were rustling ominously. “You’ve got to lower your standards, Brown Eye,” he advised. “It could be true love awaiting you in there.”

 

Uber Luber leapt out in front of them. His mouth was covered in blood, and there was a terrible hunger in his eyes. Rogue Cow slumped out of the bushes, his skull cracked open.

 

“Don’t worry, man, the keg’s not dead.” Ru Ru Rimmin’s voice trembled.

 

“Now is the time when we start backing away slowly,” Sir Menage a Lot gulped.

 

“Holy shit, he’s a zombie!” Dickweed’s scream was echoed by an inhuman roar from Uber Luber. Out of the bushes stumbled Slap a Bag of Dickz, Bitch Pimp, and Rhythm Method, slowly but methodically approaching the group.

 

“Run!” yelled Wee Wee, shoving Millimeter Peter into the open bed of a slowly passing pickup truck. “Hold on!” she instructed at him, pounding on the roof and pointing. They screeched off into the distance.

 

Meanwhile Slug was trying to reason with Bitch Pimp. “Look, I know you haven’t been hashing in a while, but that’s no reason to be antisocial.” Rabid snarls filled the air.

 

Cockamole crouched behind the bus stop with Twerxes. “Let’s split up and divide their forces. Whistle like a mockingjay to find me, like this…” She demonstrated.

 

Twerxes pierced her lips and partially deafened Cockamole. Uber Luber turned towards them, stiffly approaching with arms held out. The two harriettes gulped, gave each other a quick hug, and parted ways. Uber Luber, confused at which direction to take, staggered in place. Luckily for him Crabs had just returned from the restroom and was an easy catch.

 

“No, take me!” Hand Pump grabbed his bottle opener and sliced open his hand. Uber Luber dropped Crabs and came towards him. Crabs gripped at his arm, blood dripping down.

 

“So you’re responsible for this keg, sir?” the park ranger already had his notebook open. By then most of the pack had scattered. Hand Pump looked around for help, but none was available. However, so focused was the ranger on making Hand Pump sign the ticket, he did not notice Uber Luber coming up behind him. He was dragged backwards into the darkness, the slip of paper left drifting in the wind.

 

Just Doesn’t Get It waved to Camel Toe from the end of the block, emphatically pointing to his left. Camel Toe put one hand to his ear. JDGI got out his semaphore flags, frantically signaling for him to keep running. Camel Toe put both hands to his ears and shrugged his shoulders, coming halfway down the block towards him. JDGI shook his head emphatically, jumping up and down. Camel Toe stopped, shouting, “Are you?” Cuming Mutha fell on his head from a tree like a drop bear. “The dinnies’ fair bonza,” he commented between swallows of brains.

 

Just Jaci crouched in the stands of the stadium with Just Ben, Just Cam, and Just Ender. “Maybe if we stay here, no one will notice us?” Just Ender leapt from their spot immediately. “My virgin!” he cried, running off into the darkness. The other three shrugged and hunkered down.

 

Full of Shit was pacing immediately below them, holding her phone up. “With all these Poke Go coins, I’ve got to be able to do something,” she muttered to herself. “Shit, stay still, Circle Jerk,” she commanded her now slightly brain deader brother.

 

Do Her Well got up on top of a bench. “Hash hush!” she cried at the top of her lungs. All, zombie hoard and human hashers, stopped and looked. “At this time!”

 

The crowd echoed back, “At this time!” A good half of it was incoherent moaning, and not just from the zombies.

 

“We all are here together because we have a lot in common,” she said. “A love for running, a love for beer. We were brought here from all different walks of life, but every hash I find out something more that I have in common with you. I am reminded of the power of companionship, of the joy in laughing at yourself, and in the strength of the human spirit. Now, why don’t we all come together, humans and zombies, and—”

 

Uber Luber grabbed her by her ankles and dragged her into the slavering zombie hoard, where she was torn limb from limb. A thumb rolled out of the melee and stopped at Cockagami’s shoe.

 

“Well, that was completely expected.” He said to no one in particular. “I’m going to the bar.”

 

Tricrapylete ran back to the group. “I found it!” he waved his phone around. The screen lit up. “My booty call!” he cried in delight, but he was so excited that he dropped the device onto the ground. The chorus of Thriller resounded through the air.

 

“Look at them!” Ru Ru Rimmin cried, pointing to the zombies.  In unison, they had begun to dance to the tinny music emerging from Tricrapylete’s phone. “Keep calling him!” Everyone whipped out their phones and dialed.

 

“A whole lot of you have his number,” Wash This Asshole remarked, suspicious.

 

“There’s no time for that,” Wrinklepecker said, frantically dialing.

 

Ru Ru Rimmin had grabbed the phone and was holding it aloft, slowly walking to the Kezar Stadium gates. The zombies followed, stepping synchronously to the beat. Once inside, he signaled to Perfect Woman and My Little Porno to lock the door. “We’ll trap them inside!” he yelled over the music.

 

“Are you sure?” asked Masterbaster.

 

“Send Doucheicorn to lock the gate on the other side,” Ru Ru Rimmin looked him in the eye. “In case I can’t make it in time.”

 

“They’re very slow,” Muff Daddy pointed out. “You’d have to sprain an ankle or something.”

 

“Don’t jinx him!” Backwash scolded. “We believe in you.” The chain rasped across the gates, and Ru Ru Rimmin began to run.

 

“Hey, help us!” Just Ben yelled, causing Ru Ru Rimmin to drop the phone. The tune shut off, and the zombies looked towards the three “Just” hashers crouching in terror.

 

Ru Ru Rimmin looked at them, but he had already made his choice. “To the west gate!” he yelled, leaping heroically into the hoard.

 

“Uh, which one is that?” Just Ben scratched his head, and then they were overrun.

 

Backside Banger shook his head, studying the bloodbath on the artificial turf. He turned the key on the final lock, closing the stadium off.

 

“Lots of work for Parks & Rec in the morning,” he remarked.

 

 

“I once stayed in Golden Gate Park overnight on a dare.” Titty Boo Boo replied. “I can tell you for a fact they’ve seen worse.”