The crowd gathers uneasily, unsure of what to expect. Backside Banger is looking at his empty wallet with chagrin, while Roman Showers is trying to set off the password protect features of their online bank account. Fuck Buddy pronounces to Wee Wee that this whole production looks shittier than their trail by far.

Squeal 4 Me attempts to silence his phone, but he just butt dials his boss. Abba and Douchicorn are giving each other tips on hair.

 

Dickweed is thinking of motorcycles and does not stop thinking of them for the rest of this trash, while Brown Eye is wondering about women from a bicycle’s point of view. Wash This Asshole is wondering about Brown Eye from a woman’s point of view.

 

Dick Simmons has his camera set up, he’s not going to miss a thing unless the lighting gets too bad. The night is pitch black, and we all know because 

 

The curtains open, a scene appears. Primal Vagina and Whorifist are both wearing white wigs and are stuffing Hoseblower into a pair of 18th century breeches. Six Tits a Week is attempting to cha cha with Sir Sponge Bob Splooge Pants. All stand motionless. Ru Ru Rimmin brings out a 90s era beatbox and Crabs pushes play.

 

A single, unitone voice attempts to white-girl rap:

 

How does a Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring

Hasher, dropped into the middle of a pack that wouldn’t dare,

To grab for control of what they strive for,

What they thirst for,

How does she grow up to be a haberdasher and a hare?

 

The six-dollar collected by Muff Daddy

Got them a Hand Pump libation

And hot drinks

Drank by Cockagami

Who’s not sober, not getting over his hoppy fixation.

 

And every day they’re scouting trail, her and Cockamole

Up every hill they can find, pursued by Saigon Sally

Longing for some tight asses to hold onto,

These hares sent Bitch’s Bitch up some stairs too.

 

Then Vagina Dentata came, and stickers he obtained
Just Get It Over With saw and had to complain

Saved our haberdasher the shame of our disdain

And the pack gathered and sang him a refrain,

 

“The word got around and we said you’re stupid,

You’re just so fucking dumb. Man, if it wasn’t for your mother,

You’d be a spot of cum,” but there’s others we’ll get to,

More dumb shit to lock onto,

Like you kid, what’s your name?

 

My name is Just Lucas,

With my virgin, I’m Just Lucas

And there’s a million things you’ll see from us

Just you wait, just you wait.

 

When that dog was a Just, we knew his true nature was hidden,

We named Just Hap for his licking given to snatch unbidden,

He’s hashed well, wagging his tail

Til’ the end of his tale.

 

Say farewell til we meet beyond the veil.

 

Red Hot Vagina, saying goodbye, full of pride,

Resting Slut Face as her client with Just Maverick by his side,

She’ll take care of your pooches like she loved on Just Hap,

Won’t recognize your face, but for that fur she’ll have a lap.

 

The hares had nothing else to do,

Fuck Norris less astute,

Left the drink check destitute,

With Eat My Pussy climbing, seeking absolution

Solvin’ marks, John Handcock, ‘cause Oliver’s bored

Cheating dogs, Gobble My Ass cannot afford.

Was there a walker’s trail? Hell no, walking where we wanna go

Were we on the real trail? Shit Eating Grin’ll never know

Jumping on playgrounds and shit, Ska Skank brandished her dick

Her sweater the true hash-hit.

 

In SFH3 you can have a hash-hit.

In SFH3 you can have a hash-hit.

In SFH3 you can have a hash-shit (just you wait).

 

Sleazy and Cockamole, Sleazy and Cockamole,

Slug’s waiting in the park for you,

You could never go downhill,

You never learned to set trail live,

Oh, Sleazy and Cockamole

When the pack sings for you,

Will they know what you overcame,

Will they know you rewrote the game,

The hash will never be the same.

 

The van is in the park now, see if you can spot them,

Glory Hole coming up from the bottom,

The pack destroyed the keg, cause the crimes were not forgotten.

 

We reported them.

 

Uncle Bad Touch? Brought a virgin.

 

Mouth Down South? Drank at his urging.

 

Haelowood? Keeps on returning.

 

And me? I’m the damned fool that’s writing.

 

There’s a million hashers we haven’t named,

But Justs—you wait.

 

What’s your names, hares?

 

Sleazy and Cockamole!

 

The curtains fall. Silence abounds.

 

My Little Porno and The Perfect Woman scramble away before people can begin wondering about refunds. I Cunt Hear You, for once, is appropriately smug.

 

 

The End.