There is a small red dot on the cartoon map that depicts West Portal. The dot moves hither and yon, growing more and more agitated and even redder, if that were possible, shaping itself into a question mark, a lightening bolt, and then exploding into smithereens. That dot was Do Her Well.

 

 

 

There is a yellow dot in Noe Valley, which grows even more golden with every sip of beer. Eventually that dot finds a bus, then a train, then a plane, and after thoroughly circumnavigating the globe, eventually makes its way to circle. That dot is Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring.

 

 

 

There is one final dot, a dot that is made out of the smallest, tiniest spec of flour that one could imagine, which is very cunningly and craftily (for broad definitions of those terms), making its way towards an X marked BEER. That dot is Vagina Dentata, but it is a dot rapidly hunted by the slyest of pursuers.

 

 

 

“Be vewwy vewwy quiet,” Cuming Mutha whispered to Shaft. “We’ww hunting wabbits.”  He picked up a smidgeon of flour from the ground and let it drift in the wind, where it formed into the shape of tiny feet that ran off into the distance. Douchicorn leapt onto the feet as if they were steps, climbing rapidly into the air. Yessiryesshesfat followed after him, only to realize ten steps up that he was in fact, running on nothing, and immediately fell back down to the ground. 

 

 

 

“Wascally wabbit,” grumbled Ru Ru Rimmin, who had broken Yessiryesshesfat’s fall.

 

 

 

Fucker and Three Fingers, sensing an opportunity to break away, sprinted into the distance, only to have the sidewalk pile up behind them as if it were carpet, and the gaping hole which emerged in the path before them allowed them to plummet into the sewers. The Perfect Woman frowned and shook his head as he carefully marked trail around the crevasse.

 

 

 

Meanwhile on the other side of town, Sir Menage a Lot and Udder Moron were staring in consternation at an eight year old girl.

 

 

 

“So you’re saying that to let us pass, we have to buy your lemonade?”

 

 

 

“Sufferin’ succotash!” Udder Moron declared.

 

 

 

“I want my seven dollars!” She crossed her arms.

 

 

 

“Does she remind you of anyone?” Menage asked, eyeing her silvery jacket.

 

 

 

“Arriba, arriba! On on-dale!” Just Doesn’t Get It rushed past in the opposite direction, diving around the corner, and Menage and Udder Moron took the opportunity to scram as well.

 

 

 

“I’ve got the solution!” Just Megan announced, readying her ACME water cannon and taking aim for Hawk Hill. She fixed the dusty dirt cloud, presumably the hare, within her sights, pulled the trigger, and shouted as the spray launched from the opposite end and propelled her in the air. “That tickles!” Cool Handjob Luke’s eyes grew so large they popped out of his head. Luckily Now I Know My STDs was thoughtful enough to scoop them up and return them to him later.

 

 

 

Just Get It Over With gasped, grabbing a hold of Handidicked to steady herself. “I tawt I taw a down down!” She pointed at Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy who was familiarizing himself with the round protuberances of a very fluffy canine. “I did, I did!” She bounced in the air all the way over to Hand Pump at the beer check.

 

 

 

“I must find out what zis pew means every time I appear,” Pepe Le Poop was leaning towards Saigon Sally, who was leaning just as much backwards. On All Fours and Cowlick ran by with a stretcher, which Saigon fell into just as they passed.

 

 

 

Gloryhole finished drawing a tunnel in the side of the stair steps, out of which Mouth Down South and Minor 69er emerged gratefully. Buck Fucka, seeing them run out, attempted to dash back the other way only to find out rather painfully that it was merely a chalk drawing.

 

 

 

Masterbaster, Shaft, and Foul Balls lay together napping in a corner, PO-laden pooches marching around their heads as they dreamed.

 

 

 

“Ah, AGM season,” My Little Porno sniffed the air, basking in the relative peacefulness of the summer hash. Everyone else in view dove out of sight, Cirque du So Lame tapping on his leg brace so the rocketships activated, and Rent Whore twirling in a gauzey wrap until she disappeared into nothingness.  Six Tits A Week reminded everyone very loudly and clearly that he had a baby on the way, while Muff Daddy declared he was that baby.

 

 

 

“Where am I?” asked a man huffing and puffing, looking as if he had been subjected to twelve years hard labor upon arriving at the beer check.

 

 

 

“S-F-H-3?” Just Nathan offered hesitantly.

 


“Damn right it is!” ABBAA wrapped an arm around his shoulders.

 

 

 

“This is S-F-H3? That SFH3? Where miles are run with no beer in sight, where trail goes uphill both ways, where mortal hashers fear to tread? Where I now know flour is measured by the gram? I knew I should have taken that left turn at Albequerque,” Tuna Helper groaned.

 

 

 

“I hate rabbits,” Wash This Asshole declared suddenly, apropos of nothing.

 

 

 

“Too right,” Millimeter Peter agreed. “Do we think today’s trail deserves a hash shit?” Vagina Dentata said nothing, scratching at the ground as the crowd roared.

 

 

 

Zippercised groaned as he felt the firm lump in Good Shit’s pocket, but he gulped and reached further. “Dis-dis-disgusting,” he stuttered as he pulled out the hash shit, turning to quickly hang it around Vagina Dentata’s neck.

 

 

 

“Meep meep!” Vagina Dentata proclaimed. It seemed that the pack had misunderstood their nemesis entirely.

 

 

 

“And th-th-th-that’s all, folks!” Millimeter Peter finished.

 

 

 

On out!