“You’ll see what I mean after tonight, lassy,” Cuming Mutha slapped Do Her Well on the shoulder.

 

“Why are you talking like that? On All Fours, why is he talking like that?”

 

“Ageism!” Cuming Mutha shook his fist in the air.

 

“Aged jism?” Muff Daddy’s ears perked up.

 

“All these young and spry hashers these days!” Cuming Mutha ignored him, waving at Just Nathan and Just Christina bouncing around the edges of the clearing. “Ignoring their elders who, may I say, just happen to also be their betters.”  Do Her Well lifted an eye towards Just Doesn’t Get It.

 

Cowlick put an arm around Do Her Well. “Thank you for taking the time to go undercover and see all the hassles that Shaft has to put up with as an elderly hasher. It is so trying to see him struggle against the discrimination. They never listen to him anymore, and he can barely get over some of the hills now that he himself is… over the hill. But you’ll see soon, with your grey hair, how they’ll treat you.”

 

“Uh?” Do Her Well put her hand on her hair, muttering something about a trip through Sperm Alley, before wandering off looking for a water fountain.

 

Cuming Mutha nodded at Shaft, preparing to take off with him, when suddenly he grimaced and doubled over. “Shaft! Shaft!” he groaned and writhed on the ground, but Shaft couldn’t hear his cries.

 

Circle Jerk made sure not to step on him as he made his way to the keg.  After a full five minutes of writhing-- during which Hepatitis Seeing Eye Dog joined in on the good dirt roll, and Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy joined HepC/D until Slap a Bag of Dickz pulled him off-- Fuck Buddy finally came over to check on him.

 

“Shaft has to go on without me,” whispered Cuming Mutha. “Go and make me proud, Shaft,” he instructed.

 

“Shaft,” Bitch’s Bitch called out helpfully to the man who was playing with his Fluffer.

 

“Shaft!” yelled Gloryhole with all his breath.

 

“SHAFT!” chorused Wee Wee Wee, Yessiryesshesfat, and Cheese Turd.

 

“Dear,” Cowlick touched his elbow and Shaft leapt two feet in the air.

 

“Jeez, you didn’t have to yell at me,” he complained. “Uh oh,” he muttered at Cuming Mutha’s crumpled form.

 

“Shaft, remember all I taught you. Remember to set a tricky trail off all the beaten paths, but use enough flour between checks to keep the pack well on. Remember to set plenty of backchecks and falses to keep the FRBs from running away from the pack. Show them that special spot in Sperm Alley, show them where we held hands under the moonlight, show them where you promised me forever and I promised you my heart. But most importantly don’t take them by those stupid horses or through people’s homeless encampments.”

 

“Right-o,” Shaft darted off into the distance.

 

“What do we do about Cuming Mutha?” asked Cockamole. “We can’t just leave him here.”

 

“Can’t we?” Cockagami raised an eyebrow, diving away when she slapped at him.

 

“I heard if you pee on it, that makes it better,” Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy suggested.

 

“I’m expanding my empire to Colombia,” ABBAA revealed suddenly. “I have a little tincture for you that may help.”

 

“Don’t go with synthetic chemicals,” Big Cock Chains argued. “The natural endorphins are the way to go. I just rode from SF to LA, and I feel great, except for my ass. And my back. And my legs.”

 

“Hah,” scoffed Captain Organ. “What you have will only mask Cuming Mutha’s age and pain, but I have been working for years on a formula that will reverse time itself. I have distilled Resting Slut Face’s youth, Stinky Floss’s beauty, and Saigon Sally’s stamina into a single pill. Swallow this, Cuming Mutha, and your trouble’s will be no more.”

 

“Don’t do it!” Dewalt Thunderpussy dashed out of the bushes. “It has side effects like you wouldn’t believe—I complain more than Titty Boo Boo now, I am addicted to hashing worse than Hand Pump, and I feel Douchicorn’s hipsterism creeping onto me like ivy. I ran past the keg tonight like Weiner I Am, and let’s just say that visitor Weiner Dagger describes my sex life all too well.”

 

“How about some stretching?” Just Megan suggested, leaning down limberly and lifting her leg into a skater’s camel position.

 

“You’re crackers, miss, if you think I can do that,” Cuming Mutha whined. “Stop it!”


“Shut up!” Just Tyler commanded, and Pepe Le Poop covered Cuming Mutha’s mouth. “Let her do her Tonya Hardon thing.” And so Tonya Hardon continued.

 

By then the pack had returned and circle commenced, with Cuming Mutha lying like a sacrificial lamb in the center of it all. Masterbaster attempted to have Allahu Aqbark drag him away, but the dog preferred to just slobber on him, as did Just Tim. Now I Know My STDs and Sir Menage A Lot intervened, but the winds were just not right, and Backside Banger had Roman Showers tell them that he was enjoying his beer too much to help.

 

Cunty Butler complained that she didn’t remember the hash being this curmudgeonly, and Weekend At Abba’s replied that she didn’t usually remember much after the hash. Three Fingers complained that his sister Just Agda was getting the idea that all he did was hang around old men, but Just Agda, frankly, had suspected nothing less.

 

Finally, all options had been exhausted (not that there were many to begin with), and the pack looked around in desperation.

 

“I may have a trick,” Taxi Ho stepped forward. “In Austin we deal with this sort of thing all the time. Me me me me me!”

 

And from his lips came the sweetest of sounds, which lifted all of the hashers’ hearts, some of their genitals, and Cuming Mutha from the ground to standing before the end of the first refrain.

 

And so finally both hares were ably transported to the on after, where they could drink away the pains of age and celebrate the delightful memories borne from their years.

 

The End