“I’m sorry, it’s absolutely a requirement,” Mouth Down South frowned. “It can’t be any other way.”




“I’ll give up her virginity!” Dildo Baggins pushed a young woman in front of the crowd.




“Acceptable,” Cockamole checked a mark off her list.




“I don’t understand,” Just Doesn’t Get It crossed his arms. “Isn’t Mardi Gras supposed to be about good food and good drinks?”


“And boobs!” Weekend At Abba’s paused as the crowds’ eyes turned on her. “I mean, I’m giving up showing my boobs?”




“Well today it’s about giving shit up,” Cockamole declared. “Until we think of something funnier to do.”




“I know!” Douchicorn declared. “I’ll give up my shirt!”




“Doesn’t count, you don’t even own one,” Brown Eye pronounced.




“Okay, then my pants?”




Resting Slut Face frowned when this offering was accepted.


“Sobriety!” yelled Do Her Well, falling into the bushes.




“We’re giving up all of our cash to SF Beer Week!” declared Blowqueen, as Tears of Semen chauffeured him to the next bar.




“I’m giving up beads!” Just Get It Over With announced. “And glitter!”


“Er, that means you can’t use them anymore,” Vagina Dentata whispered.




“Well, I think that’s silly,” Just Get It Over With argued.




“In that case, I’m giving up Hurricanes!” shouted Squeal 4 Me.




“And Hand Grenades!” yelled Chicken Bone Her.




“And I’m giving up last minute trails!” The Perfect Woman proclaimed. “Starting now!”




And with that the pack was off, Fucker and Shaft vying to be the first to give up an empty cup to Squeal 4 Me at the drink check. One Night Only released a curse as trail avoided all the strip clubs on Broadway, while Stinky Floss plotted on how to make SFH3 less nunnish. Fuck Buddy found she could entirely give up on check solving, as Yessiryesshesfat decided to eschew drink stops entirely. Cuming Mutha and Crabs gave up the flat terrain for higher grounds, and the entire pack gave up on finding the Eagle altogether.




Meanwhile, the walkers had given up on Muff Daddy, Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring and Backwash having wrestled the map out of his hands with a bit of trouble when they hit SOMA. On All Fours blocked the group from view lest any passersby complain on Nextdoor.




Unfortunately for the pack, Hand Pump had given up the van keys, so Udder Moron and Dick Ass Mother Fucker gave up a bit of their pride and dropped to their knees in search of roadies. Unfortunately, SFH3 having given up all of their wisdom to the Gypsies, Gloryhole was forced to admit defeat and weep quietly in a corner until the beer was released.




“The neighbors gave y’all up,” the cops told Miss Delivery soon after the keg was tapped. “Can you finish in half an hour? I am done with this whole writing tickets thing.”




“I can finish in five minutes!” proclaimed Cream Throat Willy.




“I call two!” shouted Masterbaster. “We’re talking about a pie-eating contest, right?”



"In a manner of speaking," agreed Dick Simmons.




“I can finish in one!” The Uniballer undercut him.




“Isn’t this from The Price Is Right?” Backside Banger wondered.




“The porno edition is quite classy,” Fuck Norris informed him while Tonya Hardon listened on with interest. “I especially like the bidding on the vibrators, the men always screw that one up.




“If you all don’t mind giving up a bit of your time?” Just Justine wondered. “I’d much like to give up my nerd name.”




Pitbull Burger and Half Pint, having been on the chopping block as visitors, readily gave up the floor and scurried out of sight.




“The price of that is your dignity!” Circle Jerk bartered.




“I have none!” challenged Just Justine.




“Then what we need is your time,” proclaimed Cockamole.




“And we’ve got forty more days of Lent!” Millimeter Peter pointed out. “I hope someone loans me a Tesla!”




“Forty days?” swallowed Tuna on Top, chewing on the last bit of King Cake. “The plastic baby’s supposed to pass by then, right?” There was silence.