“¡Viva la revolución!” shouted One Night Only, wooden chalice in hand. Freshly wrested from the undeserving hands of her oppressors, she wielded it like a sword in the dying light of the sun.

 

“Vive la France!” cried out Six Tits A Week, baguette raised as a countermand. “You Spanish pig dogs will no longer spill the blood of my countrymen!”

 

“He was only there for a week,” whispered On All Fours to Cuming Mutha. “But you saw what happened to DeWalt after he went to Bangkok.”

 

“Wait a minute, what happened to Stinko de Mayo?” asked Drunkin Honuts.

 

“Amateurs,” scoffed Good Shit Lollicock. “Today is Dos de Mayo! We mourn the brutal oppression of our forebears by the imperialist French!”

 

“Did someone say bears?” asked Brown Eye.

 

“Well, I guess I’ll just give the margaritas to this nice doggy,” Drunkin Honuts leaned over.

“NO!” the hash cried in unison.

 

“French blood tastes of tequila. And lime,” explained Dick Ass Mother Fucker.

 

“Funny, I heard the same about Spanish blood,” Who’s Your Père remarked, sipping from his vessel.

 

“A hash divided against itself cannot stand!” cried Roman Shower. “Everyone must choose a side!”

 

“I’m with the orange food de mis compadres,” Do Her Well said sagely. “You and Backside Banger did a bangup job.”

 

“No, we didn’t have time for that,” explained Backside.

 

“Don’t get distracted,” chided Primal Vagina. “After the Frenchies!”

 

Udder Moron, terrified of the sight of the frothing mob, grabbed Saigon Sally as a shield. “You asshole, I’m on their side. Fuck the French!” cried Saigon, shaking him away.

 

“I’m so bad at choosing. Can’t we all just get along?” cried Udder, before ducking down under the overpass to hide. “My, sir, that’s a nice needle you have there,” he said politely.

 

“Let them inject Botox,” declared Stinky Floss, as she ran past, closely followed by Heracknophobia riding Whorifist like a pony.

 

Cockamole dove behind a barrier. “Help me set up the gauca-paults!” she yelled to Resting Slut Face. “They’re getting away!”

 

“I’ll help!” volunteered Bitch’s Bitch with two bowlfuls already in his arms.

 

“No, I need those!” cried Do Her Well and Tears of Semen, diving together into the melee.

 

“Dear god!” screamed Sir Menage A Lot, hand stuffed up Just Doesn’t Get It’s shirt. “French lingerie!”

 

“A sleeper agent!” declared Shaft.

“Muahaha!” chortled Just Doesn’t Get It as he ran off into the night.

 

“Ooh la la!” Cunty Butler had her phone wedged in between her legs. “Dick Simmons, I didn’t know your runs were so tittilating. Mon Dieu!”

 

“What was that?” Dick Simmons’ nose was wedged as close as possible to the passenger mirror of a nearby car. “Hey, watch out for the hair!” he said, dodging a spoonful of guacamole that had arced over him.

 

“I actually managed to stay upright!” Twerxes announced proudly. “It’s a Dos de Mayos miracle!” At that very moment, Just Jackie rounded the corner, closing in towards the keg. In slow motion, her foot landed on a perfectly placed condom, fully loaded with a special present for the hash. The squelch could be heard for miles, and the backsplash covered nearly everyone. Twerxes shuddered. “On second thought, I wish I hadn’t.”

 

“Cum Crusher!” yelled Buck Fucka, and the crowd hurrahed in unison, until they realized they were still covered in splooge and should probably fix that.

 

“Ew, ew, ew,” groused Wee Wee Wee All the Way Home. She and Double Dildo Dick My Daddy began to remove their jackets.

 

“R*cists!” declared millimeter Peter, pointing to their matching shirts. “I think we know who the real enemy is.”

 

“Alas, you’ve caught us,” sighed Wee Wee. “Whatever will you do to us for punishment?”

 

“Tits out for the boys!” yelled the other Just Jaci.

 

“Okay, okay, if I must!” Heracknophobia rolled her eyes. She grabbed the hashshit and brandished it in front of her as protection. “I declare peace on the hash.”

 

“That’s right you mother fuckers, Dick Ass especially,” declared Good Shit to his co-hare. “Go and get a piece.”

 

And so they did.

 

 

El Fin