The park stood on the edge of a long busy street which scythed through the city grid like a machete. While the park may have been important to many people, the only notable one for this story is a man named Hand Pump. Hand Pump had parked his white van beside this park for many years in the past, ever since he observed the pleasant greenery nearby, the church steeple governing overhead, and the prevalence of multiple bars and restaurants. Today, Hand Pump had parked here for a reason that was both common to his past reasons, yet exceptional for today: Trail.

Do Her Well typed furiously on her phone, QR codes littering the ground around her. Nearby, Five Angry Inches was moving steadily on a treadmill with a long cord attached to the phone in question. Electrodes escaped from Five Angry Inches’ cranium and also were attached to the phone in question. Three Fingers and Muppet Dick, consequentially, had many questions.

“I’ve about had it,” she muttered, tossing the phone aside, and bending down to pick up Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing. On All Fours cleaned up the QR codes and artfully arranged them on Do Her Well’s backside.

“Problems?” asked The Perfect Woman demurely. Tuna poked at him until started behaving normally again.

“Every bit of information is supposed to be at my fingertips, but I can’t get an answer…” Do Her Well scowled.

“To what?” asked Ocean Spray.

“You know—the big Question… the one about about hashing, San Francisco, and everything else.”

“Oh, yeah. I know that one!” Dick First Ass Up smiled. “Gotta get a beer first, though.”

If Dick First Ass Up had consulted Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing, he would have known that the clock had struck 6:45, and the trail was about to begin promptly half an hour past the listed start time.

Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing has many such bits of useful advice, including Part VII Section X: Never give up the high ground and Part VI Section IX: Never go up to the high ground. These will be covered later.

Shaft, who had never read Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing and did not even own a copy, decided to continue on his traditions by not reading the T and the E on the ground, either. He was not alone in his choices, which is possibly the only thing that may be recommended about hashing.

Even Cuming Mutha was forced to ignore Part VI Section IX as the trail gave the middle finger to the pack. Blowfish and Squeeze Box could but shake their heads as they trudged solemnly upwards, with Miss Delivery right behind them. Boner Marrow and Dickweed found solace in short-cutting one corner only to be flummoxed by the next backcheck. Drifting back together, the pack enjoyed a temporary respite from traffic laws as they ran up Lombard. Circle Jerk and Meat Hall of Fame, consulting Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing, found that suspension of traffic laws is allowed while hashing so long as you do not get ticketed for it.

Wine Rack and Humpy enjoyed the laws of gravity —what goes up must go down.

“You think you can get the answers you want from technology?” One and Done scoffed as he passed Do Her Well.

“No, I only trust Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing,” she replied. “But even that doesn’t give me the answer.”

“What was the question?” Queen asked as he passed them, and then they turned where the Cable Cars did, too.

It was at this point that Do Her Well followed a critical piece of advice, so critical that it lies in Section I of Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing: Always listen to the walkers*.

With Wrinklepecker and Tonya Hardon speeding off into the distance, Do Her Well dashed down the side alleyway where Muff Daddy, On All Fours, and Look Who’s Coming to Dinner were calling.

If parks could formulate thought, there is a certain park near Telegraph Hill which would spend 95% of its life in deep meditation, 4% of its life contemplating the degree that the fog was washing away bird shit, 0.991% of its life observing the occasional human visitor, and 0.001% of its life wondering what its maximal load was and whether a group of drunken hashers was going to eclipse that limit.

“What is one more?” thought Sperm Donor and THUNDERPISS.

“What is one more?” thought Famous Anus and Damien The Antichrist.

“What is one less?” thought Dick Simmons, but this was because he had just clipped King of Bedbugs out of the photo.

Despite confusion that there were no oddly flavored sandwiches with sprinkles to consult for directions, the pack managed to obtain advice from Wash This Asshole.

It was at this point that Do Her Well read the asterisk in Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing: *Don’t listen to the walkers if they are wrong.

At last, the pack gave in to the inevitability of Coit Tower and plowed upwards through beautifully manicured gardens and hidden spots for respite. Luckily, Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing was wrong in some respects. Part VI Section X would have solemnly warned Backhoe and Touchmaster 69 to never trust a beer check until your eyes are on the keg—but even Fucker could smell the hoppy wafts from below. At the top, the group at least was rewarded by the setting sun and countless opportunities to take anonymously sexually charged silhouette photos. Unfortunately, so distracted was the pack by the beer that no photos were recovered successfully.

Stiffy observed carefully the now relaxed atmosphere of the San Francisco locals—the worst was almost sure to be over. There was even a smile on Cum Guzzling Cockaholic’s face. The group plummeted from the hill like dandelion seed, Cockamole finding a side alley to her liking. At the start, Just Doesn’t Get It pulled out his ever faithful towel, while Jack The Ripper greeted Hoseblower, Tricrapylete, and Wet And Sloppy.

The group enjoyed a full celebratory spread including cake and orange food. The park was stuffed with hashers past, present, and future. What Happens in Vegas Stays in Vega greeted Masterbaster and E=McFucked, while Dick Ass Mother Fucker, Diarrhetos, and Port a Hottie sampled the free beer. Five Angry Inches came to terms with Uber Luber for a free slice of pizza, while the rest of the pack came to terms with the RAs for their crimes. Cuming Mutha’s Guide to Hashing has little to say regarding Circle. Part VI Section IX simply says this: Whatever you think you should do, don’t. As it were, Wine Rack and Humpy continued enjoying the laws of gravity—who comes up must go down down.

“Did you ever find the answer?” Hand Pump asked Do Her Well.

“You know I didn’t,” she pouted slightly and unbecomingly.

“Well, you should have asked me,” he puffed his chest a bit. “It’s 42.”

“42? What was the question?” asked Cockulus Oculus.

“Makes sense,” Do Her Well nodded after thinking it over. “I’m cold.” She wandered off into the night.