“You’ll be happy to learn we’re trying a new model of hashing,” Brown Eye announced loudly. Mouth Down South eyed him with interest, while Tonya Hardon dove for the keg before it could disappear.

 

“Nude model?” Udder Moron popped up behind Brown Eye’s shoulder.

 

“Yes, in order to increase your pleasure and stimulation, you’ll find that trail now comes with several optional perks to diversify your hashing experience. Just Doesn’t Get It can demonstrate.”

 

Cockamole smiled enticingly at Just Get It Over With, throwing a friendly arm around her shoulder. She leaned closer, opening her lips slowly as if to speak, but then—

 

“Just. Doesn’t. Get. It.” Brown Eye firmly demanded. “Really Cockamole?”

 

“They’re just so… similar.” Cockamole muttered. “They both look good in glitter. They both are fashionable dressers. They both have breasts.”

 

Big Cock Chains poked at one of Just Doesn’t Get It’s nipples, which promptly fell off.

 

“I have a substitute!” Bouncing Boobs announced proudly, and demonstrated promptly.

 

“As I was saying…” Brown Eye continued. “Just Doesn’t Get It could choose one of our many trail offerings today.”

 
“On on!” Just Doesn’t Get It ran off into the night.

 

“Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy could choose one of our many trail offerings today.” Brown Eye continued undeterred. “He could choose the turkey package, which will allow him to reach the beer much sooner.”

 

“I chose the ‘package’ package!” Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy turned around to display the pink outline of a penis sketched on the back of his pants.

 

“Okay, that’s an option too…” Brown Eye decided.

 

“What about the version of trail where you get your red wings… for your knees?” Cunty Butler demanded. Titty Boo Boo began preparing the transfusion bags.

 

“Sure. And then there is an eagle for people like Douchicorn over there.”

 

“Nah.” Douchicorn was surrounded by a flock of at least seven people in orange vests.

 

“You… you’re turning down the eagle?” Brown Eye looked flummoxed.

 

“I’m good, man,” Douchicorn put an arm around one virgin, while another wiped the sweat from his brow. Got Wood clapped a hand on his shoulder, while Shaft attempted to strap a bungee cord around Douchicorn so he too could be pulled along for the ride.

 

“Will trail be photogenic?” asked Dick Simmons.

 

“Ah, you want the panoramic experience. Yes, that’s doable.”

 

“And is there something for a Birthday Boy?” The Uniballer prompted.

 

“And what about a really long shortcut for a Turkey?” Vagina Dentata requested.

 

“Well I want a trail with sanitary napkins that I can stick to Do Her Well’s ass,” Stinky Floss added in.

 

“What about us walkers?” Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring wondered.

 

“I don’t care about all this bullshit, I just want a trail that goes to beer,” Fucker proclaimed, to Gloryhole and Blowqueen’s applause.

 

“You can have that,” Brown Eye explained.

 

“Is this trail going to be pet friendly?” asked Masterbaster after Allahu Aqbark nipped at his ankles.

 

“For a fee,” Brown Eye blurted out.

 

“A fee?” I Cunt Hear You repeated loudly.

 

“No, it’s a personalized trail charge. I was explaining.”

 

“Why are you charging us extra?” Tears of Semen demanded. “Don’t we all get the same thing?”

 

“It’s not a fee, I misspoke. It’s an incremental addition to your trail rates depending on your consumption of resources.”

 

“What resources?” asked Fuck Norris. “We’re outside?!”

 

“Providing these trails to you is very costly and the imposition of hashing regulations is destroying innovation,” Brown Eye explained. “By allowing for service-based charges we can optimize your hashing experience and enable the provision of even better services.”

 

“You mean you are going to add on stupid fees to make more money? Fuck this shit, I’m not bringing any more of my friends to the hash,” Just Deirdre announced. Considering her friends had made up over seventy percent of the hashes’ cumulative virgins over the last few weeks, the pack was stunned at the mere thought.

 

“I think you’re just not seeing it the right way,” Brown Eye told her. “You have to realize that excessive hashing rules is prohibitive to the free speech of the hash personality as a collective. If you try to regulate the hash, you will destroy it.

 

“What are we going to do?” asked Cirque du So Lame.

“We have to launch an appeal…” Ru Ru Rimmin said with great deliberation. “To the greatest governing body in the land.”

 

“Gravity?” asked The Perfect Woman.

 

“No, even greater,” answered Circle Jerk. “Hand Pump.”

 

Never before had a group of hashers appeared more serious. Mary Tyler Whore, leading the prosecution, was dressed to the nines, while Buck Fucka had a stack of Park Ranger citations for use as a last resort. Camel Toe, Liverdance and Kerry’s Cumcakes were on call as witnesses, while Geordi La Foreskin was bringing a similar case from the New York circuit and wanted to learn from this test case. Also he was somewhat hoping to get tased.

 

Boner Malfunction, for the sake of the argument, had joined the case with Brown Eye, but when he saw the prosecution had brought a keg for sustenance he began to rethink his opinion.

 

“Look, are you sure we should go all the way?” he whispered to Brown Eye.

 

“Did Tuna on Top stop at the beginning of the climb? Did Weekend At Abba’s go home on Friday? Did Bi-erectional choose but one path? Did Dickgiorno pay for a slice or the whole shebang?

 

“Order, order,” Hand Pump cried out. Just Antony settled in as the court reporter, while Backwash stood firmly on as bailiff. Betty Cocker held a microphone at the ready, set to report the decision on the case.

 

“Mary Tyler Whore, would you like to present your argument?”

 

“Yes, your honor. We should just pay one rate for access to the hash, no matter what we do while we hash. The prosecution rests.”

 

“Your defense, Brown Eye?” Hand Pump raised an eyebrow.

 

“Regulations are bad."

 

“Wait a minute, wait a minute!” Muff Daddy burst through the doorway. “Your honor, I have an issue to raise.  Just who would be keeping track of all of these bullshit charges?”

 

“Um. I guess you would?” Hand Pump suggested.

 

“Then I fucking quit.”

 

Hand Pump looked around the room. “I find in favor of the prosecution. Hashing will be the same rate for all. Court is adjourned.”

 

The room erupted in cheers, champagne bottles were uncorked, bras were flung off. The air of jubilation spilled into the streets.

 

“I see what you did there,” Zippercised drew Brown Eye aside.

 

“Hanukkah is about persevering against an oppressive force,” Brown Eye shrugged. “I was just trying to get them in the mood.”

 

“Well, you did a good job of it.” Zippercised watched as Barcelona Nights began to play on the projector.

 

“I’m not really evil,” Brown Eye confided. “Charging different rates for the same service? What kind of asshole would do that?”

 

 

 

The End