Once upon a time there was a FRB who, boasting how he could run faster than anyone else, was forever teasing the DFLs for their slowness. Then one day, an an irate DFL answered back: “Who do you think you are? There’s no denying you’re swift, but even you can be beaten!” The FRB squealed with laughter.
“Beaten at a Hash? By whom? Not by a DFL! I bet there’s no DFL that can beat me! Now, why don’t you try?”
Annoyed by such bragging, the DFL accepted the challenge. A Trail was planned, and the next day the Pack circled at the ON-ON. The Hare set off, and the FRB gave chase. Far behind, the meek DFL trudged slowly off.
The FRB soon arrived at the first Beer check. One by one, the Pack began to arrive, but the DFL was still far behind. After singing "Why are we waiting" for several minutes, the FRB decided he would have some extra beer. Finally, when the DFL lumbered up to the check and opened a beer. “Take your time!” he taunted the DFL. “I’ll have four or five beers and catch up with you later." The DFL waddled off and the FRB remained behind at the check.
After several beers, the FRB sprinted to a nearby hilltop and saw the Pack arriving at the next check. He could see the DFL were still far behind the Pack, and that he wouldn't make the second check for a few more minutes.
Chuckling to himself, the FRB decided he might as well have more Beer. He then went off to drink in a nearby field. But the beer, and the hot sun made his eyelids droop. With a careless glance at the DFL, who was now just leaving the second BC, he decided to have a snooze before flashing past the Pack and running ON-IN. The FRB smiled to himself at the thought of the look on the DFL's face when he saw the FRB speed by, and soon he fell asleep and was snoring happily.
The sun started to sink, below the horizon, and the DFL, who had been plodding towards the ON-IN, was crossing the ON-IN Trail mark. At that very point, the FRB woke with a jolt. He squinted through his bleary, hungover eyes and he could see the DFL seemed to be very close to Circle, and so away he dashed. He leapt and bounded at a great rate, his tongue lolling, gasping for breath, and belching from the many beers he had drunk. Just a little more and he could still be the FRB!
But the FRB’s last leap was just too late, for the DFL had beaten him to the ON-IN. Poor FRB! Tired and in disgrace, he slumped down beside the DFL who was silently smiling at him.
“Fuck you you fucking fuck!” he said.