It was a cold and dreary evening as the No Name hashers convened at the home of Katoy Toy and Winky the Angry Starfish. The clouds threatened rain overhead as more half-minds trickled in. I was worried that our numbers would be small due to the unfortunate amount of deaths on Wednesday caused some angry motherfucking yellow jackets. Luckily, many overcame death to be with us, and even if you couldn’t be there last night, I know you were there in spirit. I hope your near death experience and/or discomfort made you realize the significance of the meaningful relationships you have gotten from the hash, and more importantly, the alcohol.
It was apparent from the beginning that our hare, Crack Up, pre-layed the trail, so any preconceived notions we might have had about a one lonely bimbo hare laying an easy trail were out the window (as most preconceived notions often are). When Crack Up set off, she gave us a coy little smile and bee-lined it to the nearest establishment with alcohol, where she then causally waited for the poor unsuspecting hounds to find the beer at the end of the trail.
So, as the pack scouted false trail after false trail, ran through blackberries, stream beds, and giant hills, and risked our lives through the streets of felony flats, our hare was sitting comfortably somewhere, calm and smiley, with a cold beer in hand. Little did she know that the area was much more tolerant to meth and gang violence than an innocent group of r*nners passing by their immaculate property.
After being entangled in a few blackberry bushes (these certainly are not my preferred bush to be entangled in), and crossing a creek a couple times, we made it to the first beer check. Wildman tried to skip the beer check and head straight for the next leg of the trail, but knowing that he was not to be trusted, we went the opposite direction, only to find the beer check almost immediately. The beer was refreshing, despite the unfortunate infestation of sour glowworms.
We set off again to gradually realize that someone(s) was messing with our marks. We never found the sphincter we were so looking forward to, and a missing check at the top of a hill baffled the pack for quite a long time, causing many of the FRBs to run up and down the hill two or three or four times. My only wish for the lovely citizens of that neighborhood is that flour is the most offensive thing to be layed on or around their driveway. During this time, Katoy Toy had found an abandoned shopping cart, where he then pushed around Goodwill Cunting like a drug addled vagrant. He soon lost interest in Goodwill, and then replaced him with a much cooler toy—rocks. The rocks soon lost their appeal too, and he left the cart of rocks in someone’s yard.
Cockjaw, of course, had been waiting for us at the second beer check for at least ten minutes. As we were enjoying our beers, and some sweet yet tart candy (I forget the name), some angry neighbor drove up to yell at us. Sixty K Nine invited her over to drink with us, before realizing that it was her yard that the shopping cart was stashed, and she had stalked us all the way to the beer check to chew us out (not to be confused with eating us out). But like the good hashers we are, we were gone before the cops showed up.
The On In was at Crack Up’s house, and to make it up to us, she provided a big yard, a nice fire, and a bunch of big wieners. Crack Up proved that if you can’t lay a good live trail, then perhaps it is better to lay a great dead trail. Honor to our Hare for a spectacularly shitty trail!
Cockjaw led another arousing religion (well, let’s be honest, it’s pretty easy for him to arouse me.) Here we learned that Crab Shaft made his dad cum, proving the incest can be both fun and nauseating. We were met by several auto hashers, including Heavy Flow Day, Bee Fuck, and Milk Bone. Cockjaw proved that he still hasn’t learned that the woman is always right. And Pump My Dry got the hash shit once again for complaining too much, amongst other reasons, I’m sure. With that, we swang low. Until next time, and in the meantime, try to avoid the black and yellow bugs with the stingers.
Your scintillating scribe,
Romancing the Bone
Friday: TGIF at the North West Public House
Saturday: Poke Her Face has a naked pillow fight with the Dead Whores at noon at the Hawthorne Hophouse
Sunday: Head First and Red Wings do the OBGYN at 12:30 at Gabriel Park and the PH4 Mismanagement meeting at 7 pm at the Jaw-Bone Household
Monday: O has a Kahuna
Tuesday: The Boob Gorilla does a Beaver
Wednesday: Ditch Bitch deflours Winnie the Goo at the Hump
Thursday: Flaming Hetero and Tard-Core molest the No Name