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|Love In An Elevator V
(10 days ago)
What: 5th An*l Love In An Evelator Trial
Who: E=IMaDouch, 5inch Penalty
Where: Sevens Ale House
Pack: Dribbles, Spank Me, Dry Hose, Shart Of Darkness, Just Matt, For the Love of God Finish, The Butler Hit It, Shits and Ladders, Goat Throat, Oragasmn Falmon, Cuntcussion, Swedish Eagle, Just Benny, Just Faical Hair? Bottom Wrangler, Friar Fuck, 3Ring Service, +2 Coonass, Yellow Dick Gnome, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor factory, Wikipedophilia, others I probably am forgetting but will none the less insert into this naration.
Start: Having nothing else to do, I arrived at the start at the very not-hash standard time of 12:30. Sitting quietly and listening to podcasts while sipping a beer I decided not to alert the bartenders to what was to follow me. Around 1:30 I started trolling the Boston Hash instragram account, and shits showed up shorlty at 2, closely followed by Dry Hose. This introduction is entirely unnecessary other than it serves to set up the question which Dry Hose ask Shart, Shits and I: “Do you put mustard on your grilled cheese?” Dry Hose is a sociopath, but that’s besides the point. Eventually pack numbers swelled as did the proprietors annoyance with us. Our annoyance unace with ourselves increased as we didn’t end up leaving until almost 3:30 - waiting for the hare who claimed he had been sitting outside the bar in his car waiting for us to come out since at least 3...the hares lie. I also might be exaggerating put we are in a post-truth society, so it is incumbent on all of us to research the truth for our own narratives. Back to trial...
Cuntcussion went over all the marks we probably won’t see and asked people if they liked mustard on their grilled cheese or if they were sociopaths. There are surprisingly few sociopaths in the hash.
Starting at the block across from the BHP - a very much open bar who very much doesn’t hate us - pack scouted up and down Charles street. I scouted up and down the hills because I hate myself. Trial was eventually found meandering the flat-of-the-hill streets between Charles and Storrow to back to the footbridge at the base of the longfellow. That isn’t a very descriptive sentence. Let’s try that again; trial ran around in a square shape to the longfellow/charles st/MGH intersection. Goat scouted the far side of the longfellow and eventually rejoined us at the wine check which you’ll read about in a few sentences. The rest of pack followed some FRBs over the footbridge to a check back which sent us back the stairs up the side of the longfellow. There was a song check in front of a pile of shit at one of the salt and pepper shacker lights. We sang about the French, though I suppose a song about shitting bananas might have been better. Continuing the run along the longfellow we found a wine near/wine check on the abutment on the western cambridge side. Goat caught up from the otherside, but Falmon went off to find him.
There was a bag of wine and more shit. Baggo was started lightly, then the tosses got stronger and stronger until we were worried that we might knock Swegle off the edge and accidentally spark an international crisis. Luckily the walkers arrived to relieve us of the wine and we took off into Cambridge, looking for beer.
The leg of trial which I don’t have a cool name for:
Deciding that running back over the bridge was too much of a smart idea of 4pm on a Sunday some of pack decided to dart across Memorial drive to catch up with pack at the check near the Kendal cannals where the kykas launch from in warmer weather. Trail ran up the Kendal cannal to Kendal square where were briefly lost around open space and trial marked on non-road/sidewalks (which I think is technically “shiggy” for Boston). We found trial craniumiming towards the Friendly Toast, but my hash-dar was going off and I scouted up the Kendal Rooftop Garden, where I found Beer Check 1.
Beer Check Roof Top:
In which we drank beer* at the Kendel Roof Top Garden. Douche is moving (maybe) or Shits just did? - either way they decided that the best use for years worth of shitty beer left over from trails and international travels was to provide it to the hash. That’s right, we weren’t just drinking Genny, we were drinking aged Genny!! At that was the “good beer!” There was a global selection of shitty beer from which to sample. Thankfully the hares left and we followed them.
Trial “you can’t go there, but we did”:
From the bottom of the elevator - where we were told trail started, there was a two and out across the parking lot to some guard wires. After trying to get through them, but being surprised by their roughness, some people scouted other ways to get down to the exit level, while others tried to slip their way between the wires. Other people - who will call themselves “the smart ones” or “the one who followed trial” ran out the other door, without impediments. Meeting up with the “smart people” by Meadhall, trial crossed over onto the train tracks where we found shots. We found tequilla, limes, but no salt. Lacking a bar we lined up the limes and the tequilia on the technically active rails to do shots off the rails! We were off the rails! ... That was a funny joke and you should be laughing. There was also a bottle of spiced rum which will feature later in this tale. Trial eventually continued down the tracks and through MIT. There were alleys and campus cops, and trails which seemed to run in circles. Some people - YHS - decided that it trial would eventually come out to Mass Ave so they just zenned there to find trial. Being a “proper” - if zenning - hasher - YHS didn’t “call on” until a true trail was spotted on the far side of Mass Ave. This call was relayed back to the pack and must have been followed, as it came out in circle that very few people actually went through MIT.. True trial apparenly was marked in sticky notes and went through the MIT buildings. The people who followed my called were lost and trying to Zen. Spank Me led a group of maybe a dozen hashers on the true trial through the buildings. After crossing Mass Ave there were rumors of Hyatt On-In, maybe preceeded by a beer mile, but marks, those whiley things, did not leed us in those directions. Instead they led us back to the Harvard Bridge and a Beer Check behind the Frat Houses.
This beer check featured #gramablemoments and a couple cars full of parents-of-undergrads who were not-so-trilled at seeing a group of people drinking behind the dorms/frats in which their offspring lived.
Trial of the Traffic Cone:
The sun was setting and we were getting cold - though it should be noted that the ODT of this trial was greater than the sum of the temperatures on the previous LiaETs - so we set off on the last leg, with dreams of 500count cotton and turn-down survice dancing through our craniums. After scouting the wrong direction from the beer check shits found a porta-potty, and, being ever a gentleman, decide to pee there instead of literally anywhere else. As I was running and passively paying attention to conversations I heard someone say “I wonder if there will be showers later?” and someone else say “Well if there’s a traffic cone there will be!” As fate may have it I was running by a traffic cone at that very moment, which I grabbed and ran with the rest of the way. I’m sure the tourists and day-shoppers on Newbury Street were puzzled by the group of runners followed by a man carrying a traffic cone, but no one said anything. As we crossed Boylston street, a passerby asked me what was going on and why I was carrying a traffic cone. I said “Well, it’s a scavenger hunt, and the cone is for safety.” After Which I saw “ONIN” marked on the ground so I stopped mid stride, turned, and yelled through the amplified cone my good news. The people we were talking to me briskly walked away, though Falmon noted that I should only be allowed to communicate by “Yelling through a traffic cone” from then on.
We waited nervously in the lobby of the hotel for Douche to let us up and praying that no one would look in our suitcases which were 100% not full of beer. On a large display easel in middle of the lobby was a sign saying that no outside alcohol was allowed on the premise, with a copy of the Boston liquor laws beneath it. Fuck Blue Laws. We split up into 3 parties and rode the elevators up to the rage room. After milling about for a few minutes Falmon started yelling about food so we all got quiet and meekly did as we were told. After improvising chips and hard-tacos as spoons, we feed ourselves with a technically sufficient amount of rage-base for the night. Once we were ready, Cuntcussion called the hares in circle and Swegal took a bottle of spiced rum and launched himself at the sun.
The hares were called in and I believe they sang a song about midwestern centers of commerce. I was drinking a “worcester river” - moxie and rum - so my memory fuzzes a bit during circle. After the hares the FRBs (Falmon, Spank Me) and DFL (Butler) were called in. Analveries (Knuckles Deep) and the first warning for private parties was given. An aquisation for anyone who had been to all (4) previous LitEts was called, and surprisingly, only YHS has been dumb enought to think “On-in in a hotel suit is a good idea; I want to do this every year!” At some point Swegal crashed back down from his attempted-icarus challenge (everyone fails) and passed out on For the Love of God Finish, who was called in for “having someone pass out on him.” Sex found half a bra pad and was wearing it around so we sang “great big swinging tits” during which I punch goat in the eye. After that we sang “Off we go into the hot wet pussy” and luckily I didn’t smash any liqour bottles into the ground. People who followed trial through MIT were called in, and people who didn’t take the elevators on trial. After calling in everyone who took the elevators, the people who “sabotaged” the elevators by hitting stop on every floor were called in. With people starting to move towards the “quiet/not circle” room and Cuntcussion splitting her time between RAing circle and Sweagle, we swang long and escorted Sweagle to the bed. Later Wranger would play bongugo drums on the asses of Sweagle and Cuntcussion, in a displayed of true musicanship. The first group of people who went to the pool had to come back twice to ask where it was. The second group found the pool on the first try, but the first group was already leaving. Rage happened into the wee hours of 10pm because we’re all old.
On - Elevator Hash - On
Saturday 2/22: Ballbuster
Sunday 2/23: FURRY HASH
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|Buttler Fall Trail Series
(3 months ago)
Date: December 8, 2019
Theme: Buttler Fall Trail Series
Hare: The Buttler Hit It
Bag Car: Wikipedophilia
Pack: Ass Cowboy, Clit Notes, Cummy Sticks, Dribbles, Dry Hose, Fellowship of the Cockring, Full Frontal Fireball, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Emily, Just Katie, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Po Po Peepshow, Pretty Fly for a Pi Guy, Quarter Mile Queer, Shits and Ladders, Testicular Mechanics, Tinderdick, Topless Barbie, Twat My Mom
Prelube: Friendly Toast
BC1: Lincoln Park
BC2: Parking lot behind Shaking Crab
BC3: St. Peter’s Field
On-in: Paddy’s Lunch
Trail: Pack congregated in the narrow sliver of space that is the bar at the Friendly Toast eagerly wondering whether trail would be a straight shot to Buttler’s house, or would snake its way along the Cambridge/Somerville line before ending at his abode. Like the Midnight Ride of Paul Revere, one if by Porter Square, two if by Union Square, and I in the basement of Buttler’s will be, drinking delicious Trilliums in circle. When the pack was off, it appeared that we would be taking the west of the two routes. Trail headed just north and east of Inman Square, beer checked at Lincoln Park, then took a sharp turn toward Harvard Square before deathmarching up Oxford St. Why was it a direct straight shot spanning nearly the distance from Harvard to Porter? Well our dear hare’s cell phone died, for which he’d drink for later.
The second beer check was in the parking lot behind the Shaking Crab. We lost the daylight shortly after departing for the third leg of trail, which was unfortunate because it crossed paths with Thursday night’s Moon trail. That resulted in a short stretch of trail where Quarter Mile went down one street calling on-on, while the Moon hare shouted after him that he was on the wrong trail. We continued north, still in the direction of Davis, but with the miles adding up, Buttler’s house seemed less and less likely. In fact, after a third beer check at St. Peter’s Field, there was little chance of making it to his place, so we went to the next likeliest spot—Paddy’s.
Circle: Quarter Mile led the circle, where Shits and No Man were recognized for their speed while Pi Guy was honored for his lack of swift feet. Backsliders were recognized, where Just Katie was cumming on Eileen with Dexy’s Midnight Runners, while Wiki was spooky or something. Sometime after we got to the on-in, Goat Throat joined us, and drank for his latecumming. Accusations continued with Cummy and Goat for wearing tight denim and denim-looking pants, Wiki for saying the h-word at the third beer check, and Ass Cowboy for auto-wanking the second leg of trail.
Buttler, Quarter Mile, and Testicular Mechanics all drank for the Moon trail overlaps. Ass Cowboy was back in circle to drink with Tinderdick for their racist attire, and Buttler drank again for the red line closure forcing all four of the south of the river hashers to take the shuttle. Po Po accused Buttler of not having any opportunities to give anyone a Peepshow, and Fellowship was accused of being a nerd and knowing how much money was lost to the beer wasted in unfinished cans. Those wearing Christmas attire and vests drank, as did the environmentalists. Dry Hose wanted to name someone, but that ended up with him doing a down-down on his own. Cummy took a wipeout on a patch of ice for which he had to drink. By this point, we were really grasping at straws for accusations, so we moved onto announcements, then to burgers and dogs prepared on the grill by our hare.
Announcements: As for announcements, Moon is looking for hares and the Hashmas party will be on January 11.
That’s all I’ve got for this hash trash. Enjoy your Anthraxing-Antibuffeting-Zig Zags this weekend.
Twat My Mom
|Butler Fall Trail Series Presents: "Winter's Not Here, Yeeeeet"
(3 months ago)
What: Buttler Fall Series presents “Winter’s Not Here, Yet”
Bag car: Angry Crotch
Pack: Shits and Ladders, Dribbles, Testicular Mechanics, Sex: The Final Frontier, Full Frontal Fireball, Quarter Mile Queer, Chips ‘N Clitz, A Vagina Name Martinique, Virgin Maria, I Come from a Clam Down Under, Sketchy Ho, DeflateDate, Just Olive, Turd in the Beaver (RI)
Trail began conventionally enough, no risks taken, a few of us milling about at Regina in Station Landing. Hare told all to bring ID on trail and a “couple bucks” in case they wanted to upgrade their drink. Hare also told Hash Cash to bring the Cash on trail, but this only about 69% registered with Hash Cash and HC promptly forgot.
And even though the forecast had been for no snow and weather apps continued to show that it was not snowing, wet cold moist things were alighting upon us that might have been called "snow". Full Frontal Fireball and Quarter Mile Queer co-RA-ed through the former’s FIRST TIME. It was awkward, no one knew where their hands should go, we all fumbled for the wrong motion at the wrong time, and we DEFINITELY finished before she did. And with that, we ran off.
Trail was found on Station Landing before encountering a parking garage. Fireball confidently stayed behind, figuring the trail would go up the garage and back down and out. Imagine our surprise when it led back to the Wellington Station and through the infinite skyway with a View Check at its center. Trail was straightforward, leading around the parking lot, though your humble Scribe went for not 1, but 2 falses under bridge crossings. A check was humorously marked in front of an impassable fence gate. I told Testi-Mechs that Buttler wouldn’t dare and we debated whether we should climb this fence before finding our hare just around one more bend of the brush, not 30 feet away.
Leg 2: Ante Upp-ed
As we drank our leftover hash beer, which included a nice spread of Bud Light, Yuengling, and Natural Light, Butter left, after giving instructions for how to read any maps that he might leave on trail, and we speculated where we might go, given that we were within sight of Encore. Sketchy revealed that she had READ the final trail announcement (well the one that went to BH3 planning), which has used the verb “gamble” three times in 3 sentences.
Trail could only follow the lovely perambulating path and the promised maps were found just before we entered Encore private property, which the hare was evidently unwilling to deface with chalk. We looked at the maps for about 10 seconds before condemning them as worthless, before actually orienting ourselves and using them, finding our way into the lush opulence that can only be funded by exploiting the dopamine fiends incapable of statistical analysis. Smug in our accepted knowledge that OUR addictions were completely unprofitable, we warmed our hands by the gas heaters. The doorman, seeing a pack of scrappy disheveled people in stained sweaty running clothes covered in dog, gave us a hearty welcome, inviting us in. Buttler was found at the center bar with a cocktail and told us to order, while we drank in the bright lights, radiant colors, and people who managed to dress even more casual than us.
Leg 3: Always Run on the Wrong Side of 99
Getting out of Encore proved as challenging a task as it was intended to be. Twice, we somehow wound up on the wrong floor before finding our way out and emerging on route 99, back to Boston. Emerging from a check, about 80% of pack didn’t know when to Hold ‘Em and when to Fold ‘Em and wound up on the wrong side of the highway, with options to traverse said highway only becoming higher and higher stakes gambles, as we traversed the Mystic River. Your Humble Scribe finally saw a break in traffic, ran across the highway, and jumped the median, leaving the other 69% of pack trapped. Buttler waited for us with Bag Car at Ryan Playground, informing us we had found Beer Check 3.
We headed out from the Bag Car, hare in sight for the 50ft Fat Boy he laid to the shelter of the ON-IN, Testi Mechs snaring him on the way. Mallort was spotted. Homebaked mac ‘n cheese was presented.
Social drinks for anyone who couldn’t escape the casino, for anyone who made out with Just Olive (we all did, even while being accused of it), backsliders were called in, and Sketchy vaguely recalled the proper procedure for abuse upon our Virgin Mary, who somehow was not a stranger to Mallort. It was revealed that the virgin le gustaria ver pornografia con tus padres and could not identify an aptly placed dollar bill. We didn’t find the virgin acceptable, but we took her anyway. Given that the Virgin actually lived in Munich, AVNM flirted with whether we should introduce her to Krusty.
ON - future hotel hash? - ON
|No Nuts November
(4 months ago)
Date: November 10, 2019
Theme: No Nuts November
Hares: Testicular Mechanics, Cum Back Queen (formerly Just Elia)
Bag Car: Just Haig (in the ONONRU mobile)
Pack: Bottom Wrangler, Do Me Decimal, Dribbles, For the Love of God Finish, Friar Fuck, Full Frontal Fireball, Holy Dumpster Fire, Orgasm Famine, Pop Cum Ear I’m Infected, Quarter Mile Queer, Shart of Darkness, Shits and Ladders, Sketchy Ho, Spunk in the Trunk, The Buttler Hit It, Topless Barbie, Twat My Mom, Virgin Elizabeth
Prelube: Paddy’s Lunch
SC: Behind the Center for Astrophysics
BC1: Riverbend Park
BC2: Fresh Pond Reservation (near Kingsley Park)
On-in: Danehy Park
Trail: Pack convened at Paddy’s Lunch, which had more than one hasher wondering if this was an A-A’ trail ending at Danehy Park. The hounds departed, came across 3 CB5s, one of which was by the residence of a Presidential candidate, had a shot check of nuts and no nuts beverages, continued on before finding 2 more CB5s, then a beer check by the Charles River. Trail craniumed north where it overlapped with Friday’s Moon Trail, stopped a beer check where the BMH3 had its on-in, then emerged from the Fresh Pond Reservation. There was a BVC across a four-lane road which pointed at a false, except nobody saw it, so a few of us just trusted our instincts and meandered toward Danehy Park where we picked up trail near a car dealership. Shortly thereafter we found the hares staking out a spot for us at the top of the hill in Danehy Park.
Circle: Do Me led her first circle in 2.5 years and quickly got to business. Our FRB was Shits, while Spunk was the FBI. Buttler was the DFL as he went straight back to Paddy’s. Shart demented Virgin Elizabeth, where she revealed that she was from Reno, was sponsored by FFF, is a backwoods skier, doesn’t know the square root of -69 (I Ate Something), and likes her Oreos double stuffed.
Naming: Next in circle was the naming of Just Elia. Do Me tried to abdicate her RA responsibilities to “Ass Cowboy” who turned down the opportunity to lead a naming, so QMQ jumped in to help. We learned that Just Elia wanted to yeet nuts from the Harvard Bridge, talked about a Kat and a (Damn It) Janet, has cat ears and a cat tail, and left the hash for a little bit, but came back. Naming suggestions included Yeets Nuts, Damn It Janet, Cum Back Queen, and Cat Loves Pussy. Of the four nominations, Cum Back Queen grabbed the most votes, therefore Just Elia will always be known at this hash and at all others as Cum Back Queen.
Accusations: Continuing the accusations, Shart accused the hares of their BVC trickery, For the Love of God Finish falsely accused Daylights Savings Time of it being dark at 6 p.m. (we’re back in Standard Time), Just Haig was accused of getting a $100 bill from his “gay gun,” Sketchy and Buttler for latecomers, Buttler for watching porn of his parents with his parents, and the hares for overlaying trail on the Moon trail. I don’t recall the accusation, but For the Love of God Finish told us some story about dry ice under a bridge on Boston Common. Then Do Me was given an honor down-down for 500 days of sobriety.
Announcements: As for announcements, the Northboro H3 Red Dress Run is next Saturday, as is the Ballbuster Goes West trail. The Buttler Trail Series continues next Sunday with virgin Boston territory. QMQ is having Chinese food (sushi actually) for Christmas, and For the Love of God Finish is moving to Vermont. Oh and around this time, Spank Me May I Have My Mother showed up.
That’s it for this hash trash. Thanks to our Veterans on this holiday. Now to go back to counting down the minutes until I can start streaming The Mandalorian.
Twat My Mom
|AGM Fatboy Trash
(4 months ago)
What: Fatboy Hash Trash
Where: State Street Provisions
Who: Shart of Darnkess and Chunderilli Chunderilli
Bag car: The Butler Hit It
Wiki, Gimp, Quarter Mile, Shits, Oboner, Sweagal, Falmon, Cuntcussion
Getting to the bar right after it opened – after almost being run over by two yahoos in a GTI – the nice hostest didn’t sit me as far away from everyone else as possible, but I think the brunch date sharing the booth with me didn’t enjoy my unicorn hat gernal hashy vibe. I ordered a cocktail and waited for others to arrive.
About a half hour later Butler and Gimp showed up after having run from his car because it was parked so far away. This become relivant later. We ate more food, drank more booze and waited for others to join us. Oboner and Chunerilli strolled in and took the seats which had been recently vacated by the brunch date. They informed us that they just came from dim sum and were too full to eat any more, but ordered bacon and bisciuts anyway. Well, they tried to order bacon and biscuits but the bar was out of bacon. The waitresses was very apologectic.
Shart and Falmon joined us after having polished off a bottle of procesco – it’s always a good idea to have a few lying around – after Falmon had awoken Shart with an “I have a bad idea which you’re probably going to like” offer at the Krusty and Goatless Krusty Goat. They had pancakes and beer. The breakfast of champions.
Later on – well after the 1pm HST start – Quarter Mile and Do Me joined us after supporting and participating in, respectfully, racist events earlier in the morning.
Full of seafood, pancakes, and alcohol we began to grumble about maybe getting on with this trail. Butler informed us that he, um, wasn’t parked anywhere close. He was parked in front of the TD Gradern – about a mile and a half away and in the opposite direction of the “heavily scouted trail.” Resisting – or not taking our plantive calls to move the bag car to us. The hares, showing their ability as GMs to addapt to unplanned situations and drama in pack – decided that trail would just be a walk to Butlers car.
Trail – Part 1:
Continuing in the vein of addaptability, the hares did request that we go to the aquirium and sarende the seals with one of YHSs favourite songs. In order to accomidate that simple request, and to overcome the obsterance of the bag car, the RA – Quarter Mile – decided to try a novel technique of a “roving chalk talk” in which he drew chalk talk interspersed with the haring marks leading to the seals. Good luck to anyone who tried to join us late. We got to the seals, sang to them, then observed one who seemed to love swimming upside down, one who was sleeping on the floor, one who was sleeping with it’s head above water and one who swimming in place in front of the water jet.
Trail looped back from the Aquiraium ground the bar – which incidentally shared a block with a parking garage – and crossed the green way. We meandered around Quincy Market – with a false going to the Hong Kong – but stopped for an impromptu cookie check, which might have been the best idea of the GMs young reign. Trail wound through some alleys where Shits found a hat which he wore until we told him it was probably covered in vomit, bed bugs, and the dregs of human society. We walked past Haymarket and had a lively discussion that the establishment which branded itsef “the greatest bar” was actually “the douchiest” bar complete with three levels of Choise Your Own Douche. Our ability to consevrse with each other was being streched as thin as owe brunch-boze was wearing out and we were coming dangerously close to being sober when, at long last, we spied bag/beer car.
BC 1 – On a sidewalk outside a bar showing football.
There was a nice family – it looked like mother and daughters – who were simultalinously watching the Bills game, but also laughing at the band of neirdowells who had inexpeciblably started singing and drinking on the sidewalk outside their bar. One beer later, the hares huddled with bag car then told everyone to grab a road soda or two – as there would be no bag car at the next beer check.
Trail Part – 2: Sometimes closed doors are actually open.
After we loaded up on beers and chips for the road we strode off towards what was definetly not an-everyone-knew-where-we-were-going-check in the north end by the skating rink. To get there, though, first was had to cross Causeway St. Pack was mostly seperated by a light with the hares and I on one side, and pack on the other. To pass the time, I thought I’d sing myself a song. I started in with “In the hills of West Virginia lived a girl named Nacy Brown, you’ve never seen her equal in the country on in town…” I paused for dramatic affect and to see if anyone would join me. Instead, a woman who was enjoying a causal Sunday nap on the sidewalk yelled, in the very gravely voice one someone who has spent more than a few fall days napping on sidewalks, “Oh, shut the fuck up!” Which caused pack to explode in laughter and exclaim that they wish they had recorded the entire episode.
Trail then went through the garden, but as we were exiting another man – who I assumed also shared a the experience of spending more than his fare share of days napping under the early November sun, but every easily could have been a T or Garden employee tried to tell Shits, the hares and I that the doors which we were about to exit through were closed. We are hashers so we ignored him. The rest of pack – being order muppets – dudifuly followed his advice.
We all rejoined in the park over the big dig tunnel and all stood agast at the vision which was before us, on the other side of the street; a man, wearing a Patriots jersey under a flying squirrel onsie was strolling carelessly down the street. We quickly confirmed that this was butler, and that a. he wasn’t walking to, or from, or anywhere near bag car, and that he wasn’t walking in any way towards, or in the direction of the food, which he was tasked with picking up as we strolled the the beer check. Knowing better than to question, or corner, a buttler in the wild, we decided to ignore the strange apparition and continue with out merry juant.
Not much worth of retelling happened between the buttler sighting and the beer check.
Beer Check 2 – The great marathon hooides with beer coosies in them don’t prevent spilling.
Deciding not to follow the tradition of “just one beer check” which the outgoing GMs tried to start Saturday, this trail had two beer checks. When we got to the second one – ugh, that’s a horrible transition after a post-edit, but I’m leaving it because I want the dig - I removed my beer from the marathon hoodie pocket – those were such great give-aways weren’t they? Who ever was marathon chair that year really had their shit together. I wonder what’s in store this year… - anyway; I think I’ve broken all rules of punctuation on that rant – and noticed it was rather empty and I had to go to the bathroom.
I went to the corner of the park and Gimp yelled at me for “Pissing on/in the direction of the Conssitution.” When I returned I delivered the sick nasty burn “It’s funny you still think the Consitition matters!” No one laughed. Instead they were staring at me. It would appear as though the kangaroo pouch on the hoodie, while great at hiding and keeping beer cold, is not so good as keeping it from making it look like you peed yourself, but like in a very weird way in which the pee sprays up? Luckily it was cold and windy and we decided we should head to on in. Before we left, Shart decided to moon the youth hockey game and change out of her totally-going-to-run-today-running shorts into some jeans she probably stole from Disco.
Trail Part 3 – We Walk Across A Bridge
We walked across the bridge to Charlestown. I workshopped a way in which I could tell the “spilling beer on myself story” in the context of a job interview, complete with interview questions, keyword phrases, light humor and formal laguage construction. I’d hire me. You should too. Also hire Shart. She wants new job. She’s good a shitty herself and running. She can solidify your bottom line.
We tried to move it to a sunny part of the park, but the birdge, the trajectory of the moon and tides made us circle on a path. At least we didn’t get in the way of the nice family taking wedding/engagement photots. I’m not entirely sure why, but very quickly circled turned on the RAs says “Does anyone else have any aquisations for wiki?” Somehow, that’s not how I invisioned my RA-emiratius career starting. It got cold, we swang low.
On – #IfYouDidntAlmostPeeYourselfItWasntAGoodTrail – On
FRIDAY 11/8: MOOM AGM – New Visisages! New Places! Same Rage! Take the 70 or the 71 out to watertown! Start is 6:30HST, bring cranium covers, and a love of “shiggly falling from the sky!”
SUNDAY 11/10: NO NUTS NOVEMBER – Join Just Elia as she hares a trail in celebration, condemnation, memorial, or whatever of NUTS! Start is “Camberville”. She needs a co-hare and a no-nut car!
(reply to this email/post if you want to volunteer and I’ll forward it to her)
Ball Buster 11/16 – Start is in the Davis area, hared by Shits.
Sadie Hawkins 11/23 - LADIES! LADIES! LADIES – GET YOUR PINS FROM UDDER AND PIN YOUR BURRITO!!
Black out Friday 11/29 – Will Wiki get his sh*t together for a day which might actually be dangerous? Stay tuned!
…you’ve read 4 pages. Go back to work.
I’ve been at work 3 hours and this is all I’ve done.
Don’t be like me.