Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...
|An Easy Wiki Black Tie Affair
(over 4 years ago)
What: An Easy Wiki Black Tie Trail
Hares: Easy as 123 and Wikipedophelia
Bag car: Señor C*cksuckerWho: Buttler, Bend Over Mommy, 5 Inch Penalty, Friar F*ck, +2 Coonass, Gnome, Bum Fucking Vagibond, Krusty the Meat Miser, Delta Phile, Luv-a-lamp, Buoys (sorta?), Just Patrick x2, Just Carissa*, Just Ian, and anyone I forgot
This weekend, I decided to take a break from my busy Sunday schedule of napping, nursing hangovers and looking at Instagram pictures of golden retrievers and, instead, I made it out to a truly excellent Easy Wiki affair.
It was a nasty, drizzly day, but that didn't stop the hashers present from breaking out their Sunday best. Bend Over Mommy, Just Patrick, Just Carissa and Luv-a-Lamp were runway-ready in various flowing gowns. The people of Newton welcomed us as one of their own as we traipsed past some kind of seminary? boys camp? religious thing?, stumbled down a hill, and attracted curious/admiring glances from passersby.
Trail was aggressive from the very first shot check, which was a Black Russian check. A lot of it. Surprisingly, we finished the entire shot check before moving on (though the bottle had to make a LOT of trips around the circle). Even more surprisingly, no one refunded as we moved on to the next part of trail, which actually took place on a trail. There were plenty of uphill falses (I know because I ran all of them), a babbling brook that just so happened to cover the entire trail, and even an equal opportunity check (which is the name I just made up for boob checks immediately followed by dick checks).
Immediately after going over the river and through the woods, we found the first beer check. Oh, sorry, did I say beer check? I meant beer-and-champagne check. No, scratch that - I meant GOOD-beer-and-champagne check. We popped some bubbly, mixed it with our good beer (is that a Shamwow? I attended trail and I'm *still* not entirely sure what a Shamwow is), and drank from red cups with our pinkies out.
In typical Sharty fashion, I had availed myself freely of the Black Russians, champagne, and beer of a much higher quality (and therefore alcohol percentage) than I am used to. That's my way of saying that the next part of trail was something of a blur. We ran through some more woods, magically made it over to the BC Reservoir, ran around that and had another beer check... Things happened, and eventually we stumbled into the On-In.
The On-In was completely empty except for us at first, until an older couple came in and proceeded to tell us that they were just about to head back to the Cape (not sure why relevant?) and that we were giving them a headache. So we, surprisingly considerately, whispered the rest of circle.
Anyway, it was decided that Just Carissa needed to be named. She probably told some stories. (Sorry, I'm the worst scribe ever). It also was pointed out that, at one point, she imbibed from a traffic cone. Since she was wearing a beautiful Snow White -esque gown, we eventually settled on several options including Blow White or Blow Cone. I can't quite remember which option won, to be honest, and neither were the other circle attendees that I later asked. So pick the one you like better and start calling her that, and maybe it'll stick.
Anyway, I've about exhausted my meager memories, so I apologize if there's anything or anyone that I forgot. Til next time, wankers!
On-next time I will either take better notes or get less drunk-on,
|Green Dress Run 2014
(over 4 years ago)
What: Seacoast/Boston 69 An*l Green Dress Run
Who: Frair Fuck, E=I’m a Douch
Where: BKs, Revere Beach, Revere
THE 2nd Cumming, Spank me may I have my mother, Just Holly**, Just Erik*, Pappy Van Tinkle, Manga My Vagania, Clit Notes, Senior Cocksucker, Virgin Patrick, The Butler Hit It, Certified Poop Accuntnat, Flamming Hetero – The sweat Montana Cherry, Jello Wrecked ‘Em, Just Beat It, Bum Fucking Vagabond, Wikiepdophilia, Easy as 1,2,3, Krusty The Meet Miser, Cum Titty, Udder Whore, Broke back baby, Condom Search and Rescue, Pop Cum Ear I’m infected, Easy To Please, Swedish Eagle, Just Ian, Bend Over Mommy, Nicely Nicely Johnson, Maybe Others.
The start was at the very classey BK’s bar next to the revere beach T station on everyone’s favourite Blue Line. Upon my arrival there was already a small group of pretty drunk hashers – they had apparently decided to “brunch” there to moderate success, and a very friendly bar tender. I walked up to the bar and ordered the best beer they had – rolling rock – for $3. I bored it out into my hash mug and walked away. A few minutes later I returned and handed her my mug, which she filled without question and still only charging $3. Time went on and more hashers – in their finest green dresses – started to show up. I had another $3 hash-mug-of-cheer as the pack grew and generally began to take over the bar. The locals retreated to the bar itself and the far corner. Eventually, once pretty much everyone had showed up we started asking where the hares were, since it’s nice to have hares on trail. Douche didn’t show up until well after 3, and the pack wasn’t away until closer to 3:30*** I collected hash cash – because you half-minds trust me – and bag car was called.
Circle was on the beach, and we introduced ourselves, our visitors and our virigin to the marks we would not be seeing. They included arrows that were not used, dick checks, which were used, tit checks, which we not used, and count backs that might have been us.ed After deciding that we’d stood around for long enough, we left in search of beer.
Trail crossed over Revere beach boulevard, or whatever, past BKs and down some side streets, pretty much going to straight at every check until coming out to a main(ish) road. Showing no fear of death, and fully confident that Massachusetts drivers would be attentive and not wanting to hit people in Green Dresses, I darted out into traffic in search of trail. Along with feeling the wind on my back as a pick-up truck whizzed by, I did find trail on the other side of the road, then promptly lost in and ran around a 4 (ish) way interestection looking for either pack or trail and eventually followed whistles in the distances. Running along the side of a road for a while, we eventually turned right towards the marshes, and, seeing a check at the enterance, run right in. Note that there weren’t any marks leading us into the marshes, we just decided to go that way. Most of pack displayed a surprising amount of intelligence and actual hashing ability, turned up the road and followed trail not through the marsh. After deciding the error of our ways, we left the shiggy behind and followed pack through some quiet and unmarked streets to a song check where they were polietely waiting for us. Trail continued on into the shiggy to another song check, which we pretty much ignored since we could see the hares standing by the beer in the distance; a few hundred yards down a mainly fooled access road and we were treated with the sweat refreshing taste of Bug Light.
Beer Check [Not Guiness]
There was beer, no orange (or green) food, and a lot of wind. The pack discussed mainly things of verying levels of import. Some people who waxed poetic about how to find a roller skating rink this side of Worcester. Other people talked about the lack of quality of beer. Right about when we thought we’d been there long enough, the hares told everyone to take some beers because the next beer check was BYOB. This met with predicatble responses, but turned out, amazingly enough, to be a not completely bad idea. We were able to watch the hares walk across a field until they disappeared out of sight into the bush. Since we were standing around holding beer, we decided we might as well follow them.
We followed the hares, who had only recently disappeared from sight, across the rail road tracks and through the marsh. Some of the pack tried to stay dry, and others didn’t; eventually we plowed through reeds above my cranium and came out onto an actual 4-lane divided highway with a true trail and BVC pointing across it. Since we were pretty much all traveling together, a few very nice cars stopped, honked and let us cross. We could see to shapes lumbering across another field a few hundred yards away and raced after them until we decided that we didn’t really want to snare Friar, and we found a song check. Since the song check was located around a break in the meadow/field/marsh, whatever, that provided some cover from the wind, we decided that we might as well drink the beers we were holding while waiting for the hares to continue. A few minutes, and a few beer laters – only the best, coors light, we walked out into the marsh to be confronted by a steadily flowing stream about 4 or 5 feet wide. Taking a few steps back to make sure I could clear it, I ran, lept, flew, and fell in. Luckily my momentum carried me forward and on to dry ground. I looked around and found that everyone else was crossing over a bridge. Trail then ducked into another, deeper, gully which we scrambled through, and, completely ignoring the true-trail emblazed in flour on the far bank took off running down the road on the other side. Reaching the end of the block a realizing that we were following road salt, we turned around, found the true trail through more reeds and eventually came upon and access road that dumped us out into a baseball field where the hares were standing by the back stop.
Standing around in a not-sketchy-at-all-circle in front of the back stop, we drank what beer we had left and waited for the hares to leave. There was much discussion of which way they went, and who was laying what marks. There were a for sympathetic comments directed towards that father and son out playing catch in the outfield, but we generally ignored them and I’m pretty sure they explicitly ignored us.
Trail On Camarea
Since there wasn’t much in the way to keep us anchored to the beer check – most of the pack had drunk theirs at the first impromptu check, and we since had to take the empties with us anyway, we just started off at a leasurely pace – walking – along the very scenic revre beach back to what we assumed was the on in. Luckly, some of the FRBs actually followed trail and found that it turned and went into the Wonderland park garage to a shot check on the roof deck. Except it was windy, so the shot check was inside. Except that the hares forgot the shots, so it was a “stand around inside check” until Douche got back with brown liquid alcohol – it was not worthy of the name “whiskey” – even though it’s label claimed that it was “Americas finest!” Whatever. It was vile. In an effort to avoid dection by the fuzz, some people tried to move the shot check (ie drinking) part outside onto the roof, but that idea was quickly Crimead – when the majority of the pack declared that they wanted to drink inside and the law-abiding members just shrugged their shoulders at this unprecedented breach of interhashinoal law. That joke was funny in my cranium. Sorry.
If there were marks between the parking garage and BKs, I didn’t see them. I saw one group hug and hugged 2nd (who then took off like he was running a marathon!), then sauntered into the OnIn.
In true Friar fassion it was an A to A trail, and I’m pretty sure every body knew this.
After a very brief laspse, mainly because we didn’t have the bar to ourselves, beer was provided and Krusty and Easy whipped us into a hasher-frenzy and jumped us all up on stage. We sang first to the hares for their truly shitty trail, then called in the FRB (2nd), FBI (Jello) and DFL (Virgin Patrick). We sang and made them, including the very confused virgin, do down-downs. We then called the virgin back into circle, and he 69’d CPA. I’m sure other things too, but, really, that was the highlight, or lowlights, depending, of the dementing. Once the virgin was thoroughly confused we threw beer on him and accepted him, reluctantly into our midsts. Next up for punishment were the visitors; Flamming Hetro from Portland Humping Hash and Nicely, Nicely Johnson from Okinowa. They sang us a song of their people, and we sang them about the dangers of walking down canal street in Boston. Backsliders and Seacoasters were called in – it was Cum Titties 169th Hash – and I’m assuming we sang to them too. The locals were getting increasingly annoyed with us – except for the guy at the bar who’d complement my dress everytime I went to order more beer – so we hastened to accusations, and I drank for forgetting clit note’s name. I was drunk. Opps. Annoucnements (see below) and then we dropped our vessels, bowed our craniums and swang low.
Friar and douche made a whole bunch of cabage, potatos, carrots and corned beef which we gorged ourselves on.
HOLY SHIT I FORGOT THE FUCKING NAMING!!!!
After the vistors were called in Just Erik was accused of being a just, and so he assumed the position to be named. It came forth that he had been the President of his LARPing club in college, fantized about having sex with elves, and various other nerdy accomplisments. LARP me, LARP me, longtime was suggested, as were a few others, but, from hence forth, Just Erik will be known as “Fellowship of the Cockring.” May G have mercy on his liver! Also, we brought his –wife- (Just someone else) into be named, and after suggested “Whore of Mordor” and a few others, she was thrown back to marinate in the fires of shame and humiliation that is the Boston Hash until such time as we name her.
There was food, and we shovled it into our carnimum holes.
That’s it? Maybe? Yes? No? Who care. Make up your own story from here.
On – HAPPY EVACUATION DAY – On
***Editorial: Hares need to be away -at-2:45-on-Sundays-and-6:45-on-Wednesdays-. This is serious (ish). Hares leaving an hour after they are supposed to cannot continue***
Friday, March 22nd: DEADLINE TO GET PERSONAL HAB FOR MARATHON. If you sing up after the 22nd who know what you’ll get, but it won’t be a personalize mug!
Sunday, March 23rd: FRAIR FUCK TURNS 50! He’s haring another trail! Start is somewhere near Kenmore. See the calander/Failbook/smoke signals
Saturday March 29th: Wikipedophilia is haring a PooF Trail in/near Douglas state forest. Details might be on the Poof website
Sunday, March 30th: An Easy Wiki Black Tie Affiar – Black tie hash starting in Newton. This is the first trail with $15 hash cash!
!!!SIGN UP FOR MARATHON!!!
NURD is happening in May.
Boston RDR in June
Invishash is in July
GAP (might) be in August
Pearl Necklace in september
AG in Ocotober
Saddie Hawkins in November
Anti-Buffet in December
|Freedom From Trail Hash
(almost 5 years ago)
What: Freedom trail
Who: No Man On The Moon, Mud Slut
Bag Car: Schindler’s Fist
Where: Tavern at the End of the World
Plus 2 Coonass, Velvet Pelvis, Visitors from Mexico*, A Virgin, An Amaazing Male Just*, A Female Just, A transplant from New York, Double Fisted Fence Fucker, Twat My Mom, Yellow Dick Gnome, Harlot Globe Fondler, Ignorance Is Piss, Peirce My Sourass, Goat Throat, The Butler Hit It, Another Female Just, Half of Can’t Douch Pussy Land, but I forget which, Sweedish Eagle, Senior Cocksucker, Friar Fuck, Little Black Cock in my Pocket, probably a few others?
Before chalk talk got underway the RA came back saying that we would need id’s on trail. From that point on, trail was basically “running in the general direction of Hong Kong.” Coonass did a passable job of chalk talk, and I only say that because no one got lost following marks on trail. Well, more on that later. Introductions and chalk talk over, we set out looking for marks.
[Trail Phase 1]
We didn’t find any. We found irregularly spaced brownish splotches of snow, and minisucle arrows that were, more often than not, wrong. Trail cross under or over of through the highway/train tracks/whatever and into Charlestown to a check in front of a gas station. This was a very brilliantly laid check, since there was an open hill directly a-cranium of it, or a two and out across a high way. After scouting every possible direction for a good ten minutes – including your humble scribe scouting the other side of some four lane highway and almost getting hit by a cop car (he had he’s lights on, I just didn’t see him) – we decided to scout behind the abandoned building and found ourselves a nice circle jerk that ended up on the stairs to the Bunker Hill momument. There was a hash-sitapeed for the tourists. If the beer were British soldiers, we would have been able to shoot them at that point, but the willey little hares decided to run us back down Bunker hill to a CB 6 (it should have been 5) which turned down a side street ending in a stairway to the beer.
[Stairway to beer check]
The hares, and some zenning bastards, were waiting and laughing at us as we charged up the stairs to the, we’ll call it sub-roomtempature beer. There was plenty of orange food and beers were drunk and stories were told and eventually the hares decided to be gay again and left us standing around wondering in which amazing direction the trail could go.
Trail immedietly hit a song check in front of a church, and we got out the refrain of “Free Beer for All the Hashers” before deciding that we wanted to run on in search of said free exliour of good ideas. Trail continued straight, then turned down a hill to a false, though trail come down the next street to a song check by another church, at which pack was sarindated by the velvety vocal stylings of your humble scribe with “As I was walking ‘round saint pauls…” Trail then hit a second tit check and ran under the bridge at the end of Charlestown. At this point, I stopped following trail because of my previously stated preminition about where trail was going. Trail went over the road bridge, but I ran through the locks and scouted out around the Garden and the greenway looking for trail to make the cross toward Fanual Hall, but never found anything. Hearing the whistles of the pack getting further and further away, and remembering that there was in a hill in the North End that can be accended by stairs, I ran off in that direction, eventually finding myself on the other side of a locked cemetery gate from the beer check. Fences and locked gates cannot stop hashers, so I made up my own eagle trail and eventually found my way to the beer. Upon my arrival I was greeted with a beer from Mud Slut and the male just saying I was his hero!! I’m someone’s hero! As soon as pack heard this, they quickly whisked him away to a retraining camp. It was getting cold and the hares left again.
[The hareless trail]
It was now just a matter of time until we got to the HK, and Gnome, Goat and I tried to follow trail until it stopped just after a song check, but we kept going to the Holy Hong Kong. We found the walkers just arriving, and Twat sitting at the bar, but no sign of the hares, or bag car. We were definitely ending at the Kong, but, hares? Pack? Beer? These things were no where in sight. We were contemplating mounting a search party for the hares, and the pack, when everyone – hares and pack – came running it at the same time. Apparently the reason why the marks stopped after the song check is that we had almost snared the hares, but the pint-sized beer-leaders had ducked into a crowd to evade detection by the front runners, but could not hide from the rest of pack. Pack and hares having successfully reached the OnIn, beer was provided and we stood around waiting to get warm.
Starting off with calling in the hares, we asked them if they had anything to say in their defense, and they didn’t, so we sang to them that they should have used more flour, or chalk. In hindsight, that was a bit mean because while they diffinetly could have used more flour or chalk, there are significant doubts as to whether or not they could have actually carried any more. Visitors – with the exception of the Mexican who disappeared – were called in, and this turned out to be just Harlot, and she sung as a song of her people about sex in the pack of pick-up-cars. Moving on quickly Velvet’s virgin was called in, and was demented by Gnome and Disco. We asked him what his first blow job tasted like and he insisted that he did in fact taste it, but he wasn’t gay? He then preformed a reverse cowgirl on a sleeping Velvet and we’d seen enough. Goat, I think, got in on the action too, or he was just dry humping Velvet for the fun of it. I was called into circle for about 5 different offenses, but luckily on had to drink once. Transplants were called in, and people in happy coats, and the hares a few more times. Same socks, I think was an accusation? Pizza arrived, and we swang low.
On – Running in 25F is better than 25C – On
This weekend: New Haven Hashmat – Friday/Saturday/Sunday trails, give aways and running from the Hazmat teams.
TONIGHT: Something, but I don’t have a taco so I didn’t pay attention.
Thrusday 2/13: Marathon MM meeting at the Burren in Davis; 7pm to talk about amazing shit!
Friday, 2/14: Moon trail at The Cove.
Sunday 2/16: Hares might still be needed?
March 1st: Mardi-Gras in Burlington
March 15th: Green dress in Happy Valley
|Sadie Hawkins Hash
(about 5 years ago)
Scribes Note: I don't have a taco, so I'm not sure if there is a taco-specific scribe who sends out taco-friendly versions to the taco runs list.
Also, f*ck rules, this is the hash.
What: Sadie Hawkins Hash
Who: Mangia My Vaginia, Harlot Globe Foundler, Certified Poop Accuntant.
Where: Hong Kong, Hardvard Square
Really? You expect me to remember, here goes (and most of these are lies)
No Man on the Moon, Oink Oink Ohhh, Bloody Slip Inside, Easy As 1,2,3, Just Pat (not from Rhode Island), THE 2nd Cumming, Maple Queef, Hot Tub Crime Machine, Udder Whore, Anal Disco, Cuntjungle, I-know-his-name-isn’t-
Was at HK, but I was off doing super-secret-planning so +2 and I showed up as Bag Car was being called. Even though I wasn’t there; here’s what happened. Scripion. Bowl. Races. There were a few heats, and 2nd came away was the champion, with Goes Down On Bouys Unable to finish and Bloody Slip Inside and Easy and 1,2,3 tied for 2nd. Everyone was very drunk and eventually we left to learn about trail, or something.
Happened. Were there virgins. Maybe? Will they come back? Probably. No tit checks.
Trail Left Tit:
Apparently circle was at the end of a false so most of pack went somewhere, and I scouted a-cranium finding true trail through Harvard square and eventually pack caught up with me at a song check inside the courtyard of a very nice looking hotel. We thought that the guests, and restaurant goers, who had gathered at the windows to stare at a crowd of cow-people, could use a reminder of how the calendar worked, so we sang a nice little diddy about the days of the week and the various activities engaged thereon. As we were getting go the only PG-13 day – the day of rest – Nichelodean was called so we just left and followed trail to a joke (or junk) check. I told a horrible joke, and scouted off in the wrong direction. Trail actually turned right from the check and ran along memorial drive for a way before turning into Longfellow park for a beer near.
There was beer. It was drunk. The hares stood around for a while laughing at how we thought they might have actually ran trail – apparently they hadn’t. Nothing of note happened, well, except that the cops did not come. That line will make more sense once you read the hash trash for the Macklemore trail. Not wanting us to be too drunk, if there is such a thing, the hares eventually left the same way they came.
Trail Right Tit:
Left Longfellow park and ran straight down Memorial drive. There was a brief detour off behind an apartment complex before turning left and crossing back over memorial drive to run along the river to the Charles boat house. Did I just describe an entire leg of trail in one sentence? Yup, because it was that short, and I thought ladies liked it long.
Circle/Hoe Down/Whatever happened next:
Pack slowly filtered into the Boat House and were greeted by hay-pales set up for Western photos, and a ring of tables already set up for our favourite cup-based game. No tape needed. There was also a lot of beer, multiple kegs, and a fountain of some deadly exlicer, not to mention a few cases of Shirmnov, a handle of fire ball, and a goodly about of whiskey. So basically, I am shocked that I can remember anything that happened. Here goes.
There was a significant pause between when pack arrived and circle started – I believe we drank through the first keg. Evently Iggy called us to order and we sang drink a little bit, f*ck a little bit, etc, etc. The hares were very unapologetic about their trail and drank for it. Next we called in virgins? I honestly don’t remember them, or their names, but I remember commenting that being de-viriginzed with a pabst-smir must be a memoriable event. Next all meat tacos who had never down a pabst-smir were called in. It is very hard to drink a down-down on your back; most of mine ended up on my shoulders. Not sure how. Circle continued and Butler was called in – by proxy on Gimp’s cell phone. I’m assuming we sang “My hare is a vegaitable” because, well, it’s both semi-poor-taste and semi-true. What else happened in circle? It ended?
There was a lot of food; pretty good BBQ from my recollection, however, this being a hash, there were no serving utensles so everyone tried very hard not go Viking and just use their hands. It was after food that the shots came out and the magic exlicer fountain started flowing and things get really fuzzy. Once the food was cleared away strippy cup happened but there were way too maybe people on each team – in hindsight we should have run a different game of strippy cup on each table.
AroundI saw someone with a broom and decided it was time to GTFO, so I did.
On – are all taco trails this fun? – On
A special thanks for No Man On The Moon for pinning me! She rules!
There are only 6 spots left for Antibuffet, sign up:
Moon trailby Necropheliac Jack and Just Tasty, start is near Back Bay?
PooF, somewhere in Billrica details at:
Trailby Sweedish Eagle and Bloody Slip Inside (virgin lay)
Start: Pearl St. Station, Malden.
Our Facebook page is now semi-active:
|The "Oh God We Are So Hungover" Hash
(about 5 years ago)
the "oh god we're so hung over" trail (10/27)
Bag Car: Mudslut
Who else: Piggy, Krusty, Easy, Fisty, Gimpy, Blowbot..y...?, Bloody/Slippy, Easy, Twatty, Goaty, Gimpy, Señor-y, Coonassy, CEP-y, Swede-y, Clitty, Spunky, Dribbly, Moony, yours truly, and visitors Velvet Pelvis, Cum Test Dummy, Just... Tom?, and Virgin Reporter
If you're ever wondering whether playing strippy cup with hard alcohol is a good idea, the answer is "probably not, but do it anyway." After Saturday night, your faithful scribe wanted nothing more than to lie in a darkened room and be spoon-fed pho all day. Since volunteers for that role were not forthcoming, I ended up at the hash anyway.
As requested, hashers had dressed as other hashers. Honorable mentions go to Spunk as Gimp - she even made a necklace; Gimp as Goat, wearing freshly-cut jorts and one of Goat's own belts; and Easy as 123 as Cum Ear, with a big disgusting glob of lotion in her ear (and, later, a soft and lightly perfumed inner ear). OH, and how could I forget - Sweagle dressed in red white and blue (making him American Eagle for the day) and his faithful four-legged companion as Bros.
Yankee left, came back again shortly, and then left for real. We had chalk talk. Virgin Reporter was present, although we scared her off before trail; we sang her a relatively PG song. 15 minutes of fame, here we come? And with that, we were off.
We toured the scenic streets of Malden. I ran gently so as not to jostle my head too much. There were no checkbacks, falses or tit checks, all of which was A-OK with me. After running mostly in a straight line, we made it to the first beer check. I had a beer to take the edge off my headache; it didn't work.
The good news is that I wasn't the only one struggling. Leaving the beer check, pack decided silently and en masse to walk for a while. Yankee had apparently felt similarly lazy, since we were able to "scout" just by looking down the trail. As Gimp commented, "We are now going the precise speed that our hare is going."
There was, of course, a whiskey check, with an unusually low number of partakers. Shout-out to Bloody Slip Inside for singlehandedly picking up our slack. There was an incident in which Goat Throat, while trying to do god only knows what with an empty 40oz bottle he found nearby, instead broke it all over the bike path. Hashers, being nothing if not responsible citizens, proceeded to clean up the pieces... with their bare hands. Despite being unsuccessful at finishing the bottle of whiskey, we proceeded.
We ran some more, skirting our way around piles of dog poop and a used needle(!). At long last, we found ourselves at the definitely-not-reused on-in under a highway overpass and froze our asses off in circle. People were called in for stuff. Goat had some kind of incident that involved beer coming out of his nose - perhaps his body trying to tell him something? - for which he, of course, was made to drink extra. Bloody Slip Inside wandered into circle and stood there for a while until we noticed and made him drink. Good times and shitty pizza were had by all. And that's all she wrote!
* Rego for Anti-Buffett! 10 spaces left as of yesterday.
* Pink Taco Sadie Hawkins is next Friday - if you're a dude, find a harriette and feed her drinks until she pins you (note: this is the only situation in which I advocate getting a harriette drunk for the purpose of taking advantage of her)
* E4BH3 is having an away weekend this coming weekend! See calendar for detrails