Hash Trash #1074
Sunny skies and promises of Belgian brew beckoned them to the gracious hare’s abode. A quick circle up, complete with promises of back checks, false trails, and a YBF or two and the pack was off. Down the hill, around the corner, and off to the wooded trails. The day found shiggy traded for pavement but the shade was a welcomed addition to the sultry temperatures. The first check was a little puzzling but “OnOn” was finally shouted and we were on our way.
Through hills and valleys, we’ve got this following trail thing mastered! Oh no, but wait! Has anyone seen a mark since the last check? And who are these miniature hashers dressed in pink tie dyed socks madly waving sticks about? Perhaps only flashbacks from last night’s S&M club escapade? Did the hare think it wise to unleash this pack on a group of 7 year old girls playing their little field hockey hearts out? Thirty minutes of aimless wandering pass and finally, there it is… the evil False Trail mark (good eyes FeyLAY!) and its elusive friend Flour. A triumphant OnOn was called and we’re off again – probably to the delight of many wary parents.
The promise of Beer Near kept the pack going and most everyone arrived to the beer check. A sinister grin graced the hare’s face as he reminisced about that last check. Tasty Belgian delights and Foster’s oil cans quickly soothed any feelings of ill will the pack may have held.
Back at base camp, Electric Muff Chuckler gathered them up and the revelry began. Pony Boy arrived just in time to don his Beer Bitch britches. Back Seat Box was given what was coming to him for the underage girls/check incident and then the violations began. Any Cock’ll Do Me was violated quickly and repeatedly. Did he complete these infractions or was it simply Mother Chalker’s CRS kicking in? Peter Puller reclaimed his title as FRB. Despite the desperate battle between Walk My Bitch and yours truly to avoid DFL honors, our lovely visitor Hand Full from the Philly area gladly claimed her violation prize. Amelia Airhead made all the men cum with her whistling. Mother showed us where the squirrels hide their nuts. Sadists found humor in the way I gracefully exited my chair and I was violated repeatedly for misplacing my walker.
The circle came to an end but the evening was young. Across the hill and through the shiggy they went to TGI Friday’s. $2 domestics, fruity drinks for Parents Weekend (the birthday boy) and offers of threesomes abound. The rest of the pack arrived and immediately reinstituted segregation. Still bearing fresh scars of the DC RDR, I bid the evening an early farewell but certainly the promise of a three day weekend kept the faithful partying ‘til the wee hours!
Disclaimer: The DC RDR was very good to me so my ability to recollect details (real or imagined) of yesterday’s trail was somewhat compromised. Compliments, complaints, and corrections will be considered on a case by case basis.