Hash Trash #1079: Stop the Pain, Mommy

Ok so I have to say, that trail was fairly brutal. Me so likey!!
For some reason the trail was actually marked and tho someone said we were never more than a mile from the creepy hitchhikers parknride where it started, Amazon found every single hand-scramblin, ass- burning steep gradient there was.  The trail was marked with chalk, flour, toilet paper, paint blazes, construction tape, those little flags the utility companies use, leaves, sticks, rocks, dirt, and trees.
  
Gathered at the ParknRide were the hippest, coolest Hashers, the luminaries from the BAH3, and everyone immediately agreed that it was waaaay f##kin colder there than wherever the hell they had come from, which set the tone for the goofs that were stupid enough to voluntarily follow an Amazon Trail. After a strident, impassioned, opinionated set of directions by the Hare we were off straight away… and totally false, the whole goddam pack. Called back by Amazon. Yes this was shaping up to be a typical Amazon afternoon, with nary but a teaspoonful of flour to guide, wandering stupid and sweaty, lost in the woods. Ah but shortly thereafter the creek crossings and hills began, and it was painfully tasty shiggy cross woods and trail and a bit of field, unending, with plentiful marks stretching uphill into infinity. 
For the second week, shot check logistics outwitted our hapless hares, as Fey Ley forgot the purple shot libation mixed up in honor of Mother Chalker, that was supposed to be at the nonexistent shot check located at the Amazon home. We knew we were there because right in driveway was that child molester van Little Flour motors around in. We ran up and down that stupid ass stairs and sidewalks for 20 minutes before the mob was off again. After a suitable additional amount of pain, the wankers were delirious and didn't care about the fact that there was no beer check either.  Wha..? WHAT KIND OF HASH IS THAT? uh, that was not a hypothetical question.  The cruel miles dragged by until we slithered like reptiles on our bellies under a fence and there it was, the On In. Never so happy to be at a ParknRide.
Shortly after the circle got underway, with Religious Advsor duties handled admirably by Electric Muff Chuckler, the POlice show up and we start to scurry away like cockroaches; ah but then Velvet Vulva and some other wankerette emerge from the cruiser with the cops, who were pleased to be part of a photo op. Our girls were picked up because they looked clueless and feigned helplessness, then got chauffered home.  Once Velvet's new friends drove away, the guilty party, the Hare, was called up and she drank her Natty Bo to the syncopated rythms of this Man Rap, which made her and all the ladies around her thrust their pelvises involuntarily:
Amazon is our GM
Other Kennels got em but she's stronger than dem.
she shows us her ass every single week;
don't even got to try and sneak a peek.
something bout that trail must make her pee;
or maybe her cooter is itchy from the shiggy.
A bunch of other cretins were called up. Though I don't think Walk My Bitch was one. What's going on here. FRB got traded between Peter Puller and Bobbin 4 Buttplugs, but I don't know who has it now. Get these guys a bigger brick. and make them drag it by one foot. DFL was…. hmmm.  i don't know. I think it might have been Hosehead; or at least she was violated for something. Slo Man leched on Newcummer Just Somebody Ultra MILF, who was violated for being an Extreme Racist, made a spectacle of herself by displaying her low drag profile, and asked what we were serving for Down Downs, because it was so good.  ?! This is the same musclehead who blazed around the place in her International Distress Green Look! At! ME! jersey, all chirpy about the "great hills," her Total Butt of Justice on fire with the pleasure of The Gradient,  So she is apparently stupid enough for the group. probably a lawyer. Pony Boy tried to get in a di#k size contest with her about who had more Extreeme running cred. He shuffled away with his boy part made tiny. So the woman likes a painful trail, draws attention to herself, thinks Natty Bo tastes good? This one's apparently a natural Hasher, or in other words, a hopeless moron.   Other violations included whatever.
The purple-clad Hippy from one of those Brand X hashes, Mother Chalker, was violated for some reason or another and was greeted with a primal gut rap that reportedly made nearby wimmens pregnant with its urgent passions:
It's Mother Chalker in his purple girly style;
no he's not a transvestite, he's a pedophile.
he says he's goin to indonesia because it gives him joy
to stick his junk inside a little asian boy
At the close of the circle, he asked us to join him in a verse or two of Swing Low. Because we wanted to show him how we are going to miss him when he is gone, Those Who Didn't Know Any Better joined in. Finally the painful dirge ended and we flitted away like so many beautiful butterflies, many to the On After, at Bullwinkles, around the corner. 
I probably left something out.
On On
AnyCockllDo Me