Hash Trash #1168: The greatest trail of all time, ever
Okay, maybe not quite. But only because it was so awesome, so fast, that we ran out of beer.
Since I hared this paragon of hashy goodness along with Muffalotta, I can’t speak to what happened on trail for the most part (and no one else has volunteered to skewer us publicly), but I can provide you with the following hare’s-eye-view highlights:
– We thought the crowd would be a bit thin due to the northerly location, but 38 wankers dragged their butts out to Cockeysville, including a significant crowd from H5 in Pennsylvania and Tub Slut somehow parting from scenic New Jersey for the day, in addition to a motley crew of visitors and transplants.
– Folks started showing up to drink about an hour early, attracting the attention of a comically large family of some kind of vaguely conservative religious persuasion, who for some reason thought that it looked like we were about to embark on some sort of magical family-friendly adventure that they should stick around to observe and participate in, despite Bobbin’ 4 Buttplugs’s warnings.
– Interior Defecator ran the entire trail in a cow suit, despite the fact that these are really designed for a leisurely walk at night in late autumn, not for running in the heat of the day in July, making him my hero 4eva.
– Some overachieving wankers actually managed to beat one of the pack-laden hares to the beer check at the top of the totally epic ski hill.
– No one threw up after the ice cream sandwich check.
– Grand Mattress flashed a family of Hasidic Jews at the boob check, thus proving that we are equal opportunity in offending conservative religious types who are just trying to bring their families to a secluded park for the day to keep them away from the evil influence of the world.
– We didn’t kill Velvet Vulva.
My deepest gratitude to Muffalotta, who was an amazing teacher for my first trail. You all in H5 are lucky to have her.
On-on,
Something Black