Hash trash #1185: I heart 300 bees

I know this hash trash is a week behind, but an entire trail devoted to our favorite substance other than beer could not be forgotten.  Even God smiled upon the Breast Awareness Trail, giving us unseasonably warm and sunny weather for late October, all the better for the gratuitous revealing of naked flesh. 

The pack gathered in the parking lot of the VFW, where we greeted many new faces (and some very old and hence unrecognized faces e.g. Suck My Tick) (I don’t mean like old old, I mean old like not around for a while.  Though I guess I did also force him in the circle for the “when one old hasher drinks, all old hashers drink”, so maybe both apply.  What can I say, everyone looks old when you are 29 and hot as shit.), all of whom had picked a shitty trail for their entree/re-entree into BAH3.  In an uncharacteristic moment of compassion and truthiness, the hares (myself and Velvet Vulva) highly recommended changing into long pants.  Suck My Tick changed into his gym teacher outfit, but many of the twenty-something dudes had left all their pants at home, which No Child was not sad about.

The hares’ bitch/mule At Your Cervix led the pack in a quick circle explaining the markings to all our newcomers and oldcomers, and explained that the backcheck could be followed by any number — for example, 43.  The pack set off in the direction of the Maryland Highway Safety building, which was probably the last safety-conscious thing encountered on trail.  The hares tried to compensate in advance for the cruelty to come by quickly plying the pack with the first of three boob-themed shot checks. 

Walkers were transported by car to the beer check via the shot check, so they could preemptively offset any calories they might potentially burn through physical activity.  Newcomers Just Sharon and Just Who-cares-he-doesn’t-have-breasts were so enthusiastic about the beer check and offsetting physical activity that they circled around and came to it again.  Tub Slut did as well, but this was less out of enthusiasm for beer and more out of a desire to pass the boob check and flash the hares a second time.  After being treated to another showing of Tub Slut’s nipples, the hares went and marked the trail a little more clearly so as to (a) prevent blindness, and (b) keep the dumb-dumbs from being caught in a mobius loop of endless beer and showing us your ta-tas.  In retrospect, I think this was the cruellest thing we inflicted on you all day.

Which is saying a lot, given the eagle trail.  The beer check was also home to a turkey-eagle split.  The hares sent all the eager eagles off across a baseball field into the woods, promising an additional shot check and “only about an extra half mile of trail”.  What we failed to mention that it was about a half mile of sheer trail pain/brilliance.  The trail went for less than a quarter mile through some of the shiggiest mess of thorns, fallen trees, and waist-deep quicksand-mud I have ever encountered, only to end in a shot check/YBF sending them back to the beer check.  The hares sat down on the hill by the baseball field and cracked open a couple of celebratory beers.  Twenty minutes later, $5 Infection emerged from the woods with both middle fingers raised.  We considered it a resounding success.  ZZ Bottom actually came over and shook our hands.  Pump and Dump commented that she had been sucked crack-deep into the mud.  The Dainty Hasher a.k.a. Mi-Rack-i Freedom managed to fall over and coat her entire rack-i in mud, at which point she realized that getting dirty isn’t actually the end of the world, so that’s progress.  We are all about consciousness-expanding experiences here at BAH3.

The dumb-dumb eagles then rejoined the turkey trail and somehow figured out that the arrow pointing up at Rt. 100 over a tunnel was actually not intended to send them scurrying across an open highway.  They instead sloshed through the watery tunnel, where I assume they were grateful for the opportunity to rinse off all the mud, even though none of them thanked us personally afterward.  One of the dainty No Child-bait took off his shoes to wade through the water.  Unsurprisingly, he did not return the following week. 

 
More running through the woods, at which point the FRBs encountered another turkey-eagle split, which, despite their experience with the first eagle leg, they took.  Unfortunately, they also took the rest of the lazy pack with them, as they short-cutted through the woods towards the voices calling on-on and missed the turkey trail entirely.  This brought a great deal of sadness when they encountered the backcheck 43.  Actual snippet of conversation:

Bobbin’ 4 Buttplugs (slows down)
GAP: What’s going on?
B4B: Backcheck 43.
GAP: Backcheck 4 or 3?
B4B: No, backcheck forty-three.

Truth in advertising, my friends.

The pack retraced its steps once again back to the turkey trail, where they were stymied at a check when B4B searched in the direction of the landing area for BWI, decided there was “no way” the hares would send the pack somewhere so dangerous, and headed back saying the trail was not in that direction.  Of course, the trail did in fact go that way, and the pack eventually made their way across the area marked “No trespassing — Federal Aviation Administration” while planes buzzed at least twenty feet overhead, so I don’t know what all the fussing was about.  Anyhow, don’t be such a wimp.  At least we avoided the areas marked “POSITIVELY No Trespassing”. 

The pack eventually stumbled upon the third shot check, which also included cupcakes!  Despite this, Sex Apnea stared daggers at me when I asked how he liked the trail so far, which hurt my feelings so badly that I have been in therapy all week just trying to recover.  Who can be mean when there are cupcakes?  Sex Apnea, that’s who.  This, despite the fact that the cupcakes were extremely fresh and frosted on location, complete with an awkward moment of At Your Cervix licking frosting off of Velvet Vulva’s nipples in front of me, at which point I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to join in or what.  If you guys need a third, just ask, dudes. 

The pack then made its way down a row of houses that looked like they were decorated for Halloween but it turns out that’s just how they are all the time.  Finally, after a bit of winding through industrial parks, the pack landed back at the VFW, bleeding, tired, spirits crushed.  The hares declared victory.  Velvet handed out “I <3 BOO [picture of bees]" stickers, to which Amazon asked, "I heart 300 bees?"  Um, not exactly.  To be fair, we had pumped people full of 5 or 6 alcoholic beverages at this point.

 
Circle was delayed slightly when the dumbasses at Domino’s couldn’t figure out how to get to the VFW two blocks away and the hares had to negotiate pizza delivery directions, but then proceeded apace.    Many violations were handed out for the shitty trail and general dumbassery, and the drinking continued at the on-after in the VFW, where the bartender was clearly stressed that so many people wanted to give her money in exchange for beer.
 
All in all, we couldn’t have asked for a nicer Sunday on which to damage one another physically, psychologically, and spiritually.
 
On on
Something Black