Hash Trash #1216: AGM
Welcome to another brilliant edition of the BAH3 Hash Trash. You know it’s excellent, because I got magic and I’ve got poetry in my fingertips, you know, most of the time…
They came from far and wide to attend the BAH3 Hash Trail Spectacular otherwise known as the AGM. It is a time for members to reflect on the past year of debauchery and mayhem, to contemplate 52 Sundays of bad decisions and overindulgence… and not learn a f*cking thing from it. Duh, winning!
Just to prove that there are no lessons learned in BAH3, 40-plus wankers (including some hearty fools who staggered into the pavillion, still recovering from Friday’s Full Moon extravaganza) willingly agreed to follow a trail set by At Your Cervix and resident goofball, Any Cock.
It started with our faithful RA, ACDM, who gathered us around for introductions for J-Lindsey’s 3 virgins and the Chalk Talk. For some reason ATM and Gigalo held hands in circle. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Thereafter, the RA led the pack in prayer and sent them off on trail.
Immediately, the hares showed their love and affection for the pack by sending them up and down a series of steep hills complete with back checks. Some of the hills had ropes for the pack to rappel down the slopes. Just Doug held a rope in his hand and said, “Clearly I have defeated this earthworm with my words — imagine what I would have done with my fire breathing fists.”. GAP tried to convince hashers that the sliding down with ropes rubbed his palms raw, but no one was buying that explanation.
After giving the pack the rope-a-dope, the hares decided to fool with them some more near a golf course by cleverly setting a false mark in plain sight where they knew everyone would just run past it. Well played, hares.
Soon our meanderings were rewarded with a refreshing beer check. Then we were off on trail again. After some silly travels in the woods, the pack found an enticing obstacle course and eagerly commenced with making fools of ourselves while climbing it. ECDC was banging seven-gram rocks, because that’s how he rolls. Some wankers may have wet their pants while traversing the challenging obstacles, but there’s no need to go into details.
We followed a trail that led to a industial wasteland, and as the hares suspected, the pack had no problem crossing onto private property by squeezing through a locked gate.
Nearby, the hares were waiting for us with a shot check and soon we found ourseleves under a bizarre kind of jungle gym. It was clear the pack wound up in their octagon. Naturally we climbed like monkeys. After a looonnnng time, ATM and Gigalo eventually came together. (Not that there’s anything wrong with that.) Whatever they were doing in the woods alone, it must have made Gigalo awful thirsty, because he sprinted for the remaining shots and chugged them all down.
Before long, the pack finished trail at the pavillion and were greeted with cold beer* and a lavish spread featuring some tasty pig ass provided by FeyLAY. After the feast, circle was started, the hares were honored and delinquents were violated. Then the old mismanagement gave way to the new, and soon ATM and Gigalo were tag-teaming each other in the circle (Not that there’s anything wrong with that).
Things definitely degenerated from there. There was competitve Jello-eating, open kilt dancing and plenty of bodacious ta-tas. It made Sinatra, Flynn, Jagger, Richards, all of them look like droopy-eyed armless children. We all became total bitchin’ rock stars from Mars.
Eventually, the keg was kicked and then we packed up and left.
*Some have inquired about the kind of beer in the keg. It was a special Sierra Nevada blend of Pale Ale and Charlie Sheen’s tiger blood. I hope that explains everything.
Hey, thanks to everyone for allowing me to mismanage the hash for a year as your GM. Hopefully, we’re no worse for wear. And thanks to all those who pitched in and helped me out throughout the year.
Please join me in welcoming Velvet Vulva as our new GM for the 2011-2012 hash year. I know that she will do an awesome job, and I’m looking forward to another year of creative shiggy, raunchy songs, inappropriate humor and of course, good beer (including our beloved Natty Boh).