Hash Trash #1271

Into the depths of Laurel, a wild bunch of hashers traveled. These hashers desired nothing more than the opportunity to find themselves swallowed whole by the shiggy, washed away by the rivers, and pleasantly surprised by the wonderful flow of beer. These hashers decided to allow Miracki Freedom and Just Patrick the opportunity to lead them to the promised land, and they gave up their Sunday afternoon to do so. These hashers, this magnificent few, these brave souls, numbered among themselves: $5 Infection, Works for Tips, Spew Tube, Just Lynne, Thar She Blows, Electric Muff Chuckler, Pony Boy, Lick Stick, Amber Alert, A Phone Named Gerbil, Free 2 Lay, Pump ‘N Dump, Sex Apnea, Clean Up on Aisle Three, Just Dianne, Ballzhiemer, Do Me Decimal Dominatrix, Finger Fucker, Scooby Do Me, Bobbin 4 Buttplugs, ZZ Bottom III, Lube Nazi, I’m Not Gay I Just Like It In The Ass, Blinded By The Spooge, Rim Tin Tin, Dump & Scrunch, (Fossil), Dr. Strangelove, and Cervix. These hashers made their way to a few parking lots near the Terrapin Adventures. After deciding that: 1) There was only one parking lot required, and 2) Terrapin Adventures got nothin’ on hashing, these hashers decided to circle up, and get themselves into the woods.

 

With the heat rising, the beer warming (and vanishing), and no hares in sight, Pump ‘N Dump called together the hashers, into a circle that no Sunday, Jun 10th, 2012, had ever seen before. After discerning there were no virgins at this hash (boo!), and only a few visitors, none of whom needed any more instruction as to the art of hashing than was already ingrained in them, the pack was off. And at this point, I feel I must mention, that by “off”, what I mean is, “in a straight line, for a fuck-ity long way.” There was some scant shade, a bare few checks (all of which were solved by r*nning straight), some beautiful river off to the side (none of which the pack had to go through), and, thankfully, eventually, a beer check. This beer check was the culmination of a wonderful, stupendous, amazing fun time, and, thankfully, included beer (the nectar of the gods) and water (the only reason I [your humble scribe] survived).

 

After a pleasant and relaxing beer check (minus those poor souls, the walkers), the running pack headed back into the woods (read, slightly shaded grassy areas). Oddly, and unexpectedly for a BAH3 trail, there seemed to be more checks, shiggy, and lost hashers on the second half of the trail than on the first. While it’s possible that’s due to the (ungodly, unnatural, unholy) LA (Lower Alabama) shot found on that trail (except, again, for those unfortunate [fortunate?] walkers), it’s also quite possible such a strange occurrence was more a product of a virgin hare’s desire to lay an “interesting” trail. Luckily, and thankfully, eventually the hashers (including those lost walkers) managed to find their way back to the starting point, and order & balance was restored. With many thanks to the generosity of some random paintball guy and his friend/son/buddy, a circle was convened, and the violations commenced.

 

As is nearly a requirement, the hares were lambasted for their travesty of a trail, up to and including the application of the new (provided by $5) Safety 3rd’s. Pump ‘N Dump presided over a circle wherein much beer was consumed, (poured by the sexiest beer bitch around, ZZ Bottom), many laughs were had, and a variety of orange food was distributed. The hares owned up to their hideous trail, and that trail took its place among the other hallowed BAH3 trails, equally as painful, fun, horrendous, and worthwhile as the ones before it. And the hash was ready to go in peace. But wait! From out of the wilderness, a Just appeared. Just Patrick, he who had laid that monstrosity of a trail, was to be named? Is it so? It is.

 

Just Patrick stood his ground in the center of the circle, responding to any and all questions thrown his way, to include “favorite sex position”, “most embarrassing sexual experience”, “best sexy time”, and others in a similar vein. Just Patrick managed to avoid answering the only question of lasting import, “What hasher, in this circle, would you want to have sex with?” but even without an answer to such an important query, the hash was ready to name that Just. After much (read, “some”) deliberation, while the hash passed over names that were so unremarkable they’ve slipped this scribe’s mind, a new name was conceived. Just Patrick, for here on and forevermore (except in Great Falls, FUCK THEM!) shall be known as “Choke Out To Put Out”