Hash Trash #1362 – Somebody’s Gotta Tell The Sordid Tale by Johnnie Cockring
What: BAH3 #1362
When: Sunday, February 9, 2014 @ 3:00 p.m.
The pack was promised a mediocre trail and unfortunately the hare, our respected [COUGH] Religious Advisor, the always-dressed-like-a-pussy Any Cock’ll Do Me, delivered. Woods, mud, power lines, a beer check at an elementary school [yaaawn]. No strip clubs, no shot checks?!
Amongst those half-minds too stupid to get in out of the sub-freezing cold were overachiever More Men Pukes Tonight, Floppy Attachment (duly chastised for displaying a callous lack of consideration for the rest of the pack by not sending Oedipussy in his place), and that frightening mountain man, Don’t Have One. Extra Creamy Dog Crap proudly brought along his latest conquest, a raven haired beauty named Bear. Chicks Won’t Stick was so cute running w/ his clever lil Special Forces “camelback” which, instead of water, actually contained survival gear – a thermal blanket and lube for a quickie in the woods w/ $5 Infection. The MVP of the Day was ZZ Bottom III w/ his bottomless cooler. No Wake Zone, looking strangely normal w/o his technicolor mohawk, dismounted from his sex swing long enough to make an appearance.
Lovely bimbos Stick It In My Socket and Blonde Roots made the day’s debacle at least somewhat bearable for the other walkers who included the silver fox, Free 2 Lay. Never-on-trail Zenmeister At Your Cervix (a/k/a Just the Tip on this day of major shrinkage) was occasionally spotted wandering aimlessly about the area. Punctuality challenged Choke Out To Put Out & Just Emma and their dysenteric hound Camden desecrated the trail at will. IOC President Spew Tube even flew in from Sochi just for the day’s events. Boy was he disappointed! The always bloody A Phone Named Gerbil, who apparently ran around the Earth the long way, was DFL by about an hour behind even the lazy walkers.
The walkers did find local wanderer The Virgin Regis on trail in the sleet and w/ promises of ice cold beer, enticed her to join our merry band of misfits. What a trouper. Or maybe she was homeless.
To cap the afternoon off, the sleet turned to snow and an abbreviated 90 minute circle was held in a raging blizzard. The hare drank. Often. The virgin was called out, and she drank. There were violations and the guilty wankers drank. There was singing. There was shivering. There was more drinking. Not by Crash Test Dumbass though, who showed his true colors by shunning the beer and instead sipping a latte in a thermal Starbucks mug during circle. (!)
And then, (w/ apologies to Bruce Springsteen) in the blink of a young girl’s thighs, it was over. Except for the few degenerates (ZZB3, $5, CTD, BR, ST & your faithful correspondent) who risked their lives at the sleazy On After, the pack again dispersed to the far corners of the region like snowflakes driven by the wind, desperately hoping to reassemble next Sunday if there’s a hare.