Hash trash #1187: Daylight savings means and extra hour to dick around!

When sending out the announcement for this week’s trail, Fey joked about daylight savings time that anyone who forgot to set their watches back would show up an hour early with nothing to do but drink beer.  Ha ha, the pack said.  We’ll remember to set our clocks, but we’re showing up an hour early ANYWAY just because we LIKE BEER.  Then all the dumb hashers forgot to change their clocks anyhow and showed up two hours early.  But all worked out in the end: the extended pre-lube ended up being a pretty good thing for a trail with so much friction. 

The hash scribe took the walker’s trail this week in an effort to preserve ankle function past the age of 35, and when we met up at the beer check and saw the amount of blood on the runners, did not regret her choice.  ECDC was bleeding so badly that sharks hundreds of miles away were straining to evolve legs so that they could walk over and eat him.  Pump and Dump was also bleeding quite a bit, which seems to happen every week due to her penchant for wearing tiny clothes.  Seriously, dude, you’re like a comic book superhero, with your tiny shorts and huge ta-tas and giant muscles.  You thought you could live a double life, but I’m on to you.  I just haven’t figured out if you’re one of the good guys or bad guys, but when I do I’m going to write all kinds of comics chronicling your adventures.

Then the pack kept going, which involved more running/walking, which was okay except we finished our beers and it was less fun then.  Bavarian Bush, Hose Head and I recognized the incoming trail and took the long way around the shiggy back to Wonderlic Manor, which ended up being the right decision given that the other walkers, who strayed into the shiggy, were lost more or less permanently.  Well, we assumed it was permanent, but Under 25 to Ride didn’t want to give up on his love and source of warmth at night, and I guess he was able to find her fairly easily in his automobile.  Meanwhile, the rest of us hung around the bonfire and drank more beer.  All appreciated the unspoken but clearly evident no-kumbaya policy.

Finally circle began.  No one was violated because we all found the trail to be so pleasant, and delighted in having such good companions with whom to enjoy it, so we all just gave one another a hearty handshake and a group hug and then went home to enjoy our sobriety.
Just kidding.  People did dumb shit and we made fun of them constantly, and for everyone who managed not to do dumb shit, we just made something up.  Order broke down quickly, probably due to the cold, or the fact that Pump and Dump kept putting her hands up her tiny shorts, or just because hashers have the attention span of goldfish.  Stunt RA Electric Muff Chuckler managed to keep things more or less on track by yelling, in stark contrast to the understated and kind-hearted tone of our usual RA.  Foreign Sexchange was violated for disappearing on trail with another chick without inviting Under 25 to Ride for the second hash in a row.  Dude, take a hint.  Maybe your girlfriend doesn’t want you around when she’s tasting the fish taco.  Man up, do like other dudes, and plant a webcam in her bedroom when she’s not paying attention.

Standard Deviant was violated for having a posse outside the circle.  EMC was then violated for being jealous of how Deev gets so much posse. Hate the game, not the playa, playa.

Stevie fixed us up an enormous and delicious meal of meats he harvested from animals he killed with his bare hands in a fit of testosterone-fueled manliness, and we ate it in full view of the windows as a warning to all the deer wandering around the yard.  Yes, adorable deer.  We now know that behind those big brown eyes is a huge pile of delicious, delicious meat.  We’re on to you.  I hope you can sleep with one eye open.

Deer death threats aside, it was a pretty cool shindig, and Stevie was the consummate host, and he and Fey set a fine trail on which to waste that extra hour we gained.

Well BAHes, as fun as the occasional frightened deer can be, Bobbin and I are off to Belize for a week to hash in the jungle, where I have to assume monkeys will immediately attach to my hair and dolphins will crawl up on land just to be closer to us.  In my absence, $5 Infection will cover the trash — I’m sure you all will go above and beyond to give the novice extra fodder for writing in the next couple of weeks.

On on
Something Black

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