Hash trash #1197: The best of all possible hashes

I’m gonna come right out and declare victory: if we were to run the numbers today, I am confident that last week’s trail would earn at least a bronze medal for the best trail of calendar year 2011.  Actually, thinking back over the contenders, I’m going to go ahead and award us the gold, because no one ran the trail backwards or received a concussion.  And what with all the formal wear and champagne, this was certainly a gold-plated hash if I ever saw one.

About 30 wankers came out in the classiest gear they could muster, which ranged from the straightforward James Bond tuxedo look of wankers such as Cheap-Ass Gigolo, Just Craig, and Under 25 to Ride, to the pimp chic of Uncle Fester’s fur coat, to the tiny french maid outfit on Just Roxy, all the way down to the flame pants and sweatshirt so carefully chosen by Stevie Wonderlic.  Bonus points to Bavarian Bush, who somehow found a tuxedo t-shirt that also displayed significant fake cleavage.  It’s like she had the shirt made especially for this event.

The wankers dutifully showed up on time, which did them very little good since the hares cruised in late and hadn’t even left any beer for them to consume.  Jerks.  But after a quick chalk talk, during which it occurred to co-hare Bobbin 4 Buttplugs that perhaps white flour was not a good choice for the runners trail for a day with snow on the ground, the pack was off into the shiggy.  After a bit of running around and bleeding on things, the runners cruised into the first champagne check, where they toasted each other’s gallantry and checked out Just Roxy’s ass.  A couple of local guys running a chainsaw wandered down to our check to see what was going on, but instead of threatening us for trespassing they accepted some champagne and told us all about all the great trails we might want to try in future hashes in which we are welcome to trespass on their property.  Occasionally, our stupidity is rewarded.

The pack set off again into the woods.  Extra Creamy Dog Crap, having been chastized for making no effort to wear anything formal that day, tried to make up for his faux pas by executing the most graceful pirouette he could muster on trail, which ended in a picture-perfect tuck and roll right through the creek.  The pack stopped running and laughed so hard that everyone wet their pants.  Dry bag: suddenly justified.

The trail was very rustic and beautiful, so Bobbin 4 Buttplugs put the beer check at an industrial dump site so the pack wouldn’t get too spoiled.  Hashers toasted one another yet again with the Champagne of Beers, Miller High Life, and continued to check out Just Roxy’s ass.

The trail dived back into the woods, and eventually brought the pack back together for another champagne check, at a sign for the entrance to some kind of summer camp game called “MANHUNT”.  The rules prohibited running, crushing foliage, or going outside the boundaries, making it completely like the other manhunts that I have participated in.  But hey, what can you expect from a Christian summer camp for kiddos just trying to make Jesus happy or whatever.

After some more toasting and checking out Just Roxy’s ass, the runners set off through the rest of the camp games, and met up with the walkers back in the parking lot, where a mother quickly ushered her children off the playground and into the car upon spying a bunch of bleeding people wandering out of the woods wearing dresses and carrying empty cans of Miller High Life. 

Circle began, and went on a long time so the pack could see all the different dance moves Under 25 to Ride could make up in an effort to keep warm.  Cheap Ass Gigolo showed off his sex cleanup towel to see if any ladies would take the hint, but when no one took the bait he instead wrapped it gingerly around his true love, a bottle of beer.  Amazon put on a stunning dress for like five seconds.  Note to future self: this hash concept would probably be better when it’s warm enough for all the chicks to dress slutty for more than one minute.

The hash adjourned to a local establishment which was completely overwhelmed by the presence of so many people who wanted to give them money in exchange for food and beer.  Oh well, at least they had Big Buck Hunter to keep us entertained while we waited. 

Another Sunday wasted, but in such style, who can blame us.
On on
Something Black

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