Run #486 Nothing Left to Believe In
Regardless
of anything else there is one sure sign that the Apocalypse
approaches, hares told the truth. One of the most profoundly held
tenets of hashing is that “Hares always lie.” How then are we to
view Manhandler and 3 Ball J, last week’s hares, who
not only told the truth but put it in writing as well? True,
physically they have one foot, well actually a foot and an arm
respectively, each in the grave and one on the banana peel but is
that really an excuse. Our truthful twosome called the pack to heel
at 21st Ave. and Wawona on the edge of Stern Grove. There
they were Manhandler with a poster child for charity limp and
3 Ball with a fractured elbow, next time he’ll be more
careful and his arm won’t slip on the bar telling the pack that the
trail would be short, easy, and shiggy free, who’d of thought it
was true. In her never ending effort to win the Gypsy Pimp Award
Beats Me supplied not one but two tasty tidbits. Just Maeve
who was last a virgin at the July 4th trail and Just
Laura, go Beats Me. Having successfully avoided handling
religious chores when the Gypsies had their last shot at her
Just Maeve was called forth to provide the evening’s
benediction. Taking the Sacred Missal in hand she administered
a religious experience that melted Just Clayton like Gumby in
a blast furnace and milked Udder Moron dry. While this was
going on the hares were busy setting a beer check and claiming to set
the trail live. Once the pack was on-on they descended quickly
through the forest that makes up Stern Grove. Just Guy spent a
large portion of the trail trying to catch up to his pooch Libby
who was more interested in romping through sniff heaven and playing
pied piper to every flea in the area. Whippet In and Whippet
Out were so happy to be in their old stomping grounds that they
were busy giving Tongueless whiplash as they careened through
the woods. Oblivious to anyone else they charged ahead *unning
between Splat’s legs they left him flat on the trail looking
like road kill. It took all the control that Drill Me could
muster to stop Bite Size from either eating him or
rolling on him. A quickie circle jerk near Lago Puerco barely gave
Likes To Lick and Open Wide a chance to achieve bliss
in the bushes. Exiting the grove Just Doesn’t Get It wasn’t
getting any of the beer at the beer check but was locked in mortal
combat with some bees. Once more living up to his name our hero
eventually held high a brew snagged from the stinging foe. Sadly his
face was too swollen to be able to get the bottle between his lips.
Okay all in unison let’s say his name. Leaving the beer check cum
apiary the pack found itself having achieved its usual headless
chicken state with bits and pieces going every which way but towards
true trail. D’anglin Anglin consummate headless chicken that
he is made a beeline, no pun intended, for the beach and only the
temperature of the water prevented him from being seen next in Tokyo.
True trail turned back toward the grove and along Crestlake. Fits
In, Escrowtum, and Tongueless were accosted my
whining civilian complaining about the noise but all things were
righted when Escrowtum and Fits In doing a masterful
job of playing bad cop and bad cop mentioned they were INS agents and
asked how long since she’d left Moscow. Even short trails cum to an
end and this one was no different. As the pack dragged in from
various directions the focus shifted towards massive liver damage
through the medium of the Sacred Bucket. Fits In,
always interested in the health of her comrades, provided a vitamin C
laden Bucket of Mai-Tais and it wasn’t long before the pack
was feeling really healthy. As if to prove that hashing inspires
family values Morning Missile and his sisters Goes Down
Easy and Escrowtum were felled by the Bucket all at once.
A tragedy was narrowly averted when Naked Hasher at great
personal risk pushed Mossy Patch out of the way of a falling
Morning Missile. The way he was shoveling in the chips and
piss Manhole has apparently decided to eschew *unning and
focus on his career in Sumo wrestling. From the looks of it he and
Shithead have been training together. It wasn’t long before
Go Nad was kissing the concrete. He owes a real debt of
gratitude to Just Jen who stopped Napoleon Boner Dog
from neutering him, not that, according to Just Sean, he’d
have noticed the difference. Speaking of dogs Sammy and Libby
put on quite a show performing more sex acts than are contained in
the Sacred Missal. No Hands and Meat Pie
were embarrassed but not as much as Phone Sex who was forced
to admit that she was really turned on. Harder to embarrass was Pied
Piper who drunkenly admitted that the pooches were having more,
and better, sex than he’s had in years. Bigfoot on the other
hand was quite proud to have to throw a beer over Enter The Gerbil
to quiet his ardor. Glory Hole was so toasted that he tried to
get Libby’s phone number but I R S had beat him to
the punch. The thought of their puppies boggles the mind. Booger
Hooker formerly of the OCH3 was content to lie on the ground with
his eyes glazed over looking like a seedy speed bump. King
Rongjon administered down-downs and inducted Just Guy
into the Order of the Sleepless Knights as Fuck Me
Father. Dip Shit narrowly averted beheading as the King
swung the Sword Of Power in an overly zealous arc. Eventually
the Shannon Arms felt the brunt of Gypsy drunkenness and
contributed to its increase. Yet another evening of drink, drank,
drunk. Cheers.