A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
It was the day after St. Patrick’s Day and it appeared that several half-minds were still wearing their outfits from the night before. Ass Ripper and Virgin Lance(?) were in kilts and Flossil had green hair dye on his chin that made him look as though he had been giving blowies to leprechauns. And speaking of BJs — the weather could not have been more unseasonably warm and sunny for mid-March or more perfect for the anally popular Steak and Blow Job Hash. Kickstand definitely had the right shirt on with a “I (steak that looks vaguely heart-like) BJs” tee. We gathered at the end of the hash to be ferried via giant-effing-bus by Just Mike and Baster to the beginning at Buttermilk Falls. Like circus clowns we piled in and I fear it was Brides who was stuck under the table in the “trunk” of the van. Antoine ate spiders off his face for our amusement.
Hashers found their way, dashing up a gently sloping 90 degree hill right off the bat. Unfortunately, the path quickly leveled out and we came across two wankers and their brave dog, Buttercup. We immediately re-routed them to join us against their will.
For this whole section of the hash, Dong of the Dead, (a hare no less!) was no where to be found. Apparently, she had concerns about unattended fires and coolers being plundered and burning down the forest and losing all the steak and tofu and yadda yadda so she auto-hashed to our first stop with Just Mike. After an unsuccessful attempt at playing Suck and Blow, we noshed on delicious steak and tofu that PG marinated and skewered for us. Yum! There was even Guinness for a lucky few.
As we carried on, we left the safe confines of Buttermilk and traversed into The Eternal Fields of Hell and Pongee Sticks, (aka Trespasser’s William) where Just Dan discovered that the soft foamy soles of his Crocs were not the ideal footwear for hashing. The DFLs shortcutted and caught up just in time to hear curses coming from Ookie Cookie, Wowie and Virgin Emily as they emerged from the shiggy. About this time, a Volkswagon Beetle did a U-turn on the road and pulled over to watch us cut across the field. How peculiar!
While the faster moving hashers made it safely through the wooded area at the edge of the evil field and on-on into the sanctuary of Lick Brook to receive their blow jobs, some of us of the slower persuasion exited the copse to greet some very friendly country folk who gently advised us that we were, indeed, trespassing. After admiring their pick-up truck and shotguns, we carried on feeling like Big Dumb Motherf*ckers to have trampled upon their pongee sticks. Fortifying ourselves with jello shots and whipped cream covered sweet, sweet booze helped to ease the shame and we managed to carry on-stupidjerkfacerednecks-on.
After awhile, Baster and Virgin “Fun-Size” Emily apparently decided that they needed a more challenging task than finding their way through the forest and chose a few heavy rocks to carry with them, perhaps as punishment for previous sins or maybe they thought the boulders at the brook’s edge needed new friends. With half-minds, you just don’t know what they’re thinking! After the rocks were reunited with their creek-side brethren, Head to Toe executed a perfect side-side/side-side for her and her absentee twin’s birthday. The left side-side was out of her beautiful new running shoes so I suppose that one was for her and the right was for sis.
Over the railroad tracks and into circle we went where an extensive tick check was performed. Unless there is a challenger, I believe “Tasty” Tastes like 10th Grade won with a total of 5 parasitic little fuckers on her Fergaliciousness.
on-ward and upward and always twirling, twirling-on,
Tasty