H4 #1794 – Curse of the Tender Asshole

Hares: Newly erected Joint Masters Rancid Asshole & Tender Vittles

As no hounds had bravely stepped forward to hare a simple trail, viagra sale it was up to the new joint
masters to provide shiggy, bronchi sweat, prostate and a keg this week. They intended to punish the pack for
their reticence. Half minds, virgins, and associated ne’er do wells convened at the Star
Furniture on the south, south, southwest side of town. Wary for the hounds’ security on trail,
the hares advised bringing bug spray, gator repellent, and condoms. You never know who
you’ll meet on trail. Strangely, they did not find it fit to advise wearing shiggy socks, which
would have saved many a hound and harriette from cursing the hares on trail whilst wading
through waist-high hedgerows of PI.

After concluding a chalk talk featuring some grossly oversized marks and the dreaded back
check, the pack jogged off into a residential neighborhood, enjoying the heat and skeeter
breeders detention ponds before McPIsser found his way into some proper shiggy. After
emerging from the woods and wearily climbing the first of many berms, trail led against the 59-
S frontage road to a check. Here, F*cking Tree Hugger found trail leading past a No Trespassing
sign into a rutted, muddy sand quarry on the banks of the Brazos. The pack kept an eye out for
gators, but hoof prints in the mud revealed another threat: wild boar. All hounds survived trail
without a goring. We think.

Another check at the edge of the woods thrust the pack into some shiggy proper. Now the
names of the hares were truly taken in vain, and not in the good way like during sexytime
explosions. Here the PI grew thick and some hounds’ patience wore thin. Flour also
disappeared, giving way to toilet paper. This was not made plain at chalk talk, but somehow
the pack figured it out anyway. Reports indicate Hooter Bill was sweeping trail collecting TP,
that he might go one more week without having to buy a new roll. Mercifully, trail led to a
clearing, only to reveal a huge fuck-off drainage structure to traverse. Solving a check yielded a
beer check at the intersection of a proper trail and another berm. Here the hounds hydrated
and lubed and then it was On On, into the breach once more.

This leg of trail featured the apparently pointless V mark. One direction was true trail, the
other, a false. So it wasn’t a whichy-way, just a check. Way to re-invent the wheel there, hares.

It would turn out to be one of their more minor indiscretions. After skirting the steep and
muddy banks of the “Old Brownie” Brazos, at last the On In was spied under the 99 bridge.
Incoming hounds were eager to beer up, but in the absence of the venerated Uber-Tap, they
were forced to wait a little bit longer. While waiting for food to arrive, the On In was also
visited by a colony of Mexican freetail bats. Nananananana bat-check! Following an extended
car-back, the circle could finally begin.


The hares would drink many times during circle, and it began in the usual way, informing them
of their s-h-i-t-t-y trail. Next the virgins Just Jessica and Just Kyle were introduced, sharing the
ignominy of being made to come by Duke of Puke. Reboots were then rebooted, excuses for
absence were typical, as Shigmata admitted he had merely stayed at home and masturbated.
Hey Shig, you don’t have to stay home for that! The only visitor was Baa Baa Lost Shit from
Voodoo, which must not be a very horrorshow kennel, as he could not even remember his song
to share. Spin Cycle celebrated her 29th birthday and then graciously passed her tiara to Old
Faithful, who will also be celebrating her 29th this week. Speaking of crown jewels, all the
anglophiles drank next to commemorate their queen’s diamond jubilee. May she rest reign in
peace. The usual business was rounded out with Fucking Tree Hugger completing his 25th run.
He arrived in circle carrying an aluminum crucifix while being whipped by everyone’s favorite
roman, McPisser. Will none of you take up the cross with Him each morning?

At last the Religious Advisor Ramrod opened the circle to accusations so fun might begin.
Naturally, this started with the hares, who posted no warning of the trail’s PI. Quoth Death Cab
For Bootie, “Make sure you write POISON IVY really big in your notes!” Done and done.
Participants in Spin Cycle’s birthday pub crawl were recognized next, for having the temerity to
have a beer check in front of Duke of Puke’s unoccupied house. Weapons of Mass Turbation
was called in next. Records are inconclusive as to why. After she admitted “so there I was,” the
On Sec, Whale’s Vagina, reflexively began to spout the “faaaantastic, iiiiincredible” retort. He
was cut short, however, when WMT threw the contents of her vessel (Navy sucks) right in his
face, and soaking the circle notes. It is difficult to read what was written afterwards, but the
chicken scratch appears to dictate “WMT – what a bitch.” All was made well, however, with a
conciliatory motorboating.

In other news…McPisser was accused of being a whiny nerd for complaining that the
aforementioned pub crawl “ruined chess night!” Poor baby. Tender Vittles and Urban Cock
Sucker drank next for their cavorting canines, and apparently someone overheard the phrase
“fellatio on command.” Lucky dogs. Spin Cycle also betrayed her inner blondeness when
Horsefli Dive By conned her into believing the On In was merely another beer check. For
reasons that were not recorded, Just Pranav (sp?) was finally named One Eyed Snake Charmer,
winning out over T Bag Choke Ya, which I suppose is a riff on Deepak Chopra, which is funny
because he’s Indian-ish? Just to clarify, the snakes that he charms are one-eyed, i.e. phalli, the
charmer himself is not one-eyed. Just Rebecca was also called into circle. Apparently her

excuse for wankiing was staying at home to watch Shark Week on the Discovery Channel. This
was misheard far away on the opposite side of circle as Shart Week, as in a fart that turns out to
be something more messy. A few drinks later, and she was blessed with the name Great White
Shart. Cuntratulations to them both! Unusucksessful namings were likewise attempted for
Just Benjamin and Just Jessica.

Hooter Bill, was then, ah, honored for his tattered, 19 year-old hash shirt. McPisser was
powerless to control his inner Hulk Hogan, and ripped it stem to stern from Hooter’s chest. For
some reason, a shirt swap was demanded with Klosit Phreek, and she acceded, showing her
boobs to the circle. Ah, everything’s going to be all right. In all fairness, she wore it much
better than Hooter. At this point, Ramrod wanted the pack to consume the remainder of the
beer and thus opened circle to lame…and ultra lame…accusations. This trash is getting long, so
lets get through the highlights quickly so we can get back to drinking.

  • Honorable: Ramrod iced hounds in his second week as RA
  • WTF? Indiana Bones & the Temple of Poon pissed on some ducks
  • DC4B on pubic grooming: “If it’s furry, it’s very scary”
  • Baa Baa Lost Shit misidentified One Eyed Snake Charmer as Platterpuss

Then it was time to swing low, right after Prince of Whores drank for wearing a Florida State
University hat as “gator repellant.” What a dumbass!


  • Full Moon Trail Monday, pack off at 7pm
  • Bring your favorite knife and fork to next week’s trail, featuring a whole roast pig!
  • Fear the Beard (fear it!) rogue trail on June 12
  • Think you can do better than the JMs? Sign up to hare, there are plenty of dates!