It was a fine day in the Bayou City. The storms had ceased, and the flood waters were begining to recess further than Halfmoon’s hairline, leaving a miasmic stench worse than even a squalid Hooter Bill. We met in a parking lot by Home Depot, where Gas Light and SOS were discussing the pros and cons of battery versus AC power Black & Decker products. Just when SOS was convinced that a partially charged Black & Decker Pecker Wrecker was too high a risk to consider, Crack of Dawn and Roller Balls debunked the whole argument by declaring DeWalt products to be superior on all counts. Why Roller is so enlightened on the subject is anyone’s guess.
After waiting for near an hour, the pack finally re-learned standard hash markings, and Puppy Prick taught all to count to three with engineer’s tape explaining to us for the 5,398rd time this ingenious trail marking design. After a few minutes of enlightenment our honorable hash hound Ripley screamed, "Shut the Hell up, and let us go! We know this stuff already!" To this, his step-bitch Out of Tuna swiftly kicked him, and told him that that disrespect was uncalled for (until after the run when anything goes).
At Puppy’s word, we were off like a pack of lemmings approaching the precipice of Geek’s beer belly, and onto the first check, which was quickly solved (incorrectly) by Grind Slut. However, while the rest of the pack squeezed through the scratchy true trail, Grind, Anal 101 and Gas Light went through the False to head (who said ‘head’) those hounds off at the next check. By sheer misjudgement and an iconoclastic tendency to run as a dynamic duo, Anal and Ripley were lost for the rest of the first half of trail.
BUT, we did catch back up at the dark and squishy beer check/tunnel, and we chose to remain off trail a while longer. It was a good idea, and gave us a chance to dwell on the age old philosophical question of. "Why did the Pits cross the HOV lane?"
The rest of the pack was squeezing in back together at this point, which is when we encountered French Drip holding his petite Tool. Trying to shake the mud off, I guess. Well, it was standard hashing from here, go to power lines, clime a fence, run to bayou, cross street, and go back to power lines, until we found some hard liquor. Well, until the team players, i.e. non FRB Racists, found the Margarita Check. NOW, a fun time was had by all, after which we stumbled to the end, and found Roller’s undercarriage, I mean the On In. Then we ate hairy tacos made by Ass Grabber and called it a day--and it was a day, and it was a truly shitty trail.