Date: August 22, ed 2010
Hares: Spot on the Mat, herbal Ass Swipe, decease & Catcher in the Brown Eye (then known as Just David)
August heat…IN TEXAS?! You’ve got to be kidding us! The hares reassured all the hounds that despite the record temperatures and potential for dogs to keel over, they would offer a shady and shiggy trail on the north side. As the homage to Spot on the Mat’s locale, we began by parking alongside what the foundation of a southern super church and extremely close to your dutiful On-Sec’s old 9th grade stomping grounds. Catcher in the Brown Eye (once known as quiet “Just David”) decided to hare his first run, so Ass Wipe hoped for a good turnout amidst the debilitating heat and humidity. The advertising was ceaseless. Of course, even at the start, we were standing in the blazing heat, on a concrete street, with no shade. Good thing your trusty Mismanagement invested in some water coolers! Everyone eyed Sticky Lips’ dog nervously…it may not end well for one rambunctious Golden Labrador Retriever…but did someone say jello shots?! Screw the heat, they are pina colada flavored! Not even the 4pm start could keep away the large pack as everyone was so desperate to wear their brand new hapi coats.
Driving along, running on hash time and little less, your dutiful On-Sec hit the strangest bout of Sunday traffic that I’ve ever had the grace to witness. Sunday traffic? Unacceptable! Ass Wipe notified the list serve with the cop deserving traffic, but not enough to drive up an immediate sense of urgency. Once parked, I was happy to see that most of the hounds were also caught in the swirl of construction around the town lovingly called “The Bubble”. Oh Kingwood. What fond memories I have of being both oddly popular and tortured ceaselessly by the mean and slutty girls. Kingwood, with her rolling and lush greenbelt trails. The livable forest it is called! Once, my friend George tripped mushrooms in the woods and ran over 6 miles thinking he was being chased by tree people. That’s what the penultimate amount of fun we had as teenagers in Kingwood. Now let’s never speak of it again.
The pack was off soon after my arrival and we headed through the greener and shiggier areas of Kingwood, deep into the pits of my youth. It was like going into the heart of darkness. The trail itself was very shaded (as promised) but the heat put a damper on many of the hounds and placed a damp stain on their shirts. Around the beer check, the trail began to cross itself, and while several hounds had made a daring attempt at short cutting, the entire pack became displaced and scrambled once more as the greenbelt trails were too close for comfort. Whistles on either side distracted and confused the pack, turning solo artists this way and that. The shade was not enough to save us from what would be next.
And there it was. Your dutiful On-Sec’s 9th grade campus now re-purposed as a east side high school. It was larger than I remembered, but still just as flat and ugly. The run up to the high school was on a blinding paved road through the parking lot and to a much needed hose water check. Instead of merely drinking, it appeared that every hound drenched themselves with the hose. The show’s main characters included Vague Rant and everyone’s favorite tease, What What in the Butt. Who knew a hose shower could be sexy? I was referring to Vague Rant’s shirtless moves by the way. Tap Dat Ass also took a long long drink, remarking on the heat, and something. Again, no one could really focus once her top came off. However, it is wise to point out, if Tap Dat Ass is running slow, there is something wrong.
As a group, we stayed together for fear of vultures and to watch Twinkle Toes dance around on hot pavement, trying desperately to find some grass. The ultimate insult to our already weak bodies was the sand trap finish, complete with nearly every other hound having finished the trail. Short cut fail! It wasn’t too long before our tempers were settled and our tongues soothed by delicious and stick jello shots. David was defloured, rubbed in delicious cake making mix, and sent on his way to forever remember his crimes.
One point of interest throughout the trail was that of the ghost white beacon Brian as he ran shirtless through the woods. It was like a unicorn sighting. What a majestic, slender, white haired angel he appeared, guiding us through the shiggy and confusing marks and into a sudden state of what one could only refer to as “a fourth degree sunburn”. It was then that his paleness could not be denied. He was henceforth called SPF 50 in tribute to his pasty whiteness. Fun was had, the on-on-on took us to a biker bar off the 59 feeder, and everyone suffered from a case of dehydration that night.
To this date, SPF 50, in all his shirtless runs, has not tanned one single shade.