Date: Saturday November 6, viagra 100mg 2010
Hares: Horsefli Drivebi, Twinkle Toes, and EZ to Please
Quote of the Run: “Why is Snatch on a horse!?”
One week before the Faaaaaall H4 Skydiving campout, Horsefli, Twinkle, and your industrious On-Sec decided to pay a visit to the Rosharon area for a little scouting. We had maps. We had machetes. We had bug spray and sunblock. We were more prepared for scouting than girls in the 2nd grade. Along the guidelines of Heartache we began early and decided to make an effort at scouting until we were too tired to continue. Little did we know that Saturday would be a pre-cursor of the most epic Campout Trail to cum. And no, I’m not biased.
Two hares out in the wilderness
Our scouting began in the mesquite thickets of old Rosharon, and Horsefli soon enough regretted not bringing his gloves for hacking. Flagging tape was laid, thickets were breached, and the 3 hares stumbled upon a few beautiful natural occurrences. The reserve shoot of some poor skydiver was of particular interest as its former owner was no
Catcher in the Brown Eye on trail
longer attached. We left the bobbing contraption up for the pack to see, and continued thicket hacking. Well my friends, it was by the grace of G that we emerged from the forest and upon a beautiful trail towards swamp and marshland. These gentle rolling marshes were filled with lilies, lillipads, and…alligator nesting grounds. Yup! Well slap your mama and call me GATOR MEAT. While unbothered by the deathtrap we had stumbled into, Twinkle and Horsefli planned the easiest escape route through a rusty barbed wire fence and into the snake infested waters beyond. Unfortunately friends, your industrious On-Sec was beyond terrified of both the confederate flag bearing land owners and the alligators likely to share a similar sentiment, and her hesitation seemed only to annoy the more “experienced men”. Not only had I miscalculated the weight and strain I could place on a then broken toe, but I miscalculated the sheer insanity of the two wannabe Bear Grylls. Regardless, I continued, jumping at potential alligator noises from every angle.
Into another thicket of fallen trees, briars, and ant piles, before climbing up a log towards the forest beyond. The forest was a welcome relief beyond the swamp. The ground was dry, littered with old bottles, and encased from floor to canopy in fuzzy poison oak. Hooray! Good thing I’m not allergic! Trying our best to avoid developing any intolerance to the deadly trees, we heard sounds of the road and freedom beyond! That was once we crossed the sea of head high briars. Already, I knew this trail would be a real nut buster.
The trail turned to a winding and slow country road and allowed for a good bit of discussion and walking while deciding where to go next. We located a dried up creek bed with obvious signs of hog and barbed wire damage,
Show us something nice!
crossed into the deadly cleared land, and again stumbled over odd abandoned glass bottles. The trail eventually led to the back woods of someone’s property, and while these owners seemed not to notice your industrious On-Sec’s hot pink shirt, we snuck toward the dirt roads in the distance. The grass was a very strange mixture of swamp grass, tall grass, and mud. It was nearly impossible to run in, let alone walk briskly as the long grass hid the mud underneath. Perfect for the trail! The grass blocked our path to the dirt road and picturesque hay bales sitting outside farms, until we stumbled upon our next entry point into shiggy.
It was then I cried, “No!” The trail had busted my balls enough, and with a broken toe and the innate female ability to think ahead, I could not handle the rogue adventuring any further. In fact, I said, “I would rather walk up the road a mile than continue on with you freaks of nature.” Seriously, how did they still have so much energy? It was possibly for the best as it was the perfect place for a beer check and for the whiners to quit. Sadly, the men took off into the distance, and I, lonely squaw, hiked the mile back to Skydive Spaceland.
Not only did several men proposition me on the way back, I had some yummy grilled cheese at the skydive complex while watching what would no doubt be (in the following week at least) my final fall from grace. An hour passed. Two. It was almost past my nap time. I was approached by two grizzly bears covered head to toe in mud who proclaimed there was a rice field on trail and that the end was epic. It was then that I knew for certain, deep in my heart…those two motherf@%kers are totally off their rockers. Still, I was glad to help.
Time lapsed a week. The hounds arrived. It was time to implement our genius.
Winding roads of Rosharron
Around 20 hounds were off into the wilderness, Little Pussy especially doubting our abilities to kick ass. The hounds gathered personal beer and headed for the bend in the road before pig country. And we waited…and waited…and waited. It took the hounds quite some time to arrive, but once they did, there was no end to the bitching. The trail was long and hot and hard and blah blah blah. Amateurs! SPF 50, Snatch, Pull the Plug, Little Pussy, Parson’s Nose all streamed by and all bitched! We offered some beer as it wasn’t the true beer check, but then drove to meet the wanks back at camp and have a good laugh. We caught sight of the walkers on the far side especially Muscle Phart getting totally confused by whatever the hell he was doing.
Back at camp, the hares laughed, drank and enjoyed our epic job when low and behold Snatch rode in with two men ON A HORSE. Was our trail epic? Not compared to that! How could we compete?! It turns out Snatch promised to two gents beer in return for a ride once she hit the beer check. Chance to ride a horse with a pretty lady and get free beer? I’m in! Again, I must repeat. It was one of the coolest hash moments ever.
Snatch on a HORSE.
Eventually the dead pack arrived including a visit from our skydiving brethren, Free Pussy. All complained, but all
Little Pussy missed a spot shaving.
were in awe of the awesome trail. At circle, a pantsing contest ended in the the ripping (and damn near removal) of Little Pussy’s barely there shorts and also pointing out where the silly hound had missed a patch of beard hair while shaving. We couldn’t find Vanilla Starfish and Brian as the two hounds were back for rounds 2 and 3 of skydiving! Air racists!
Finally, and after months of anticipation, David M. was named for his slightly male-loving tendencies on trail and for “catching” for several men. If you get what I mean! Not that there’s anything wrong with David catching, but it lead the way to the perfect name of “Catcher in the Brown Eye”. Holden ‘em down are we? Nyuck nyuck nyuck.
The on-on-on was our awesome campout and a visit from the flight instructors later in the evening. I would also like to point out that we got all of them exceedingly drunk.
How we got the flight instructors drunk.
On- Oooooooooooooooooon!