What was trail like? That’s a clown question, bro. Let’s ask Heartache. “It was characterized by impeccable monotony and lost opportunity.” One can only presume that would describe making whoopee with him as well. Platterpuss wanted the hash to celebrate his new job at NASA (Nevada Artisanal Spam Administration). And he did the right thing by inviting some virgin hares to learn the ways of the forest from him, namely 5 Dick Smaxx (or 5 Dicks Max, or 5 Beans in the Wheel, or who knows anymore?) and Jizzabel. The hares gathered the pack at a park adjacent to an elementary school for the start. In remarkably temperate weather, scores of hounds showed up for beer and trail. After explaining how best to observe boob checks and camera checks at chalk talk, the pack was released to the storied wilds of…um…a residential neighborhood.

Following flour across a ditch, nearly half the hounds tripped in the surprisingly deep water. After solving some checks, the pack found its way out of the civilized world and into some shiggy surrounding a skeeter breeder detention pond. Entering the woods at last, many modest harriettes chose to skip the boob check. In doing so they chose to thusly skip respect. Onward, a camera check was come upon. Here a variety of American-themed trinkets and apparel were available for passers by to take pictures with, using a provided disposable camera. Any boob checks on that film roll, hares? Now trail skirted a humid bayou protected by a squadron of dragon flies. Emerging from it, many hashers skirted another large detention pond, finding flour once more across the street. This led to a fanciful jello-shot check, and even better, some ice!

Skirting the neighborhood further, the hares found the On In at a conspicuously undeveloped field. This was revealed to be a Superfund site, haphazardly created by Exxon some years ago. Way to go hares, it’s even labeled on google maps! Twinkle Toes pointed out some blackberries, however due to the pollution, eating them would have been ill-advised. How do they taste Ralph, good? “They taste like burrrrninnng!”

CIRCLE

After most of the pack had helped itself to beer, drier clothes, vodka balls and deez nuts, it was time to circle and sing. In the absence of duly elected H4 Religious Advisor Ramrod, circle administration duties were left to McPisser and his sweet baboo, Momma’s Boy. May G have mercy on us all. According to custom, the hares drank first. For her transgressions, Jizzabel had the pleasure of an entire bag of flour being dumped on her. The first time of many. Now, let’s meet the virgins! (They just got lei’d!)

• Just Kylee: What’s your favorite sexual position? “Yes”

• Just Darla: Favorite farm animal – Pig

• Just Suzanne: Favorite sexual position? “All of them!”

• Just Ed: Who made you come? “My father.” Gross

• Just Heidi: Favorite farm animal – little brothers

• Just James: Jack Off the Rigor made him come. Seems appropriate.

Moving on with usual business. Birthdays and associated annual celebrations included Jizzabel (one year in Houston), Just Matt (one year of hashing), You Suck We Hate You (doing anal for six years), and SPF (celebrating the USA’s birthday by proxy). Reboots reminded the circle who the hell they were, and on this occasion, it was only Moe Lester. Finally done with all the bullshit, the dyspeptic duo of RAs opened the circle to accusations!

Accusations started small, Just Suzanne was made to show an impressive bruise on her impressive ass. The bruise pattern really looked like she had been caned. Our kind of harriette. Zooming right into lame down downs, the hares would drink for their too-small parking lot at the start. Well it was their first time. Good job, good effort! Now, dozens of harriettes had skipped the boob check on trail, but Just Kylee was singled out to drink for their discretions. Perhaps next time she’ll roll back her titties. The hares drank again for providing blow up toys for all the ladies, but none for the dudes. The accuser, C3P Holes, wanted them to blow up his own toy, even though by all accounts he’s a professional blower. Hot air joke? No – blowjob.

Dick Assley, having found some fungus of flourishing size on trail, decided to camp out at said boob check, displaying it atop his own phallus, attempting to impress the bitches. We can trust he took it home for jerking off in silence. Late arrival Roll On was forced to do a down down after he failed to recognize Porn on the Cob, whom he had personally named in the long long ago when he was RA. There was no time for annoying, bullshit, or incoherent ultra-lame down downs, because at this point the beer ran out. So it was On On to the On On On and then home at a reasonable hour. What luck! Swing low, and GTFO.

ON AFTER

The On After was at Scotty’s Pube. It had beer, liquor, darkness, pool tables, smoke, and no food. Thus there was a rogue on after at the Mexican restaurant next door for those with weak constitutions who couldn’t tolerate a slight amount of particulates in their lungs. Others brought food in from other sources, careful to avoid the hobo who camped out by the door.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• The great council of dirty terminology determined that, if you motorboat someone’s butt cheeks, it’s called swamp-boating. You’re welcome.

• The next Full Moon trail is Monday night, which already happened, so read on.

• Come to the July 4^th Rogue trail tonite, featuring fireworks, baby!