Hares:  Can’t Hound, Grind Slut, and McPisser

To commemorate the passing of beloved Balut, his three best pals planned to lay a trail to honor him. Because they cared for him so much, they made damn sure to get his cremains to mix in with the trail’s flour. They definitely didn’t forget. It might have been to their benefit to do so, as marks were remarkably small and long-spaced on the trail. Hounds gathered behind Darque Tan (we put you at the head of the “Q”!) on Wilcrest, driving or walking there at their leisure. Brrrggghhh even arrived early to “get some training in.” Chalk talk featured boob checks, turkey-eagle splits, backchecks, beer checks, and free hundred dollar bill checks. None of them were on trail.

Loosed from the start, the pack traced flour across the southern boundary of Lakeside golf course to Kirkwood. The scarce marks forced the pack to solve checks communally, finding true trail in the creek under Kirkwood. From here the path alternated between the Buffalo Bayou gravel trail, the Buffalo Bayou paved trail, and the Buffalo Bayou surface roads in the nearby neighborhood. After crossing Wilcrest again and arriving at a power line easement, the On In was sighted nearby, just across Buffalo Bayou. Here, the thirstier hashers braved the thrashing opaque “waters” and crossed the raging torrent to the beer on the other shore. Those more concerned with keeping their knickers dry retraced the path back to Wilcrest and followed the bike trails the rest of the way in. Whale’s Vagina walked home to shower and douche after swimming, and made it back in time for circle.

CIRCLE

After all had ample time to dry their bodies and wet their whistles, duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod convened his circle, minding not to let his bollocks dangle in the dust. The hares were then appraised of the fact that their trail, despite their hours of effort and dollars invested to its benefit, was in fact shitty. Ginger ninja Just James‘ two virgins were recognized next, Just Greg (he of the mohawk) and Just Justin (he of standard hair). Reboots followed. Highlights of their lot were Pull the Plug‘s return from plugging nurses at the hospital, and Boy George who was in the bathtub, blowing bubbles. Do you think that’s a person or animal with the unlikely name of Bubbles whom he fellated, or merely the act of making them? The world may never know. Visitors featured Spitz.com from DC and Vagineer, a transplant from Panama City.

During the ensuing down down song, the reboots were reminded that they are a pain in the asshole to everyone. Experienced hashers may be familiar with the act of mooning the circle and miming pollic-anal thrusting during that song. Now pay attention, because this is important. A passing gentleman happened to observe this ritual and mistakenly (and conceitedly) assumed it was performed deliberately to offend his Puritan sensibilities. Well, he was not the kind of man to take accidentally seeing adult human buttocks without a fight, no sir! Sensing corporeal and communal danger, he called 911. More on that, and moron-that, later.

In the meantime, there were some celebrations in order. Just Greg and Platterpuss had birthdays, Extra Testicle earned his 69 trail tag, Ramrod had his 3^rd hashiversary, and Geek (H4 Rule Master) earned his own 1,750 trail tag! Here’s hoping they all got a life. At this point, an HPD cruiser arrived. Tender Vittles, Ass Grabber, and Grind Slut went to speak with the gentleman. Bring a smile and some tits with you next time, fellas. Back at the ranch, accusations began with a Veteran’s Day social for, you know, veterans. At this point another cop showed up. Better call some backup boys! This was followed with Heartache (everyone: let’s get ready to gruuuumble!) calling out all the “pussy-boy merkins” (‘mericans?) who didn’t serve. It was about as entertaining as it sounds. At this point, a third officer arrived. To be fair, there is a Southern Maid donut shop less than a mile away. For safety reasons, circle decomposed to Happy Balut Story Time while nervous probation-dodgers scattered to the woods. Some suggested merely swimming to the other side of the bayou. While the pack milled in a languorous panic, each wondered whether a brave hound might channel his inner Ice Cube and suggest “Fuck tha Police!” Alas, a fourth (seriously 4 fucking cops!) county mounty pulled up and a silent swing low was executed.

The pack dispersed like diarrhea in a hurricane and none were molested departing the On In. All rendezvoused at the start and considered restarting circle, but lazier heads prevailed. An intermediate On On On was initiated at Casa de Parson’s Nose to finish the beer and enjoy the pool. Then it was on on to the real on on on at Nick’s.

ON ON ON

Beer flowed freely at the comfortably not-crowded Nick’s. There was food, but the menu was limited. They had pizzas and fried things, and other things the cook was too lazy to cook. Oh shit, you ordered the gyro. Oh yeah they should have told you they’re out of that, too. The Texans beat the Bears. Everyone had a great time, because after drinking all afternoon, it was only 8 o’clock!

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Hey baby, wanna taste my egg nog? Hash Xmas is cumming, and it’s a disco party! Saturday, December 8, and only $35 if you rego in the next three weeks!

• Hey baby, wanna tickle my turkey? Enjoy a brass monkey at the Mosquito Spanksgiving trail, November 21.

• Hey baby, wanna gargle my garter? Get ready to crash the Galveston H3 Wedding Dress R*n, Saturday at 6:30.