Courtesy of: Just Katherine and Little Pussy

What makes a trail shitty? Much like pornography, it is difficult to define but can nonetheless be identified on sight. Some shitty trails are long. Still, many long trails are extraordinary. Some shitty trails are yawning pavement pounders. Yet many trails over uninteresting terrain yield wacky shenanigans that nonetheless entertain. Some shitty trails are sun-drenched heat marches. But hashing Texans native and emigrated have made peace with the sweat and burn the summer season sends. What precisely would cause a pack to rise up as one and plant a hare’s shit chute squarely upon the ice?

Nobly, Little Pussy elected to solve this hashing conundrum by means of an experiment. To accomplish his scientific, high-minded goal, he retained the services of Just Katherine as his partner in crime cohare flour caddy. He also offered the On Sec a crisp Hamilton to try and give trail a positive spin in the trash. Hey, little Whale Vaginas gotta eat, too. The experiment yielded two results: The first, that the only activity hashers enjoy as much as drinking is complaining. This is patently old news. But, the subject hashers prefer most to complain about is the very bane of snake oil salesmen everywhere: false advertising.

Trail was announced to start at 2:00 PM for an estimated length of 5 miles. This would certainly have been a reasonable distance for late spring weather, even without a beer check, as the chalk talk made plain. Those ambitious few who completed true trail would report distances nearing 9 miles, a misjudgment of nearly 100%, however. Neither was it a speedy 9 miles. Venturing out from the start, trail veered through shiggy infested with swarming ants, aggressive longhorn cattle, stinging nettles, and nipple deep wading waters filled with poisonous serpents. In short, great hash territory for an actual 5 mile trail. To the hares’ credit, they accurately announced that the pack would get wet. However, after emerging from the Addicks reservoir, hashers expecting an On In and needing a beer check were instead treated to a standard check. True trail led north through the shiggy. Many tired hounds instead paralleled along the crest of the dam. After a few more miles, the precious Beer Near mark was found. A few miles after the mark, beer was actually near. Here the weary hordes and huddled masses yearning to sate their thirst donned dry clothes and calmly mused over punishments for the insidious hares. Many chose to air their grievances directly to the hare.

In his defense, Little Pussy pointed to his (apparent) reputation as a bastard hare, that all who suffered through trail did so willingly. Except the virgins who didn’t know what they were getting into. They nonetheless had a good time, to the hares’ credit. Except the other regular hashers who aren’t aware of his reputation as he himself is an irregular attendee. Likewise, the propensity for mendacity amongst the hares is a proud hash tradition. But how much lying is too much? The precedent has now been set: 9 miles when promised 5 on a hot-ish day is too much.

Amidst the sturm und drang, the hash was tested, and transited the threshold unbowed. For certain there was thirst, shiggy scars, and sunburn and harshed buzzes, but all made the On In intact, and there’s something to be said for that. During all the hare-bashing, Just Katherine accepted all slings and arrows lobbed her way, never trying to deflect blame to her senior hare. Even after being pantsed, thrown in a lake, iced, coned and floured, she did not (publicly) attempt to spread the blame, and she ought to be commended for it.

CIRCLE

After cleansing his stretched, sweating, and soiled body in the cool & clear waters of the nearby flooded drainage ditch, duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod began circle with some help from the Mayor of Bayswater. Naturally the hares drank for their (now confirmed) shitty trail, and found out they were in fact shitty hares. Never-to-be-seen-again virgins Just Jonathon and his sweet baboo Just Denise were introduced next. When asked the airport question, she responded “Grand Central Station.” Your guess is as good as any. Usual business continued with reboots Takes It Up The Bronx, Whale’s Vagina, and Ball Grabber who were all away at an orgies-for-profit benefit concert. Visitors included The Pitts and Turtle Brains, whom together comprise the entire Pagosa Springs, CO H3. Analversaries featured Save A Horse Ride A Mole and Pitts celebrating their sweet 16s, Can’t Hack the Sack and Shit Dick Ass Balls tearful goodbyes for Forbes’ magazine 19^th coolest city in the USA (Austin), and Turtle Brains‘ 26^th hashiversary! After some dog tag distribution the circle was open for accusations.

Which began conveniently with the hares, for laying two good trails and one bad trail. They drank again for not providing any water, despite ample opportunity and need. Then they drank again for a Beer Near of ungainly length. Rancid Asshole was honorably recognized for casually attempting to roofie Booby Trap at the start of trail. Just Jennifer, sweet baboo of Bronx, was called in for stopping for a Sonic Slurpee but not bringing enough to share. Just Nikki drank for acceptable hash behavior, expressing on trail that she loved picking up “randos” whilst hashing. Heartache called in any hashers with children of ages 1-10, to warn them of Roadkill‘s new beard, and thus obvious intention of working as a mall santa in another 6 months. Booby Trap was accused of being unable to do proper bum-titty-bum motions properly, although many a hound stepped forward to train her. She was treated to a simple, crowd-pleasing round of swinging tits. Save A Horse was called in for admitting a preference for incest after the associated Texas song, and also drank with his sweet baboo 101 Donations for their fancy new triathlon shoes.

Ivan The Whore-able was called in for (cleverly) offering to trade his shiggy socks to unprotected harriettes in the thick of the shiggy in exchange for their brassieres. Maybe try after a few beers next time? After a few dozen more really brilliant accusations like that, it was time to swing low and GTFO.

ON ON ON

The On On On was at Brittmoor Ice House, just down the road. Beer and crawfish were cheap, and the Beard & Boob club was formed. The balloon machine in the bathroom is only a quarter!

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Mosquito Liberation Trail on Wednesday, starting at…Brittmoore Ice House. Also, it’s FREE!

• Texas Interhash this weekend, start your Valtrex dosing now.

• H4 Spring Campout 5/31 – 6/2. It will be Beyond Chunderdome!