A gray Easter Sunday afternoon was threatening perfect shiggy weather as I made my way on !-10 East, heading for the industrial bliss of Jacinto City, with the expectation of reducing my life expectancy by numerous years due to exposure to quantities of toxic chemicals, not to mention the promised man-eating alligator.........

A perfectly chosen, highly inadequate parking lot on a major intersection, next door to the local fire station, was what greeted the somewhat reduced pack of hashers. I chose to park across the road, in a somewhat more adequate spot, and arrived to find our hares, inappropriately garbed in regal splendor, already advising the pack of the dangers of the deadly amphibians waiting to reduce to the level of fast food those enthusiastic and foolish enough to enter the toxic sludge of Hunting Bayou.....

The stage being set for a fun shiggy run, the pack was set off straight down Federal rd. Sniffing a mild cluster fuck (and overhearing a foolish hare uttering "they'll be back" I took my time negotiating a special Easter rate from Hash Cash emeritus Geek, from whom I extracted one $20, three $5's, three $1's in exchange for nothing but some minor sleight of hand, awaiting the inevitable.....

The hares then pleaded with me to follow the pack and call them back, as they had obviously over-run the False. A leisurely jog to the corner and a few blasts on the trusty Hash whistle (best Xmas gift ever, giving loud signals with a minimum expenditure of pulmonary power, unfortunately used by far too few hashers) was enough to bring the pack to order and sent on their way down the obvious route towards the shiggy.

We followed the headwaters of the bayou, past the bemused Latinos having a peaceful Easter Sunday in the park, to the first check on the banks of the bayou. An obvious false trail tempted the front runners across a bridge, to fumble around in the woods on the other side. Wise hashers followed Heartache at a leisurely pace straight ahead along the banks to a continuation of trail, which wound through the pleasant and fragrant grassy woodlands to another check after a minor creek crossing. After minor excursions in every direction , the pack duly discovered trail off to the west, going back to the bayou edge, to a fictitious alligator check. No beady eyes, no extended nostrils...... no ominous swirls in the water. Just a large log half submerged in the mud. Our city boy hares had obviously allowed their adrenaline-fed imaginations to fabricate a deadly beast out of an old tree trunk......

Next check led us over the Bayou by the "safe" route of a short railway trestle (but with a decent walkway, so the pucker factor was negligible, in spite of the well polished rails indicating frequent use)

Another check led us back along the other side of the bayou, onto a track to an old building containing abandoned files of the Jacinto City police...... Useful information of apprehending DUI drivers and the use of firearms (in Spanish) was distributed to the pack.......

Trail then led to the fictitious water check. Fictitious, as the spot chosen had been turned into a picnic spot by a couple of families of Latinos, who doubtless used the hash water for dilution of tequila and quenching the thirst of their mangy dogs. Although, in fairness, the kids did shout out (in Spanish and English for the linguistically challenged) "Agua" while pointing to the center of the mass of picnickers, where the Patriarch was seen to be sharpening a large Machete. The fertile minds and inbred racism of the majority of the pack was enough to dissuade them from pausing, out of fear of being subdued and converted into Chicherones. I dropped by, had a coupla shots of excellent "pinga" accompanied by fresh carne assado, fondled a couple of nubile young senoritas and continued on my way.

Trail then entered deep woods, where numerous checks, back checks, falses and general shiggy trails helped keep the smart hashers bunched and the others hopelessly lost.... We eventually popped out of the woods onto a check on another railway track. An arrow then led the pack on a gratuitous tour of the Jacinto City sewage works and police car graveyard before finally coming on-Home to the rear entrance of a charming country inn, populated by a genial group of indigenous tribal persons of varying age, sex and mental capacity.....

The site of a large barbecue smoking and emanating odors of charred flesh caused much stirring of the salivary glands, but The Pits stood guard, insisting on "no plates before the circle is over." The pack impatiently demolished the standard appetizers of tortillas, bananas, etc., while waiting on the recently resurrected Boy George to lead us in the holy rituals. These eventually got under way, with an attempt at self-destruction by Limp Noodle, who hung nervously from a high limb over the circle, before dropping with a bone-crunching inelegance into our midst. It is recommended that Will He Peter take him in hand and instruct him in the art of the Parachutist's tuck, to prevent future visits to the Orthopedic surgeons (who have had obvious pleasure recently grafting Testicles leg on backwards, to permanently give him the perfect Geek style of movement.....)

The circle never really caught, with much side discussion, wandering of the pack and generally ineffectual accusations, along with the visit to the circle of a couple of inhabitants of the bar who, while dressed in off-duty welder outfits, proved to us that residence of Jacinto city may well cause toxic degeneration of the brain cells (we are unable to define if perhaps some blame could be placed on the parents, as these were unknown.....)

Your scribe withdrew and persuaded the Pits that he needed some organization and a trial run of the food distribution. After carefully adjusting the serving table and its contents of beans, barbecue sauce and carving board, along with strategic placement of a chair with utensils and bread, a trial run was made by a couple of smart hashers, who thereby benefited from early service and had the pleasure of eating peacefully while watching the line of starving hashers descending on the Pits, who did his best to dispense his excellent brisket 'n' beans in an orderly fashion.

At this point, the keg had died and some foolish hashers, along with one oversized local, were seen to be consuming jugs of home-made wine brought along by Testicles, no doubt in revenge for his geeky leg and knowing he will be long gone by the time the toxins therein reap their permanent damage on the few remaining brain cells of those foolish enough to partake......

At this point, yr. humble scribe decided that a timely retreat to the comforts of home was indicated, so no details of the degenerate termination of the night wan be supplied.

Congratulations to the hares for a well-laid trail in excellent territory and excellent victuals at the end.

At 10:36 AM 4/7/99 -0500, Rollerballs wrote:

>.................The local men can only

>look in awestruck wonder at the carriage of the gentlemen and furthermore,

>they can only imagine what it would be like to know the ladies that we are

>so fortunate to have upon our numbers. The idea that women of such beauty,

>finery and exquisite lineage exist must absolutely drive the local men into

>a state of abject misery knowing that they may never posses such flowers.

The first troglodyte stumbled out of the bar following the undulating,

perfumed buttocks of High Maintenance, like a pit bull sniffing a bitch in

heat..........

HM did her best to ignore this male behemoth, but, with her pheromones.

dragged him to the circle..

Observing the possibility of some sport of the rougher kind, said pit bull

entered the circle and presented his wares to the assembled pack, who

displayed their delight in this presence by offering him copious libations.

At this point, realizing he was on to a good thing, he returned to the bar

and dragged out a second mutt, who joined the revelry.

From the pictures on the web page, it would appear that the evening

degenerated into a typical dog-fest, where myriad mongrel dogs, while

waiting in vain for their opportunity to mount a bitch in heat, practise

their copulatory skills by mounting each other.

Boy George is to be congratulated on his ability to descend to the level

necessary to participate in these revels..........