The weather was shit...

Run # 712 started innocently enough from the oft hashed Appletree at the intersection of West Gray and Woodhead. The devoted hounds ignored the chants of "scabs" coming from the oh so enthusiastic professional strikers camped out in front of the Appletree. Can't Hound and Don One mentioned something about flour and checks and the pack headed off into the dreary December drizzle. (reader: please note your guest on-sec's clever use of alliteration, that is the occurrence in a phrase or line of writing of two or more words having the same initial consonant sound for added impact and reading pleasure.)

Crack houses etc.

The trail headed west towards River Oaks and then turned North towards the bayou. At the bayou the trail followed the jogging path East towards downtown until confusion set in at Waugh. After milling around for about 15 minutes, the cry of on on was heard at the Black Forest and once again the pack was off. We ran East along Washington and trail led into a particularly nasty abandoned apartment complex where the trail did alot of twisting and turning complete with false trails and backchecks. The hash was again stumped at Montrose until Licks His Own found trail behind the grain elevators on the requisite railroad tracks. On across the abandoned railroad trestle at Montrose where most of the pack risked a 40 foot fall into the icy waters of Buffalo Bayou while the poofters crossed at the Montrose overpass. Alas, there was a false trail at the end of the trestle but oh well. The trail meandered South through Montrose and I was eventually pointed to the On Home by a group of transvestites.

On Home

The On Home was at Heads Up in the Montrose. The hash was greeted by pitchers of beer and lots o' food.

Where's the air conditioner

Down downs were proctored by Whiner. There were plenty of accusations. Licks His Own did a homo down down for the pink sweatshirt and pants he was wearing (although he insisted that they were not pink but coral). The new boots from Connecticut drank from their shiny new Sauconys. Buck-a-Suck and her hosepiece Half Moon do down downs for some roadside action of the night before. Winnebago Warrior, Can't Hound, is busted by Buck-a-Suck for a little accident he had. It seems that while he was out scouting trail a couple of weeks earlier, he had driven the UAV (Urban Assault Vehicle) under a low overpass and had ripped the air-conditioner off of the roof. Nothing a little duct tape couldn't fix.

On On On

Not surprisingly, the On On On was also at Head's Up. We soon finished off the beer but everyone stayed late playing pool and eating jello shots. Grind Slut stopped a ceiling fan with his tongue. At some point I stopped paying attention to what was going on, The End.