A Tuna Helper diatribe:

The run took place in Bum Fuck East (BFE). Although a few people were late, the enforced 7:00 pm start time didn't prevent a goodly crowd from showing up. In fact we should thank mis-management for an absolute, designated start time; it simulates road race start times and is therefore very good training.

The trail left the K-Mart parking lot, shot through an I-10 glory hole and went into the shig. Since I was one of the late comers, I missed the initial shig due to an accidental short-cut and can't tell you a Goddamn thing about it.

It was a day to be thankful despite being late. Shuttle-Cock and I vaulted a security fence to avoid eating the pack's trail mud. Fortunately for us, the mother-ass Dobermans that patrol inside the fence had not yet been let out; something we noticed only as we were ducking out the equipment maintenance shed. With visions of maulings in our heads we decided to split, PFQ. This forced a swim in water (?) that had a slick, slimy consistency. But no way was it some kind of off-spec batch of organic peroxide; they don't dump stuff like that in Galena Park creeks. And it was a day for charity too. Group Sex decided to help out some of Houston's needy by leaving her car disabled along Highway 59, abandoning it in favor of hashing. Her offering was not slighted; the poor folk gladly took her CD player, speakers and car alarm. The kids will have food tonight, honey.

Besides guard dogs, short-cutting can get you punished in other ways. Grind Slut and myself found ourselves in a horse pasture which also serves as a mosquito nursery. We were in one of the most ferocious insect Free Fire Zones I've ever felt. It was a three pronged attack: fire ants, mosquitoes and horse flies. That, combined with horse shit, bull nettles, bleeding cuts and a raging thirst told me that it was indeed good hash territory.

Grind Slut and I were in the midst of a most expeditious short cut when what should we see but three rabbits. This prompted Grind, Religious Advisor and general Sooth-Sayer, to say "Verily now, tis good luck to see yon beasts. But one thing only can such a sign mean: the kegs at the end will be plentiful and the women will bear many sons". So imagine our horror when there was but ONE keg at the end (and this the second week in a row). This elicited a cry from Grind Slut, " Oh ye cruel hash Gods! Smite down those that would do false works and bring but one vessel of holy fluid!" (He then went back and slaughtered the rabbits for a Slut Stew.)

Respectfully Submitted,

Tuna Helper