Okay you Wankers, thanks to postal whore or mail slut (the guy currently boning PMS) or whatever his name is, I got to be your hash scribe for trail this week. Since I've never done this before and don't know who any of you are, it will be short and pointless, like sex in high school. After standing in a cold parking lot for an hour next to an indoor, heated, go cart track (way to miss out on a great opportunity hares) circle finally starts when virgin hare just John steps up. As he slowly and quietly fails at circle, the only input he receives from co hare disco ass (or something like that) is criticism... good leadership there buddy. We meet our foreign visitor, some whiney Canadian and another hour later we begin our cold decent into the trail that makes hell seem glamorous. We ran for a while, failing at every intersection, no one actually followed trail, just other hashers. Sure enough we went over the river through the woods (had the most stocked beer halt in history) and to just John's house we go for our beer stop. Soaking wet warming our asses by the fire, locknut pretty much steals candy from a baby (he won 5 bucks for it too), then we set out once more to return to start. Whiney bitch lived up to his name complaining about being wet and cold. Dewey showed her huge vagina on trail by taking the turkey every time. Just Shane.. shawn... shaggy, whoever he is was granted hash Shit for being an unsuccessful drug dealer in his bungle coat. I received some lost property, my 10 run cranium band that I held onto for a grand total of an hour last week. I'm fairly certain it met at least three sets of balls on its vacation from me. On after was at Malone's. Special fucks are to be given to the wankers (locknut and headlamp) that called ahead (head, who said head?) to order. Touche motherfuckers, making the rest of us watch you eat before we even got our beer. If you want more, too bad, get your ass to trail.
... he's still limping!