We Don't Need Another Puke Halt
We Don't Need To Know The Way Home
All We Want Is More...Malorghhht
Wow, where to begin. I guess I should start out by writing that sometimes I am thankful that I raise my beer over my cranium when the call for a hash scribe goes out. Last night was one of those times. I get to document all of the insane shit that I witnessed last night, and by reading this, hopefully you'll feel like you were right there standing next to me, listening to me scream some of the correct words to songs, and demanding that Dewey drink out of her shoe. Here we go!
The hash started off on a grassy knoll in front of the graffiti wall down by the river. An excellent starting place away from the nosy ears of citizens and the long arms of the law. Fake Bake Fuck called in our virgins for the evening, two from Fist In Her Furry Ass and a small army from What the Fuck's Your Name. Puke Halt greeted them, promised to fuck up trail, and led us in a grassy chalk talk that contained the entire fucking alphabet: BN, BS, CB, HH, BH, PH, SS, DMB. He had laid the trail a week earlier so it was bound to be easy to follow. He also didn't have any toilet paper and had Fisty steal a wad full from the pre-lube women's bathroom. How could anything go wrong? After instructions were given, drinking skills shown off, and roll call taken, the hare was away and the pack was forced to meander around with their fingers in their butts for 15 very long minutes.
After on-out was called, we took off North through the abandoned grass-filled buildings of St. Louis and came to our first chick check. Trail was found, but veered off in two different directions after the next check when Delta Beta Anal Gangbang found true trail through an old building and decided to steal soap from homeless people. Or was it left there by the hare for us to eat as the Puke Halt? Either way, we all came back together just short of the Arch grounds for our Beer Halt. It took a while to find the beer because it was carefully hidden behind a god damned construction worker in a bobcat grinding the road surface. He looked a little nervous being surrounded by 20 hashers demanding beer, so he slowly drove away. Oh, did I mention we were drinking beer in a construction zone? Tits! We ran past dump trucks, jack hammers, and pot bellies in orange shirts looking at our pot bellies in orange shirts with a sense of amazement and mutual admiration. We ran down by some hotels and around a corner to a wonderful Puke Halt. And what would be there to greet us? Mother Fucking Jeppson's Malört. Those bars of soap were looking pretty tasty at that point. On the back of the bottle it read, "Most first-time drinkers of Jeppson Malort reject our liquor." No shit? The virgin Just Josh must not have been part of the "only 1 out of 49 men will drink Jeppson Malort" club because he immediately threw up. And not just a little malort puke mind you, but like a whole pot of chili. It just kept coming and coming out. We all downed our shots and Frankie The Dick Thrusting Pussy Eater up ended the bottle to save us from more misery. The next mile was pretty rough for everyone, but it really helped keep the pack together by slowing down the fast mother fuckers in the front. Is it time for a new FRB log that is just a bottle of Malort with a rope around it?
We wandered over fences, through tunnels, over mounds of dirt and found ourselves at our first Beer Stop right next to the Mississippi in front of the arch. This too, was a construction zone and the fear of Federales loomed over us like a tall pint glass of Jeppson's Malört. God, even writing those two words is making me queezy. After rinsing our mouths out with beer, we made a B-line back along the waterfront to the start trail and the unexpected ultimate demise of Hummers Para Libre.
Five Bucks, Five Bucks, Five Bucks led us through the second half of circle and called in FRBs, DFLs, DMBs, and Significant Runs. Dapper Sapper got his 69 cranium band while My Face is the Place (for the helpful hard-on man) got his 25. Pints of Lager were given out and Lost Property was reclaimed(Dewey's shoes) but she refused to drink out of them even though I was yelling it pretty loudly if I must say. Before Hashshit nominations were opened, the hash decided in a rare moment of clarity, that a job well done needed to be rewarded. Just Josh(virgin) was called into the circle, got down on his knees, and was proclaimed by Dewey Sexual System in the name of Gispert and Goat Fucker and Kibbles 'n Dicks and other first time hash name legends to go forth into the hashing world as Malorghhht. Even though his puke was dark red/yellow, he was true blue.
Then Hashshit nominations were opened and unlike most circles where people are struggling to come up with true crimes, this trail was well stocked:
1. Puke Halt - getting caught by Claim To Flame and begging him not to tell anyone
2. Delta Beta Anal Gangbang - stealing soap from the homeless
3. Dewey Sexual System - not drinking out of her shoe
4. Malorghhht - see above
5. Just Jeff(virgin) - eluding Federal Officers, which I think may have been an actual crime
6. A couple of other good ones that I forgot
6. Hummers Para Libre - using the porta potty next to the Mississippi for a really long time
I can't believe I get to fucking write this again, but you guessed it, HUMMERS FOR POOPING ON TRAIL!!
Malorghhht and Five Bucks led the circle in a rousing swing low and we adjourned to Bar 101 for $25 buckets of beer and then to 'Cuz for $12 buckets of beer, Bobby Brown, Meatloaf, and We Don't Need Another Hero by Tina Turner(which I've listened to about 6 times so far when writing this).
Yours Forever In The Eternal and Somewhat Burning Bond of Hashing,
ps. Hummers, if you're reading this, please take my advice from here on out. Don't ever touch toilet paper at any time before, during, or after trail. If you have to pee on trail, please take a hash flash with you to document that it was just pee. When you see a porta potty, run by, don't even look at it. Don't even mention the word bathroom to other hashers. If someone brings up poop in a conversation, run far far away. Keep dancing awesomely to Piss Up A Rope by Ween. That is all.