PMS & Postage’s Back Woods Birthday Hash
So here we are, the Hash after Bungle. We’re at that point that the hangover is about gone, we’ve all peeked out from under the covers and verified that no one who is really not supposed to be under there with us is indeed not, we can kinda look at ourselves in the mirror again without cringing too much, and that weird itching has let up (which means it’s not the crabs, right?) So let’s go get smashed and hash because that’s what we do AND tonight is indeed a hash worth crawling out for. It is a celebration of what every Bungler is hoping is not cumming in 9 months – a celebration of birthdays! And who better to celebrate than our Lovely Hare PMS and our Jovial MC for the evening, $5.
PMS chose the Fenton Farmer’s Market as the perfect place for us to circle up and leave our hashing mark and have the locals wonder what that strange smell is tomorrow (it smells kind of like a combination of shit, stale beer and what I would imagine shame would smell like. And this is real – I’ll get to that). So, as a result of talking in circle (I blame Turns Tricks for this), $5 picked me for Hash Scribe and I was given a very thorough explanation of what the very low expectations are for a Hash Scribe as Hash Trash is not a regular item in this era of the Big Hump. Upon agreeing to my daunting task for the evening, the Hares then were blessed and sent on their way and we all cracked open some all Busch all the times and waited the unbelievable 59 minutes asked for a head start.
So anyway, we’re drinking our beers when all of a sudden, Hummers came flying out of the shiggy to report back that Stinky had been in the woods taking a shit and had nothing but his Stink Palm to wipe. Ewww!!! That’s nasty. And thank God Stink had already signed the Hashy Birthday Card for Peems because otherwise who knows what kind of shitty fingerprints would have been left behind for our poor unsuspecting birthday queen. Well after that debacle it’s time to be On Out.
Trail started out as a nice pavement pounder, and then we turned on into the woods, as expected for the area. However, what was not expected was the strange clearing we came to at the other side of the woods filled with abandoned appliances and A/C units. “What is this place?!?” Hummers asked what we all were thinking, and we kept going, unsure if we were going to hear a click-click of a rifle and told to get the hell off someone’s property. Trail then took us to a sketchy, rusted old rickety white metal death bridge of death that led to equally sketchy stairs. We had a scary close call as Hummers almost fell off the DBOD, but we all made it safely across. We ended up on a dock with a BH and realized that we were in some strange bar on the river. The Hares had bought buckets of beers for us to enjoy on this lovely evening, and as I wandered onto the back deck to take in all of the scenery, it was then that I started to take a good hard look at my surroundings – there were palm trees and strange redneck men pulling up to the dock and a Confederate Flag waving in the breeze. Where exactly are we? And suddenly I wondered if we went through some strange Sci-Fi Portal back in those woods and were actually down in some backwoods Louisiana Bayou Bar, because looking around, there really was no proof that we were still in Missouri. Was that a gator over yonder (that’s how we talk now that we’re in the south). Are y’all servin’ Yuengling?
I have a riddle: When you are in a bar like this, how would you expect to go to the bathroom? Hint: the answer is not pee in the river. Give up? In a Johnny that is on a raft that is tethered to the dock. So what happens if a drunk hasher would think it was funny to untether the raft while I am inside peeing and let me float away? That, my friend, is reason enough to hold it and go in the woods when we are back on trail.
And back on trail we went, in very festive spirits and ready for this shitty trail to be over so we could enjoy more tasty down-downs. It was all looking very promising as we were back on the pavement, a chick check that could have taken us onto one of the many trails of a dimly lit Minnie Ha-Ha Park and actually did not but instead took us to a bridge with cyclists riding at such a leisurely pace that even my slow ass ran by them. We continued onward down along the river and then the pack had separated a bit at this point and Claim, CODU, CIO, Goldie, Just Ryan & I came upon a Clothing Swap check. CODU was thrilled at the prospect to exchange tops with me instead of a sweaty dude, but poor CODU had no idea that I sweat like a nasty ass pig at even the mention of the word humidity. I still feel bad about that.
Shortly after, trail did finally get off the pavement and onto the soccer fields where I think most of the pack suspected we would be nearing the BS, but alas, ‘twas not the case, as trail began to lead us into the now quite dark woods. Claim darted off, skipping and climbing like the little woodland creature that he becomes as soon as you even think the word shiggy.
I will be honest though, as soon as we were deep enough into these woods the strangeness of earlier in the evening began to settle around me once again, and CIO noted that this was a bit like Deliverance in the dark muggy woods, and I could have sworn I heard the quiet strums of dueling banjos begin to play off in the distance. Our trail then began to turn into a hill that became steeper and steeper, and at this point, I was pretty sure we were actually climbing the Appalachian Mountains. The nervousness spread like wild fire and what was the rest of the pack made a mad dash for the top and it was nothing but a mess of whistles and on-on’s and ew that’s a spider web coming from every which way in the dark.
It was absolutely exhausting, and just when I thought, what if trail was actually hijacked by those weird Appalachians that inspire the most fucked up of horror movies and we were actually being led to some run-down decrepit cabin to be raped, tortured and dismembered when all of a sudden there was a chorus of on-on’s – as in did we finally find the BS? No-no, just another BH on the eagle trail (there was a split??), and we were greeted with “Here! Have some warm beers!” as $5 and 59 handed us a warm BBC and some H3 (Big Black Cock & Horrible Hurricane High. Haha, just kidding, Bud Black Crown – it’s late and this is so amusing to me right now). So we wandered around for a bit on the trail at the top of the Appalachian Mountains when we realized that trail actually took us all back, wait for it, down down down all the way to fucking China. And we went down faster than a drunk harriette at Bungle and were greeted by an angry beaver with a stick up his ass. We brought the Beaver over the river and into the BS and decided that Goldie should be the FBI (the First Beaver In).
So down those beers and let’s get back to circle! And what a familiar trail back to circle – I think we ran this earlier in the evening.
Ending circle was amazing because the Hash Shit nominations were some of the best I’ve heard in awhile:
And just in case you thought that we had finally come to dénouement and we can finally finish this off and go to bed, I actually have just one more tale to tell and that is the significant runs because there were 2:
All in all another amazingly shitty trail.