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Wednesday 05/11/2016 #1327

Cum on the Record & Puke Halt @ Fenton

Hash Trash:

This is the tale of the Big Humpís one thousand three hundred and twenty seventh trail. A trail that was planned by the highly organized and predictable hashers known as Cum On The Record and & Puke Halt. The pack was directed to meat up at Sky Zone Trampoline Park in Fenton, Missouri, because a facility explicitly designed to be a childrenís play zone is the absolute best place for hashers to congregate. Fake Bake Fuck, Beaner Weiner, and myself decided to pre-lube at the on-after. We knew the trail to come would be so awful that we needed to be drunk before we started. The hares decided to move the start location 30 minutes before the hash started, since they noticed an abandoned Pizza Hut nearby. So they are already on pace to set the most disorganized trail of the year, as expected. The Pack LOVES when you move the start location 30 minutes before. We believe most everyone figured out how to find us at the new location. If they didnít find us, well fuck them. Their loss.

Our newest GM, Claim to Flame, decided that I should be the RA for the evening. Side Note: I donít know what the hell I am doing, so I made up my mind right away that I was going to make Plot My G-Spot co-RA for the evening. The pack circled up as we stared at the sky, wondering when the inevitable down pour would start. The Hares gave chalk talk to our Visitor, HIV Positive, we took a grope shot, and off the hares went. The circle immediately dispersed and hashers talked amongst themselves. Apparently we were supposed to sing some more songs maybe and maybe I was supposed to try to find someone to write hash trash. But I donít know what the hell Iím doing so none of that happened and here I am writing the hash trash. 15 or so short minutes later, the pack gave chase.

About 10 yards into trail, ½ the pack followed trail off in one direction, and the other ½ of the pack followed trail, also, in a completely different direction. After much debate, like at least 1 full minute, one group decided that the academically challenged hares pre-layed the end of the trail all the way up to the damned circle. So they quickly joined the half of the pack that followed the trail the correct direction.

We immediately entered the woods. One of the pack was never to exit again and was destined to wander the Fenton Shiggy for the rest of his life, or for at least the next 4 hours. We came all too soon (a phrase the hares resemble) to a beer halt atop a cliff overlooking the highway. We looked over the highway, and what did we see, coming for to carry meÖ. wait, thatís not right. We looked over the highway and atop a cliff on the other side we saw the hares dropping their pants and showing us their tiny littleÖ. assholes. They were mooning us. What did this mean? Exactly. We would have to climb down this cliff we were already on and then climb up that other one. God dammit. And we did. We climbed hills, went under highways, and wandered perilously close to cliff edges where had one of us fallen, we would have surely splattered all over the highway. We ran around the woods for hours, uprooting trees and shrubs and flours. Eventually we stumbled into a beer stop next to some pond where so many fucking frogs live that were so fucking loud you couldnít even hear the person next to you talking. And that rain we expecting earlier? Here it comes. As if we didnít already trudge through enough mud. The hares were off from the beer stop and declared that they needed 5 minutes. The pack decided 30 seconds later that 30 seconds would be more than enough time for the hares and we all just ran straight back to the start.

Prior to circling back up we noticed that one of us had not yet returned. Lack Of Oxygen had never exited the woods. After some discussion, we determined that he was so important to us, that no had noticed that he had been missing since the first 10 minutes of trail when we had arrived to that first beer halt atop the cliff. It was now very dark, and raining. Conditions on that treacherous trail were only going to get worse. What else could we do besides convene circle and leave that dumb ass to figure it out by himself. Surely heís fine, right? Right. So circle we did. It was all in the wrong order and a bunch of it was left out because I donít know what the hell Iím doing, remember. A Pint of Lager was given to the hares for losing LOO. Down Downs were given for various crimes, songs were sung, and Just Andy won the Hash-Shit for havingÖ. dirty knees? Huh? I donít even know how this happened. Sounds like hash-like behavior to me. I have no idea how that won instead of Beaner Weiner for wearing a pair of shoes provided by TSA. Circle was short. And we swiftly Swung Low. Iíd like to say it was short because I was cognizant of the weather and being courteous to my fellow hashers, but really itís because I donít know what the hell Iím doing. Remember? Lock Nut Monster may have tried to give some direction to assist with circle and I may have told him to shut the fuck up because heís not in charge anymore and itís my gods damned circle. But that might not have actually happened. I was pretty liquored up by this point so the voices in my cranium might have just hoped that happened and played it out quietly for me and me alone.

Circle, however short it was, was NOT short enough for at least a few hashers to finally begin to show some concern for the still missing LOO. Search parties were organized. The hares took the arduous task of driving around to the 10 percent of trail that wasnít in the woods and that everyone else was 99 percent sure our lost companion never got anywhere near. A few other brave hashers - TSA, Aunt Flow, and Just Andy - decided to brave the rain and mud and search for him on the actual trail, where he was probably laying with a broken leg and his dog chewing it off to survive. To show our deep concern, the rest of us went to the On After to drink away our sorrows and watch the end of some hockey sport game that people seemed interested in. Many many minutes passed before our search parties returned, empty handed. It was at least 12 minutes. We showed our disappointment in their failure so some of them went home and some of them continued the search by looking in the bottom of their bottles of beer, and we were all content with this. Some more time had passed, and we pondered the fate of our missing hasher. Had he fallen off a cliff and splattered on the highway, as many of us came so close to doing earlier in the night? Was he laying in a shallow creek face down, like E.T. who starred in that movie, E.T. ? Maybe, by this point, he found his way back and just got in his car and left - one hasher posited. So someone went to see if his car was still where we had circled, and lo and behold, there he was. He was alive and well and his dog had just been sprayed by a skunk. Tomato juice was recommended, but I believe the next day the verdict on that was ďNow my dog smells like skunk and tomato juiceĒ. The End.


Frankie TDTPE


Circle Up:
Parking lot in front of Sky Zone, 631 Gravois Rd, Fenton, MO 63026

Beyond the great barrier known as Two-Seventy, the Great Shiggy waits for a human sacrifice. Expect lessons in topography, hydrology, and teamwork as your mind and body are tested.

What to bring:
Cranium light
Fancy socks
Change of clothes
Sense of adventure

There will be a walker trail. Main trail will not be dog friendly.

026 Biergarten, 515 Gravois Rd, Fenton, MO 63026

Big Hump Hash House Harriers - St. Louis, Missouri - Established 1999