For the one thousand fourteen hundred and sixth installment of THE Big Hump Hash House Harriers, the hoard went beyond the great barrier known as two-seventy for the second time in as many weeks to the town that no GPS voice can pronounce: Des Peres. The hares, LockNut and Headlights, felt a strong yearning deep in their loins to lay a shiggy-licious trail in honor of the latter’s progression through the aging process. The traditional ovoid formed up in a medical plaza of sorts across the highway from the mall with the dove. Here, legendary scholar R.A. and all around good dude GladHeAteHer initiated trail and called into the circle, you guessed it, a virgin. Someone tried to call in Dusty Box who hadn’t been hashing since the 70s or something, supposing that he was re-virginized due to his long absence but we all know that’s not possible because the hymen does not grow back, that’s just science. The actual virgin was Just Jimmy, hailing from out Californiway and was the provided tribute of one Just Kaylyn. Some random questions were asked, no one was really paying attention, Locknut did a down-down demonstration as is tradition, and Jimmy sauntered back into the ovoid. Glady proceeded to bless the hares and off they went towards the nearest thicket to lay trail, and probably each other.
Trail immediately barreled into the dense jungle following a whichy-way. Some noobs went up hill towards pavement on the whichy-way, but that’s just silly because LockNut is attracted to dense bush. The pack plunged deep into the thicket, eventually coming to a concrete spillway/run-off/whatever for a good distance. I don’t know why, but this little stretch of concrete was fascinating to me. It had broken in places and the stream was now moving underneath of it. Hydrology is amazing. Sometime right after or before this, there was a tunnel. A nice tunnel, too. It was not large enough for one to stand up, but it wasn’t so small that you had to crawl. It was also not filled with shit as is the norm in the city, so that was nice. This was basically the Holiday Inn of tunnels. Eventually, we came out into some new awful county landing-strip-for-white-flight housing development. Here the trail circled around on the pavement, but a few rolled the dice and continued through the shiggy eventually coming back on to trail. Back into the woods we plunged, and eventually came upon a non-concrete stream. This would eventually come toooo, a tunnel. This one was large enough that one could stand up, but was also full of water about knee deep. This tunnel was roomy, but messy and built for a wet and wild time. I’ll call this one the Motel 6 or Red Roof Inn of tunnels. Coming out the other side was a beer stop, which didn’t have any 40 ounces to commemorate a 40th birthday. #bummed What it did have was a biohazard…
The use of chemical weapons was banned as early as 1899 in the Hague Declaration and is codified in the Geneva Convention. Despite this, there have been many instances of the use of chemical weapons. Some notable examples are The Nazis during World War II, Saddam Hussein’s Ba’athist regime in the 1980s, and Dusty Box’s Dalmatian puppy in 2017. This dog produced a shit so heinous that it was sufficient to gag everyone within twenty feet of it. It would, borrowing the words of my oft poetic grandfather, sufficient to knock a buzzard off a shit wagon. That dog’s gastrointestinal track is a weapon, there’s really no other way to put it. But she’s just so gosh darned cute that she totally gets a pass.
At the beer stop was a check back taking the pack back through the tunnel: gratuitous double dipping. From there, the trail continued on through the thicket, following the stream, until eventually it came out behind an office of sorts. From there it was a pavement pounding affair until the beer stop. It is of note that pretty much the entire trail to this point was downhill, other than a small climb right before the beer stop. Sure enough, after the beer stop, it was all up-hill back to circle. So any race-ist that was lamenting about not getting a sufficient workout could now choke down a nice, long, gritty hill. When you go down, you must cum… back up.
Ending circle was slow to get underway as the hill did a pretty solid job of stringing the pack out. Eventually, everyone made it back and Glady finally got the show on the road, or so we thought. Turns out Psycho FillHer got turned around on the trail and was almost cursed to roam the Des Peres jungles for eternity. She eventually fought her way through vines, thickets, and maybe some wild animals and was auto-evac’d back to circle. The circle continued without regard for the impending kitchen closing time at the on-after. Just Kaylyn was questioned and many had hoped there would be a naming, but alas we were left wanting. Just Jimmy told a joke about fucking the dead; the kid has a future at the hash for sure! Hash Shit was a toss-up between the hares, Stink Palm for not getting a full coating of mud, and Dusty Box’s Dalmatian for crimes against humanity. The dog won, but couldn’t drink because she’s a pupper and doesn’t have thumbs to hold a plunger, so Dusty took it down. The pack dispersed as slowly as possible and some rushed to the on-after for much needed sustenance. Upon arrival, we were informed that the kitchen was closing in five minutes. LockNut, with some quick thinking, threw in an order for ten cheeseburgers and fries which ended up being the exact number needed. Fuckin’ a.