Way out west, there were these fellas. Fellas I wanna tell you about. Fellas by the name of Sara and Colin. At least those were the handles their loving parents gave them. But they never had much use for it themselves. This Sara and Colin called themselves Dewey and Gladdy. Now, Dewey and Gladdy, those are names no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about Dewey and Gladdy that didn’t make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where they hared, like-wise. But then again, maybe that’s why I found the trail so darned interesting.

They call Olivette the center of it all. I didn’t find it to be that exactly, but I’ll allow as there are some decent highway connections there. Of course, I can’t say I seen Ladue, and I never been to Frontenac, and I ain’t never seen no Ray bringing beer as the fellas say. But I’ll tell you what, after seeing Olivette and this here hash trash I’m about to unfold, well, I guess I seen something every bit as stupefying as you’d see in any of those other places, and in chalk talk, too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feelin’ like Gispert gypped me.

Now this story I’m about to unfold took place back last night, long after our conflict with Sa’dam and the I-rackies. I only mention it cause sometimes there’s hashers, I won’t say heroes, cause what’re heroes, but sometimes there’s hashers, and I’m talking about Dewey and Gladdy here, sometimes there’re hashers who, well, they’re the hashers for their time and place, they fit right in there, and that’s Gladdy and Dewey, in Olivette. And even if they’re lazy hares, and Dewey and Gladdy were certainly that, quite possibly the laziest in the St. Louis Metropolitan area, because one of them is from Ill-i-noise and the other is from the city, so I can’t just say county, because that’s a thing here, anyway, which would place them high in the runnin’ for laziest hares worldwide, but sometime there’re hashers, sometimes… there’re hashers… Well, I lost my train of thought here, but.. aw hell, I done introduced them enough.

See, these here hashers set a trail, in honor of another, another they called The Dude. They called the trail the Lebowski Hash, which is the The Dude’s given name. Jeffrey Lebowski. Lebowski, The Dude, was a bowler and in his memory, the trail started around abouts Olivette Lanes. Hashers came a tumblin’ in from all around the area. Some of them came dressed like associates of The Dude or characters from a tail about’em. There were a couple Sa’dams, the Jesus, a couple dressed like The Dude himself, and The Jesus. The hares were dressed as Maud, ex flame of another Lebowski, and Smokey, who was a nice enough guy with fragile feelin’s, who may or may not have went over the foul line in a league game. There was a bit of deliberation, some explainin’ about what was a’coming our way, and then the hares were on their way. The pack followed soon after, keepin’ their eyes peeled for an angry German woman, who was probably one of those Nihilists.   

The trail was straight forward enough, winding through a neighborhood and eventually going down into a drainage canal for a length stretch. About a third of the way through the canal portion, there was a beer stop in a sewer outlet. Disco alleged that he defecated in the tunnel, although no downstream hashers reported his detritus. Trail came out of the canal farther down and into some decent shaggy considering the location. Once out of the stretch of shiggy, trail went into a business park of sorts and then back into Warson Park with the constantly repeating tunes of Toto and The Who, which turned out to be coming from the STL Rock School that was having band practice. The fuzz eventually showed up to scurry us off and trail headed directly back to circle and somehow Tased got lost.

Back at a wind-beaten circle, Quarter Pound Me lead trail at his typical half speed cadence, meaning it would take the better part of an hour. It took so long that a hungry hasher was forced to cook dinner over a camp stove in the back of a car just to survive. Hash shit went to Disco for his phantom poop and the hash swung low and moved on to the bowling alley where the party really got into full swing. Vomit Comet showed off his sultry bowling moves and Locknut, in full Jesus costume, rolled his rock to victory. The early closing at 11:00 saw the pack slamming beers at a quick clip, and eventually this scribe retired to his abode. The seventh annual Lebowski hash was a great success.

~Record