It seems that you can take the running from Meth but you can't take Meth from the running trail.

Last hash I found myself with the realization that the hares hate us. I'm half convinced that the way they set trail was Strap-on just held on to TSA's back, dropping flour, while she was on her morning run. Never have I seen a trail with so much criss-crossing, backtracking, and excessive mileage that wasn't set by me. But this isn't about me, this is about last hash. A true shitshow that was set off when Dusty decided to ride up the bike path on his shiny bicycle. One day I'd like to own a bike like his; with its four doors, 172 hp 2.0 L turbo engine, all-wheel drive, 9-speed automatic transmission, all-weather tires, and two-star safety rating. But alas, me a poor. Wanting to share Dusty's enthusiasm for bikes we all decided to hold circle entirely across that same bike path. Because you know, fuck bikes. So blah, blah, blah. Walkers away! I had a Fatliner shoo me into taking advantage of the 5 minute head start. After limping the first 100 yards I decided to share with the walkers my sixth sense ability of seeing dead trail on my way in. No one believed me. No one ever believes me. So, off I fucked. Bee-lining to 39th and magnolia (And past the walker-runner split. Because you know, fuck me.) I became the Front Walking Bastard with a comfy lead. And what did I find? A check. Now since I'm a nice guy I decided to find the two blowjobs, you're welcome. While waddling back from the second BJ I was graced with the passing of the runners. I have never felt less alive with my 20 minute/mile pace. A pace, at least, that allowed me to see runners running back-and-forth on Flora and every alley in between. So I stumbled a Pythagorean theorem past all that shit until the runners decided to catch up. (Some may think that it was a shitty trail if a walker is able to shamble past the runners more than thrice, some may think that I was being smarter than the hares. I like to think both are true.) At this point I was able to share my trail treasure collapsing chairs with Vomit. He seemed like he needed more shit in his life. Again, I'm a nice guy. Some miles later my teeter-tottering had gained the attention of Disco, who was now determined to follow my drunken tortoise approach. So while the runners continued to yo-yo along the trail we staggered past the harrow that they all missed. Almost all, apparently Whiny saw it but decided to follow the wisdom of the masses. Never before have the runners preferred a spot of cum so bad. Again more blah, blah, blah. Beer Stop! Luckily, here we had plenty of both cold beers and drunk walkers gloating about HoW sHoRt tHe TrAiL wAs. Thank you, walkers, for sharing the disappointment with your decision to take the walker trail. Now I don't remember how long we stayed at the beer stop but I know that it was long enough for me to steal one of TSA's good beers and have no one believe me when I pointed out the International Space Station in the night's sky. Still no one ever believes me. Well I then crawled the second half of the trail which wasn't very memorable and at the closing circle we announced who the new scapegoats for the year will be. Other than my overestimation of a collapsing chair's ability to catch my fall and a PG-rated burlesque show from the virgins nothing more happened worth mentioning. Also I'm exceeding my word limit on this free version of Microsoft Word. So that's it. Don't expect more hash trash from me. Bye-Bye, now.