So we met in this parking lot on a road with no street signs somewhere near Carondelet Park. Nearby is this church called "St. Steven Protomartyr." Anybody know what a protomartyr is?
PC Porn and Flossit were the hares so we thought it'd be a walker-friendly trail. Whoo, were we wrong. Never trust a hare, or what another hasher says about a hare, or what you personally believe to be true about a particular hare.
We followed the trail around cemeteries and sidewalks. Sometimes we couldn't find the trail and so we just wandered around until we found some more, blocks away, maybe backwards, maybe forwards. The hares had special marks for us: forward yellow arrows and backwards purple arrows. These were explained during chalk talk so we couldn't complain too much.
There was a hash halt right near a sprinkler. That felt nice! It was super hot out. My little plaid skirt was part wool, and it was scratchy. I had to unzip it and let it dangle from my hip, revealing the bow on the side of my white thong. That got some stares.
Madam Yuk and EABB blew through the HH. (but Whiney Bitch stopped. Good for him.) After that we expected a beer stop around the corner, but it was not to be. The trail kept going and going and going until it was dark! Finally we spotted the hallowed glow of a Budweiser sign. As PMS and I are crossing the street, four females drive by with their windows down. The driver yells, "Nice clothes, bitch!" So PMS flipped her off and I flashed her. Ha! If she thought I was a prostitute, at least now she knows I give some of it for free.
We drank beer. After that, most of us headed straight back for the end, having had enough distance for two walking hashes already. Some runners tried to follow trail and eventually gave up.
Back at the on-in, Norman set out to reserve food at the on-after while Frankie shared his giant slushie with heat-stroked hashers. That burqa had to be hot, Pornogenic!
We tried to keep circle short in order to get to food, and because there were coppies driving around slowly. The RA failed to keep circle sufficiently short, or even moving, and he forgot 10-run cranium bands ("Oh, we have lots. No wait, we don't have any!"), and he did something else uncharacteristically dumb, so for the first time in his hashing career, Postage Tramp earned the Hash Shit. 'Course, it was just a plain old plunger, because SOME people don't remember to bring the hash shits back with them. Still, the beer always tastes best when it comes from a red rubber vessel.
Oh, and did I mention that PC Porn, as a hare, failed to dress up for his own theme? Duh! He was nominated for that. Meta was nominated for dressing as a Lutheran choir boy (he doesn't know what altar boys wear) and Frankie for going for beer and coming back with a slushie. And Whiney Bitch for looking like he's wearing a diaper.
The On-After was at the Bungalow. We liked them and they liked us. We were the most excitement that place has seen in a while. We all looked at Norman Bates's name scrawled in the men's bathroom. If it had been the women's we'd have been impressed. We ate chicken wings and greasy yummy hamburgers. We danced and played pool and generally caroused. Whiney Bitch, you are going to bring my collar back for lost property, aren't you? And my panties from the week before? Please?
-- trash by Witty (now don't you want to volunteer for scribe?)