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Wednesday 05/26/2004 #393

Open @ Webster Groves

Hash Trash:

With Tornado warning sirens blowing and rain pounding down, the hash circled up. Postage tried to explain trail, but the dots thrown down during chalk talk didn't last long. Nor did the hash's patience after the hares took off. So off after them we sloshed.

After a few minutes the rain slacked off and the umbrellas were put away. Trail wound through a parking garage and an apartment complex before halting at a chick check. Pornogenic checked straight ahead continuing long after all marks had disappeared. Flossit and Psycho Bitch climbed the hill finding an eagle/turkey split. The eagle trail was strightforward except for the part that took FeFe and Pyscho Bitch back across the highway. Just as the hashers were starting to say "We need a beer stop," a beerda stop emerged.

There wasn't a lot of beer, but my favorite was the grape beer and the lemon-lime beer. St. Augie's Boy discovered wonderful toys in the mens room - one of those automatic hand washers. We didn't ask what he used it for. There was enough beer, rain, and mud to convince Madam Yuk, St. Augie's Boy, and Norman Bates to strip down for some mud splashing and sliding. MudPacker was particularly noticably absent during the mud wrestling. Then the beer stop was over and it was time to get back to the trail.

Trail led from the beer stop towards the highway. PMS went to check trail - not finding flour or any chalk outlines of Postage's body, she concluded that trail did not go that way. The telltale tp markings by a drainage ditch led the rest of us into a cesspool. Did Postage want us to go under the highway? After some grumping we decided to form our own trail back to the start. We hopped the fence and promptly found trail.

Trail led right back to the beer stop, although not quite direct even for Flossit who got lost within sight of circle. St. Augie's Boy was quite a hit during circle offering sweets and chocolate to one and all. Throw in some stockings and you might have soemthing. Iron Lung surveyed the whole group from her chair like a queen. Or at least until Postage asked her to join us in our drinking. Like major surgery is any kind of excuse. A barefoot Psycho Bitch sang a Hashing song. Postage offered her his flip flops which she promptly resized to her own feet. Mudpacker picked up the Hashit for his beerda stop.

All in all it was just another shitty trail.

Waldo's Pimp



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