WHERE’S WALDO’S DEJA’ VU TRAIL? Hashers circled up in Shaw Park. Most came clad with their underwear showing. Mother Mary Nipple had on a sexy thong number. Meta Arsehole's was most recently worn by a beached whale. Interestingly enough, Waldo’s Pimp, our hare for the evening, lacked said attire. After Duzzy Cum subtly reminded Waldo that he might want to use some flour during chalk talk, the flour laden hare was off.
Off the pack went thru metro link urban shiggy mud. We were in search of Waldo again. But this time, in the form of a baby. Gee, this trail looks vaguely familiar. Ah, there’s a baby up ahead. Whiney B*tch was thoroughly confused. That is the advantage of making it in time for chalk talk. Cross Dressing Guard cried out, “Are we there yet?” Through Wash U. and parking garages we go. Ah, what do we find? A BN but with a line thru it. Arghh! The inhumanity!!! But, it also says - KillKenny(s).
Unfortunately, Waldo couldn’t find it. So, they settled on Bandana’s. PMS arrived at Bandana’s and asked Waldo why they weren’t at KillKenny’s? When Waldo remarked, he couldn’t find it. PMS (Prompt Mapquest Solutions) informed him it was right next door. DOH!! Off the pack went, most of them zenning. On In. Where the hell are Postage Tramp and Madam Yuk? Duzzy to the rescue. He starts circle. DFL’s Postage and a bloody Yuk appear on the horizon. They stopped to help some young oriental couple carry some lovely used furniture from the curb to their place two blocks and two stories up. For all this, the happy couple presented them with two diet sodas. Arghh! The inhumanity!!!
Pornogenic made it abundantly clear to Postage in no uncertain terms that he was bringing hashers into circle for accusations Duzzy already brought them in for. A transplant from Korea, CandyMan, was welcomed to his first Big Hump Hash. He regaled us with a version of the foreskin tune rewritten by the S & M man. He’s going to fit in just fine. There was a baby stroller with a watermelon in circle. After smashing the melon in circle, Blows Like a Freight Train proceeded to pick up a piece and eat it. The possessed stroller then promptly sped off down the parking lot. PC Porn and Queen of the P*ssies drank for smelling clean. Very Un-hash like behavior. MMN proudly wrapped her mouth around the hashsh*t and blew. She nominated Waldo. Waldo it is. But wait, Just Jill would like to nominate Humptus Interuptus for repeatedly insisting that the beer stop would be in the Loop after nominations were closed. Into circle she goes. Ahh, aren’t you glad you got off work early to get to the hash?
Much to no one’s surprise, the hare changed the on-after. Hashers partook in massive quantities of beer and meat. Whipped In Cream and Anthrax Tampax graced us with their presence.
All and all, it was just another shitty “déjà vu” trail
Another one by Queenie(A long trail must be deserving of a long trash?)
Luckily for Waldo’s Pimp and all Hashers involved, the Party in the Park in Shaw Park was cancelled due to rain, because the start would have been nearly impossible to park near, except for Queenie, who walked from home.
A large contingent of funky underwear-on-the-outside folks showed up as well as less adventurous folks that either wore their underwear under their clothes or wore no underwear at all. Possibly, some people thought that running through Clayton, looking like a fool, was just begging for trouble or they were just lazy, partypoopers. Buy many others didn’t mind looking, well, foolish. (Insert Bob Dylan Lyrics Here.)
Waldo, with his green pillow case filled with baking ingredient, requested 15 minutes even though a lot of the trail was dead. Maybe it was because he was doing a reenactment of Chairman Mao’s Long March…but we had no idea at the time. Waldo’s Pimp with concern and consideration of the fragile environment decided to recycle a significant portion of last week’s trail. Though he used 40% of last Wednesday’s trail, it was only 22% of his trail. Get out your calculators and figure out how long Waldo’s trail was if Queenie’s trail was 4 miles.
Down the hill, under the bridge, through the tunnel into Clayshire, Checkback 9, back and up the muddy hill to the Metrolink construction, onto the old railroad right-of way, Checkback again, through the Executive Park in Clayton, Jesus waved to Enterprise and some prayed for Lizardo, across Brentwood, into another Clayton subdivision, checks, chick checks, school yard, cutting into another Clayton subdivision, just to cross Hanley and dash around the Moorlands, onto Wydown, straight away, straight away, a dot looking as though trail goes into the woods, so Queenie checks it out, silly rabbits, tricks are for hares, more Wydown, checks and expensive real estate, Sky has Just Jill check the checks for him. The beautiful parts of last weeks trail, the short cut through someone’s driveway to the trail, more massive houses, the entire pack goes the wrong way on a whichyway with no dots because the blind were leading and following, down the alleyway to Asbury, a right down the hill, past the wooden statue (that was at last weeks’ enduring Hash Halt), across the meadows, cross Big Bend and at last, Washington University. At this point you have got to be thinking, “Where the hell is the beer stop?” I know I was. Duffy’s was way down past Clayton road, behind the Esquire. The only bar close in Clayton was the one next to Imo’s and Strata and Crazy Bowls and Wraps on Forysth. The Rathskellar Bar on campus is not a place we would probably go. Jesus Christ, no, actually he was on the Turkey Trail. Jesus Christ, I hope he’s not going to the Loop. That’s just way too damn far. He can’t possibly be going to the Loop. That’s also what Humptus thought.
Yes, there was a Where’s Waldo couple with their baby directing people to go back for Turkey Trail and forward to where there were no dots, but there was an Eagle trail somewhere, if you could find it a half a mile away with nothing to get you there. The Turkey Trail was probably a lot of fun for all the pussies, but I wouldn’t know. Just Jill was getting pulled towards the weenie trail by Just Sky. I interrupted that sanity and applied some peer pressure, so Just Jill was on to the Eagle Trail. She will forever hate me for that, but I had no idea what I was doing at the time. The Eagle trail wound itself through Washington University Campus, a nice big a$$ circle jerk, into the parking garage, trail that went many directions without a check, across Forest Park Expressway/Metrolink construction, Madam Yuk was leading the way, panting. A surprising small number of hashers were on Eagle. I had no idea there were so many smart people in Big Hump. At this point, the thoughts were, “Damn. Maybe we are going to the Loop.” But no, Meta and I (was it Meta?), bringing up the rear, slowly followed the pack Westward. The Tennis court of Flynn school looked nice, but there was a tunnel somewhere nearby we needed to find after a lot of searching and we were back on the other side of the Metrolink construction on Westmoreland.
At this point, the pack meandered about, getting lost and Whiny finally finding the cut through the walkway and we were back on trail. Yuk and Postage decided to help spread the American spirit by helping an Asian couple nick some “large item pickup” stuff from the curb and carry a couch a couple blocks to their 2nd story apartment. After navigating the tight confines of their apartment and using engineering skills appropriately, they got the couch in and received a couple diet Cokes for their effort. After that they were totally screwed, so I’ll tell you about that friggin’ Beer Near. It was 150 yards from that pub on Forsyth that I was thinking about earlier. Thank God Humptus and Queenie were finally there, because Queenie’s legs were shot and he had lost about 3 gallons of water weight through perspiration. Humptus decided to make sure to run it all the way in, but when we got there, no Beer Stop. There was a nice little chalk sign, indicating we need to go to Kilkenny’s. Kilkenny’s???!!! That’s another mile! There was nothing to kick, and I don’t think I could have anyway. Trudge, trudge, trudge, a check, trudge, trudge, trudge, this is, appropriately, a long hash trash, Beer Very Near, the wafting smell of roasting coffee beans coming from Starbucks, Beer Stop at Bandanas. Yeah, it wasn’t at Kilkenny’s…I didn’t get it either. 3rd time’s a charm, I suppose.
Beer and water. Lots of both. People were thirsty. We took up the entire front part of the restaurant, and I am sure the patrons were glad we didn’t migrate back inside. We were sweaty and loud and whining about the trail, because it was friggin’ long. Yes, Queenie looked like he took a shower, hopped in a fountain and then took a swim, but his socks were actually soaked and his shoes went squish, squish, because he’s fat, out of shape, and sweats like a pig.
Waldo, getting the sense he was gonna get the crap kicked out of him, headed out to set the 2nd part of trail. More whining, sweating and drinking. On out! Almost the entire pack headed straight back to Shaw Park rather than following trail. I’m sure all the pussies liked it, but I wouldn’t know. Whiny and Queenie headed off on the 2nd part of trail. Whiny says, “you know, I sweat as much as you…you just have more surface area.” Flour dot, flour dot, lots of space, building construction shelter, huge gatherings of people outside Tejas, spilling into the street. Parties in the Park may have been canceled, but these people were still gonna go down to Clayton and get drunk. The FedEx drop off that Whiny likes to use, because it has a 9:30pm pick up, past Wild Oats, back across Ladue, hooking back into the back entrance of the park, past the Clayton Center, the lovely smell of “mulch” mountains, the ball fields with the lights shutting off on us as we ran up and back home. The pack was there. The Yuk’s dumpster-dive baby carriage was there and a watermelon was there.
There were latecomers abound. Sweaty Queenie walked home to take a shower, Postage was on trail, so Duzzy the savior stepped up to the plate and quelled the angry mob with his RA activities. Circle was on and it wouldn’t stop until the watermelon was smashed (and eaten), the baby stroller navigated itself past the cars, and Hash Sh!t went to the Chairman Waldo and his little Red Book. Swing Low got through one verse and the wounded stumbled to their cars.
Waldo was looking pretty cool when we were at OB Clark’s, making sure he got the waitress’ name (“Erin with an ‘E’”), not realizing he had vomit all down the side of his shirt…well, it looked like vomit.