Four Score and seven hundred virgins ago, our forehashers brought forth on this hash the wisdom to tell other hashers how to get to the hash, so that they could hash. This tradition has passed. There could have been 50 of us gathered us in the parking lot of what appeared to be South County’s industrial Mecca. As it was, 44 hashers managed to decipher the encoded directions. There were virgins everywhere as we circled up for Eat a Bloody Bitch’s 4th annual Chicken Wing Hash. Who let this guy hare? After 4 years of this, he still apparently has no clue what half the trail makings mean.
Chalk talk was dull, and uninformative. Everyone at the hash is now dumber for having listened to it. Just Doug was announced as the default hashshit for something I can’t remember. And the Hare was off, and then we circled up again? What the f*ck? Didn’t we just do that? 15 minutes later the pack was off, over the river and through the woods, and through the woods and over the river, all the while pounding pavement right next to glorious shiggy of wooded streams that the hare clearly ignored. On in to more pavement in a neighborhood right next to all the trees and rivers and rocks and shiggy. Maybe we could have just done laps at a local high school track. At least one of the kindly habitants of the neighborhood gave us some free beer. He read about us! Yep, we’re celebrities now. No autographs please, I’d get carpal tunnel syndrome trying to write my name.
Eventually we found the beer stop which, according to the hare, was supposedly marked with pink chalk. Not one of us saw the markings, but we could smell the beer anyways. Or was that Bama. The beer stop reminded me of the good old days, drinking beer underneath the highway overpass. Blows apparently knew ahead of time where the beer stop would be, his name was painted on the billboard above for all the world to see. What good fortune we had to have a fragrant porta-potty right there at the beer stop. Some hashers elected to brave the stench. Some elected to pee in the bushes anyways. It’s more fun to pee where everyone can see you. Beer we drank… then… wtf? We’re circling up again? What kind of dog and pony show are we trying to put on for all these virgins? After listening to the Cardinals take yet another whipping, we were on-out, in search of the end of our trail. It was right up the road, at least the hare got something right.
We all made it to the end to circle up YET AGAIN to sing songs and drink our down-downs. This circle would prove to be quite an event. This was the kind of circle that makes you regret ever missing a hash. Apparently Whiney Bitch, Just Anthony, and/or Just Jeff were FRB’s. Although I don’t know in which order or where they were first to. I’ll never know this information, as I am not interested in anything racist. Just Jeff, however, just drank for some serious racist comments in circle. I don’t recall DFL’s or if anyone even took notice of them. It’s hard when 10 people all show up to the beer stop just as the rest of the pack is ready to take off again. We had 6 virgins at this hash. Unbelievable, because 7 virgins from last week all returned for this week. So we called the virgins into the circle. First was Just Marie (Meathead), who told us a short joke. But the joke is on Meathead, as rumor has it this was his first date with newly met Just Marie. What were you thinking Meathead? I’m guessing this is the last date, too. Then we got another joke and a song, and a virgin too damn lazy to even stand up in the circle. Then came Just Mitchell (Just Mike M). He showed us the ‘brain’ he probably thinks with, pulling out a handful of testicles. For anyone looking for some party entertainment, I think he can make balloon animals out his genitals as well. After that was Just Tanya, who regaled us with a knock knock joke which lead to Just Sara (Just Mitchell) providing us with the Holy Grail of virgin entertainment. Knock Knock. Who’s there? Emmerson. Emmerson who? EMMERSON BIG OL’ TITTIES! TITS OUT FOR THE BOYS, TITS OUT FOR THE BOYS! And they were. And they were glorious. Thank God for beer and all the inhibitions it removes. And then there was much rejoicing. If you missed this, it sucks to be you. The rest of the circle didn’t really matter. How could it? Halley’s Comet got his 25 run headband, Pees Like a Princess got his 10 run band…. Eat a Bloody Bitch got the hash-shit for his lame ass directions, well deservedly. The hash went in piece, we can only hope the hash got a piece.
On over to Buffalo Wild Wings, where we ate and drank, and were merry. Some us more so than others. Bama Mate was reprimanded by the bar staff about her excessively loud vulgarity. What the hell was that all about? Some people just have way too much desire to be all up in someone else’s business. I thought we were at a bar. It was 10:30 at night and there were no children to be found. We were also treated to a rare sighting of the beast known scientifically as Slutimus Maximus So-Coficus. Or as you and I say, The South County Tramp. This specimen can only be identified when sitting on a bar stool, from the rear, by it’s tell-tale triangle patch of the thong, riding high above the denim waist line. Bama elected to let the beast know of this thong. She knows Bama! She knows! It’s her mating call to drunk rednecks everywhere! We ate and drank… and drank…. and drank…. and so concluded run number 564 of the Big-Hump Hash House Harriers of the St. Louis Metro Area.ON-ON!!!!!