Sunny, sticky, seductive, sweltering Swansea welcomed our humble hodgepodge of hashers as we gathered in the MetroLink parking lot, oblivious to the security devices placed surreptitiously around the premises. The hash rejoiced for the first time that evening at the return of the beautiful, talented, conveniently connected Red Meat Rocker. Perennially pleasant Pees Like A Princess polled participants in regards to some particularly precious lost property, “Have you seen my lucky shirt?” He implored. “I spent hours. Literally hours personalizing that shirt. Seriously. I really want it back. Did you take it? It's not funny anymore, guys.” The location of said shirt has yet to be determined. Authorities were contacted and a thorough investigation has commenced. Anyone providing information leading to the apprehension of this article of clothing will be entitled to a reward in the form of some sort of liquid refreshment. Circling up, Mellifluous Meta Arsehole led us in a unifying and uplifting prologue to what would be an adventurous evening. Singularly distracting, suspicious noises issued from the back of Cliff BangHer's Jeep, but eventually a radiant BamaMate emerged. Licka Good Neighbor's FRB status was honored, Ass Backwards led an ass backwards chalk talk, and Follow the Urine Trail solemnly warned the hash, “Errrswimin to breermal an fer.” The hares, Bama, Urine, and AB fled. I fled as well, hiding myself from view, crouched in abject terror as NumbBuns' hound paced around the parking lot like the warden from Cool Hand Luke, the dog with no eyes. Cute, cute Puss n Boobs *finally* showed up. On-Out!
Trail wound through farmland, country clubs, trailer parks, and buzzing city traffic. The hash traced and retraced it's steps at a particularly tricky check, until finally, Emergency Piece pointed to a familiar mark on the ground, “Um. BJ.” Cocks on trail caused a temporary commotion as Wee Willy Winky reenacted a famous scene from Rocky. We ran through a farm to a friendly Swanseanite's backyard, where we found beer and a glorious swimming pool. Whiney B*tch nearly refused to leave this paradise of a first beer stop, after blowing (haha) up his raft. Trail to the second beer stop led us through gorgeous mansions with sprawling lawns and ultimately to an upscale drinkery that luckily welcomed soggy patrons. Whiney teased harriettes and mortal female bargoers as well, as he stood, dripping wet, his flowing hair ruffled by the air current from a nearby fan. Sigh. Even more exciting was the discovery of Meta and Licka. Amongst the rejoicing, Meta incurred some sort of debt to Red Meat Rocker in petty wagering.
A typical AssBackwards/Urine/Bama trail, no
portion would be short or merciful. We trekked
for many more miles, until long after twilight we found ourselves at
the edge of a dense and formidable
wilderness, fraught with unspeakable danger -- thorns, carnivorous
vegetation, poisonous snakes, broken glass, and the entire musical
collection of Don Johnson. Suddenly, a sage appeared at the entrance
to the forest, pointing a long, crooked finger back from whence we
came. We heeded her warning and avoided certain death and
destruction, arriving finally at the On-In.
*Editors Note* Before the Police raided the well behaved circle. We had one of the longest and most difficult naming's in recent history. After several hours of questioning and much deliberating Just Chris was named Shiggy Shaggy
for reasons that none of us clearly remember. I had something to do
with his being dressed in head to toe in nothing but red.
We indulged in good, cheap food, cold beer, bar music, carousing, drunken revelry, general merry-making, and yes, I'm afraid dancing at Cutters, second home of Emergency Piece. Famous Anus graced us with his presence. We joined Sexorcist for the continuation of his birthday celebration, which shall last for a minimum of 2 weeks. We met a charmingly tipsy girl who, it seemed, wished for none of us to speak.
Me: “Um...yeah...we're a drinking group...”
Charming girl, as if in disbelief: “Shut UP!”
Me: “from St. Louis.”
Charming girl (louder and still skeptical): “SHUT UP!”
Me: “No really. That's where we're from.”
CliffBangHer: “If you're interested there's a website...”
Charming girl, now in earnest: “shut up.”
At any rate, all in all in was just another pavement pounding, chicken chasing, swimming pool invading, peace disturbing, police disrupted sh*tty trail.
Plot My G-Spot