You know, I just realized I offered to write the trash. Shit.
So, here she goes.
A small group of the most dedicated hashers* descended for the umpteenth or so time to Edwardsville, IL's famous historical landmark, The Watershed, for a trail that promised a night of mud, blood, sweat, and beers. Although I was advised on the way to trail that I would be "too hot" running with my new Cuddlduds (aka long johns) under yoga pants and a shirt and a sweatshirt, I was pleased to find that it had cooled to just slighty warmer than a witch's tit once we arrived at the sand volleyball field/playground/port-o-potty/parking lot/apparently good place to get a blow job at 10:30 at night**/swamp location for circle.
We circled up, brought our lone virgin, Just Tim***, into circle for chalk talk, which was more a flour talk, as the hares used all their chalk already, and the hares were away. Then we drank some more beer. And then we were on-out.
First mark to throw us off was an early whichy-way, with which we easily dispensed. And by "we", of course I mean FiddleHer/White Kenyan/Long-Legged Motherfucker/Munchkin Laugher-atter**** and his identical twin brother who was born 5 years prior and their dog.
Then, into the weeds we were, both figuratively and literally. If you didn't have a flashlight at this point, you were, oh, how do you say? -- fucked*****.
We were definitely in the shiggy, which sometimes contained water and most of the time smelled of animal feces. And sometimes, we saw flour or toilet paper. Other times, we had to ask God****** in His infinite wisdom to lead us on the most righteous path - the path out of this bullshit and into a warm place that serves alcohol. Because in heaven, there is no beer. That's why we drink it here.*******
At one point Lock Nut told me to go to the light, so I went to the light. The porch light of some house somewhere. That wasn't the light he meant, apparently. He meant a stop light. Course, when giving someone direction to a stop light, it always helps to add the "stop" before the "light" so that the listener knows it's a stop light they are looking for, and not just any light, so they aren't 1/4 mile in shiggy and have thorns in their crack trying to get to some random light that could be a mirage for all they know at that point. Just sayin'.
First BS was at Cleo's. Gladdy made sure to load the jukebox so I couldn't hear anything good. Certainly not the best band ever, R.E.M.********
Just Mike leaned over to me and asked, "I guess this is the BS where we need the knife?" "HA!" I replied. "No, this is the BS where we need the ID. The next BS is where we will need the knife." He's new still, bless his heart.
We all drank some beer, then I went over to talk to Dewey and her posse (ha--see you have a posse too Dew-eeee), and they tried to protect me from falling down or getting smacked by the front door. Sweet kids, especially the one that sings for !!!*********
Then, off we were to the 2nd BS, which normally is about a half mile or so from the first. Normally. This trail, however, it was more a labyrinth**********. And I was the little metal ball. The drunk, tired, sweaty little metal ball. Hell, at this point we were all little metal balls. Ha, I said balls.
2nd BS was outdoors. And then we had to slide down a hill to get back to circle. Help Me brought Just Mon and Just Berry, and Just Berry got a little spooked at the thought of going down a hill with no slope. So, he kinda just planted his wittle paws in the mud. So, I had to dog whisper to him. Didn't really work. Then, we just yanked his bully ass forward, and he ended up dragging me down the rest of the hill.
I didn't really care at that point.
Then we got back to circle, but I wasn't at circle because I was off looking for some of our comrades that we had unfortunately left behind. But I'm sure it was a fine circle.
And then we swung low and went to Big Daddy's for Cougar Night, but all I saw there was young guys thinking they were going to meet cougars. Total sausagefest.
This marks the beginning of cold-weather hashing, which I love. I cut my hash teeth in the cold, and to me, cold-weather hashing is really what hashing is all about - not just running, and not just drinking, and not just drinking and running. And if you brave the cold this year, you'll see what I mean. As the days grow shorter and the weather grows colder -- dressing warm, having flashlights, and most importantly, looking after your fellow hashers on trail -- is definitely hash-like behavior.***********
* Because frankly, you're not a real hasher unless you hash year-round.
** As personally witnessed along the wetlands trail while looking for lost hashers.
***Technically he was a virgin at Hash Bash, but he hadn't had a proper hash introduction.
****'Cause the fool called me a munchkin just because I can duck under his armpit while standing to grab a pitcher of beer.
*****Pitch fucking black, motherfuckers.
******Or any higher power of your choosing.
*******My favorite hash song, my least favorite being the factually inaccurate "When the End of the Month Rolls Around"
********I stand by this, bottle of wine or no.
*********Cause Just Corey looks like Nic Offer from !!!.
**********Not to be confused with the motion picture of the same name starring David Bowie and a young Jennifer Connelly.
***********Just wanted to throw that out there.
All the best to you and yours and on-on to RED DRESS!!!!
Strap On (clap clap) Strap Off