February 14, 2009 was a very busy day for many St. Louis hashers - some were sharing VD with their significant others, some were sharing VD with others who were significant enough, and still others decided to celebrate their VD by walking around in Soulard in the bitter cold and drinking heavily. Our hares, hasher gentleman I-Feel Tower and his lovely harriette, 2nd Cumming were kind enough to share their VD with us lowly half-minds. I-Feel was kind enough to invite us to pre-lube at Bar 101 before hitting trail. Turns out that was a blow job, as once we found the rear entrance (to the bar), we realized the bar wasn't even open. It's sad when you can't get rear entry even on Valentine's Day. So, those of us brave enough to battle the cold and wind and too cool to bow to the tyranny of the Hallmark-heeding masses (e.g. dateless) decided to pre-lube in the parking lot behind the bar. Numb Buns, I-Feel, Burning A$$hole and your faithful hash trasher were FRBs to the circle, followed shortly by 2nd Cumming, Aunt Flow, and Lucy. A few minutes later, off in the distance, we see Meta Arsehole and Ricky's Crab Shack zig-zagging towards circle. Apparently they had their own little pre-lube (for like, the prior 3 hours) several blocks away. Next, the group (especially the hares) was thrilled to welcome a virgin, Some Yung Gi, who hails from a kennel in Korea. They must really be lightweights in Korea, as she brought all the smallest drinking vessel I've ever seen. Finally, GladHeAteHer, Plot My G-Spot, Whiney Biatch, and Titmouse arrived to round out the pack. At chalk talk, the hares told us to expect a new mark on trail -- the cherry check. When you see the cherry drawn on the ground, the pack has to halt, and whomever was first to the check orders another hasher in the pack to share when/how/with whom he/she busted their cherry. Then the storyteller was rewarded with a cherry jello shot with cherries in it. I think they got those rascals from the Farmer's Market. By the way, for those of you who don't know how to read --- cherries = rascals. Most everyone told their story -- some were funny, some were poignant, some were scary, and most of them were flat out lies. No matter, we all got the alcohol anyway. Trail took us through the market, over the highway (where several of us greeted the drivers below with our bare a$$es), to the first BS. We all fellowshipped and drank, and publicly urinated. Then, we craniumed back on trail. Along the way we picked up latecummer Lock Nut Monster, who apparently ran from the end of the trail back. Or went to a bar and found us. Or something like that. We then hit the second BS -- the outdoor bar at Hammerstone's. We fellowshipped some more, drank a lot more, then GladHeAteHer forced me to do a down down of my hashshit because...well, I guess just because, and Ricky impressed us all with his discussion on Nicolai Tesla and how electricity has only one way to run or something or other because some bystander said he'd rather just walk to the next block to see boobs than run around the block 4 times in order to get us to show him ours. Never did quite understand all that. After the second BS, we craniumed back to the on-in. On the way your faithful (and shockingly, still quite sober) hash trasher was almost run down by a cargo van, while standing on the sidewalk. Luckily, the van stopped, because being hit by a van while sober and obeying pedestrian laws is totally not hash-like behavior. Back at circle, we sang some song, greeted our virgin, so entertained us to a rousing rendition of "Jack the Necrophiliac" complete with Rockette-style leg kicks, called some birthday wankers into circle, and finally, awarded hashshit. Since Titmouse and I both brought our previously-earned hashshits, we had two hashshit winners - Ricky's Crab Shack for spilling his beer at every single BS and for talking about electricity and 2nd Cumming for running out of cherry jello shots. We then all swang low and then went to the on-after, where we were accosted by people with horrible B.O. and no teeth, used restrooms that smelled like dead bodies, ate pizza, and watched Titmouse fall off her barstool. On on, Strap On Strap Off |
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Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net