Like Lewis and Clark and their faithful entourage thousands of years ago, the Big Hump gathered on a crisp Spring evening on the shores of the swollen Missouri, eager to impregnate the locals and explore more western expanses.
The multitudinous hares were ready as well and performed a rousing chalk talk: Diggity Diggity, Garage a Trois, Mother Abraham and Philippenis. A brief intro of the virgins, a few down downs awarded, customary late arrival by one Whiney T. Bitch, a guest appearance by Leatherballs and his stout canines, and the pack was away. Immediately, we encountered an Eagle trail that led to a nice wood down by the shore, but mysteriously disappeared much like the sobriety of Mr. Shot by a Whore on this fine evening.
The next portion of trail has consequently been documented and sent to hash archivists for review. Why, you naïve hasher are asking? As being the most concentrated stretch of chick checks since the legendary Shirley Temple threw down 57 in a row in a blind horny rage on the Wanchai H3 in ‘86. Fortunately this evening, Have Bob, her virgin and ICHY enabled some quick locating of the labyrinthian route.
After a Turkey/Eagle split, the eagles continued north, many more checks to solve. We finally arrived at a park, where I was later told held (I said Held!) the hidden bounty of a WN - Whiskey Near. But it was not to be located by the eagles, more on that in a bit. Struggling to locate trail markings with darkness fully enveloping the colony, the increasingly demoralized pack trudged along, a few opting for an impromptu beer stop. Yet a few hearty fellows continued, eventually encountering a cemetary and opted for an impromptu stop of their own. What ensued could only be described as sweet action that would make Jack the Necropheliac blush!
A beer stop was a welcome sight for those of the pack who happened to find it. The parking lot of the Ass Pro Shop brought back memories of a previous St. Chuck clusterfuck death march, and we were quick to point this out to the hare of that fiasco, Whiney, who had reached Defcon 4 level bitching at this point. After a short stroll back to A, circle was commenced and the mosquitos relieved the pack of all that damned excess blood.
The hares were punished for the shitty (9 miles on the Eagle? Sweet Moses!) trail. FRBs got in, DFLs continued to arrive well into the night, significants included Lazy Ass, Witty Bitty Carrot Committee and Dewey Sexual System – all at 120 runs. Have Bob showed the pack what happens when new boots are sported, virgins Just Aaron, Have Bob’s virgin (apologies for my forgetfulness!) joked and stripped, and finally Just Jeff. I am not sure if Just Jeff was taking up the hares offer to dress the part of a hillbilly St. Charles County redneck or if that’s his everyday uniform, I’m thinking the latter. Be that as it may, Just Jeff was the one of the only ones to locate and enjoy the aforementioned Whiskey Near and because of his stylish choice of pantaloons was instantly immortalized with the moniker ‘Jort Daniels’. Congratulations are in order!
Hash shit was narrowly awarded to Mr. Bitch for his Defcon 5 performance tonight, even though the late cumming and ever sumptuous Hymen Hunter gave him a run for his rubles.
No doubt, this was an historically shitty trail.