It was a beautiful night to be outdoors last Wednesday, and luckily Emmeneger Park in Kirkwood was the perfect spot for a band of hashers to appreciate and promptly defile. The park is home to creeks, trails, fauna, trees, shrubs and flowers, which Norman Bates and birthday-boy Postage Tramp had us upend. The hares led us up a rocky hill then back down again. Luckily, before descending the picturesque heights, the hares made sure the pack was appropriately lubricated with a beer halt including—but not limited to—two delicious tall boys of Stag.
The beer stop was in a wooded area beside a stream, so naturally, when Rudy sat on a log to take a rest, Disco applied just enough pressure to break it and send Rudy into the drink. If only I ran a little faster, I could have seen it. Comedy’s all about timing, Disco.
It was emphasized that flashlights be used on trail, which I of course ignored. Thankfully, Lazy Ass provided me with a headlamp at the start, because the middle of the trail featured a tunnel which almost definitely gave Bend Over Granny PTSD and consequently need for a change-of-pants. We passed several turkey-eagle splits, all of which were turkeys for me since I like drinking just barely more than running. Despite his racist behavior at the beginning of the trail, Whiney complained of almost throwing up by the end—having had only two Chicago style hot dogs and a large amount of beer at the game beforehand—and left early.
After giving us a quick once-over, the park ranger decided we were harmless enough (little does he know…), so we relocated inside the park to hold circle removed from the hustle and bustle of the highway. GladHeAteHer ran a blessedly drunken circle, and hashers were called in for the usual and unusual. Songs were sung, and Postage and various others were called in for June birthdays—though Postage’s is in July (but that just means more down-downs, so who can complain). The circle culminated in a face-off (Face. Off.) between Peemis and Postage in which, as a special birthday treat, Postage was beaten (by a girl) by his significant other (Cold.). All contributed, and the plunger was down-downed.
Afterward, we retired to the Geyer Inn for more drinking, smoking, and various other debauched proceedings, supervised by DMB, Mr. Butt and Hummers, even though none of them had deigned it necessary to attend the actual hash. As far as I could tell, all were sated and left in good(enough) condition to arrive safely in their beds, where they dreamt of pints of lager and ill-advised hook-ups. All-in-all, another shitty hash experience.