First, we all pull up into a tow away zone. Then, like everyone else, I was thinking how rained on are we going to get. The drizzle did not stop the half-minds though.
the opening circle, it was clear that a number of infrequent hashers were
reappearing. That is the magic of the
Central Corridor. Namely, something in
Another re-emersion was Fuck Me Rudolph, probably associated with another unclenching. Postage thought he was going to have to run circle -- again. But, he ended up sucking up his divaness, and let the redheaded step-Diva roll.
Original Gay-Blade or Huggy Bear or... was in attendance with a beer hat that fit the mood, but may not have fit the muggy, muggy sweaty muggy-ness of what followed.
had a Wednesday virgin: Just Kate. We also had a visitor from
Somehow circle started, and it was dicey with Rudy being a born-again virgin RA. His volume was turned up, and folks were brought in. The hares were cranky because the trail had been adversely affected by the thunderstorms, but Rudy managed to get them to do chalk talk, bless them, photo em, and get them out.
Opening circle continued, and folks still filtered in, like Mother Teresa.
pack left assuming it was going to be the shortest trail ever (first beer stop
at the former Hipointe bar?), but the hares were actually not lying in that
there would be some running on trail.
With a great mix of checks, chickchecks, and check backs the pack stayed
together and filtered through the Demun strip, Concordia Lutheran Seminary
(they had the good sense to be inside at prayer, having a covered dish potluck,
or something), the carcass of Christian Brother before they fled to Chesterfield. The first beerstop ended up in respectable
Interesting, the talkers didn't make it to Oak Knoll. Fartfenugen, Lazy Ass, Witty, and PMS were left to there own devices. I do not know what they got up
to: Guesses might include scaring the locals, impersonating the cast of an ABC after-school special, added really special appendix to the sacred Kama Sutra, quietly strolling through the night like ninjas, or no damn good. Submit votes below.
got confused leaving the park (Thanks, Postage). The wandering back and forth across Clayton
let the hares speed away to the next beer stop.
Slipping through more of suburban Clayton, the hares led us across
our stide and mood, we lumbered along to the suave bachelor grotto that is our
Ho-hum's house (Long live the Sunday Hash and its benevolent religious
advisor). To continue the RA-as-diva
image, think Ho-hum as a part of the Kim Jong Il
The last dash -- two blocks...maybe -- led past Del Taco, but surprisingly no one was that wasted to stop. Yet... I found the Rudy-LockNut race to the end more racist than what Rudy said to the Chinese family in the alley moments before. Woot. Returning to the parking lot, there were no tow trucks, no po-po cars, and no thunderclouds. Big Hump's luck will not last.
Circle was great. Why are you still reading this? Get a job! I'm talking to
you: Dewey, PMS, Witty, Lucy (oops..). P.S. Well done, Fisty. Make up for the rest of us slackers. Um, what went on in circle. Rudy had started to sober up...no, I didn't say he was sober (Heaven forfend), just more sober than opening circle. More random people showed up and drank beer without paying:
Lots of money was lost from y'all -- ICHY, Hollateral...yeah. Dangerous cherries were brought out by the Wakasuckers. Birthdays, virigins, hares, visitors, red-wearing folk were brought in, plus other folks. Just Kate told a joke that showed how similar being an archaeologist and a hasher are.
were a bunch of insignificant run runners drank. Just Dave and his blonde bitch got a ten-run
band from OC 'I liked this rubbing thing a lot' D. And, your resident fossil got fleas from Bozo
and Dave-bitch -- oh, and a 50 run headband as well. Thanks, BWD.
[Aside: OCD! Eat it.
I beat you. ;-p That's what you
get for going to the
Back to everyday Lucy.] Fifty runs, and I still call myself a Sunday hasher.
Denial, denial, denial...
Hashshit should have gone to Whiney, who won hash shit last week for the shittiest, Mcshit, shit shitty trail he thought was passable, for not taking his hashshit on trail and then conveniently disappearing from circle. [Lucy should not drink coffee while writing. Just saying.] There were 5-10 people brought into circle for the honor of shitting-the-hash. This week, a virginal shitter (I was SHOCKED) was chosen: Disco Ass. His crime was peeing on Hummer's Hummer (presumably without paying). The moral of the story is that Hummers Para Libre, but you gotta pay to pee on her (or her automotive alter-ego). [Beer good; coffee evil.]
were mumbled, the Low was swung, the coolers were snatched away, and the
hashers were still nervous about tow trucks and po-po visits. And, much of the pack sauntered over to
This paragraph is a shout-out to Rudy for holding off the rain with his immense, powerful, articulate, well-organized, sympathetic, considerate and mystical powers. I was never expecting to get through the run without being rained on.
His reign last night was worthy, and Postage is his bitch. Y'all are both still divas.
At the on-after, Barn-Star skipped through the gritty, grimy parking lot with lovely views of gas stations and Fox 2. Not the pretty part of St. Loo-us. She was giddy because she was carded. The doorman who pumped-her-full-of...
channeled Rick's Crab Hut saying 'Damn, thought it was going to be a slow night'. What did he really mean? Please submit guesses below.
it was a million, billion, trillion kilometers from Clayton. Mirrors on the walls, glass on the bar, and
disco balls -- too many to count. It was
like that 'special room' in Disco Ass's house, according to Norman Bates. Thus, the
really didn't know
Submitted disrespectfully by Lucy
per the requisition request of Fuck Me Rudolph, esquire, Religious Advisor, Big
Hump Hash House Harriers, dated
On-on. If I missed something, add it below.