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Wednesday 07/28/2010 #877

Disco's 21st Birthday Trail @ ???

Hash Trash:

(This week's trash writer will be played by first understudy Strap On Strap Off)

Alright, bitches. Read the shit out of this!

6:10 p.m. Dewey Sexual System picks me up for a night that we both hope is filled with sewer water, laughter, indoor beer stops, very short trails, minor nudity, lack of heat stroke, love, and various other hashinganigans. Dewey needs to make a beer run, at which she tells me I can stay in the car. 20 minutes later, while I'm cool and comfy in the AC breeze, I realize she's still in the beer-getting store. I start to worry.....is she injured? Has someone kidnapped her? Does she need 2 carts for all the beer? Or is it just the plethora of Wash U students and old rich people that are also getting beer at this hour that is holding her up? Just as I start to text her....she appears! With beer and ice! Whew! One trial out of the way, and for this one I didn't even break a sweat.

6:30 p.m. We pull up the St. Louis Marketplace/Strip Mall where all retail stores go to die, unless you cash checks, process drug tests, or patronize K-Mart.

A good hash crowd is already in place. Some are drinking beer (dumb) some are drinking water (smart) and some are drinking both (me).

I see Whiney Bitch. I say, "Whiney, why'd you take off after trail last week at Diggity Diggity and my hash? I was sure you'd have something to bitch about?" He responds, "I already told you, you wanted us to park in a Tow zone. And um, this hash is going to be larger than yours." Thanks, Whiney.

Then, out of I'm pretty sure nowhere, the hare of tonight's decent, Disco Ass, appears! He looks like he's dropped 30 lbs, has no stitch of clothing on him that is NOT ripped, and is bleeding from a couple of places.

That's when I decided I was going to walk. I'm way too old for that shit. Of course, when I recount what I've seen to Hummers Para Libre and Do My Butt, their reaction was, with giddy excitement, "Really? Oh, I HAVE to do the Rambo trail now!" AND STILL, they insist they are not related.

Disco re-emerges, with clean limbs and duct-taped shorts, to conduct chalk talk. There was like, 3 virgins. And 54 really loud hashers. So, that was pretty much a waste of time.

Apparently there was a Rambo trail and a Wimp trail. At first, I chose neither. After all, this is a free country. Unless you're from Mexico. So a small band of lowly walkers set out to try to decipher Disco's "map". Apparently there were 2 beer stops, and neither of them looked like you could shortcut to them.

So, as we walked to wherever it is we thought we were going to go (did I mention it's 293 degrees outside)?, we ran into some r*nners. I don't know if was the Rambos or the Wimps, but I thought, "hey, if I try to run, I'll get to the BS quicker." Which, while true, also means the likelihood of dropping dead is increased as well. Yahweh was on my side, and we got to Jody T's, a bar that had very fine and stimulating paintings in the bathrooms (see photos). I think I had a cup of ice water and then we were all out.

This time, I was wimping it. Actually, worse than wimping. Walking. After what seemed like 2943 miles, Purple Muffin Stuffin', Hummers (illegal alien) Para Libre and I found the beer halt. It was under a goddamned overpass. In a goddamned ditch. From our take, in the dark, the choice we had was to slide down the concrete on our ass (which really didn't seem like a good option), try to find out how the pack got there (again, not really much of an option), or just keep walking, preferably to circle.

Choosing Option C, we encountered Butt and her lovely Mister, Just Ron. Then we all walked. And walked. And walked. And I was soorta kinda leading the way as I soorta kinda live in the area. Only problem was I really didn't know if I was going in the right direction. And if we'd walked 3 miles in the wrong direction, I was pretty sure there was more than a hashshit in my future.

Just as I was about to admit defeat, there it was!!! Francis Slay Park! Thank God I actually looked at the map! Beer! I yelled to the others - "Glorious, glorious beer!!!" (and inside i yelled, "OMIGOD I'M SO HAPPY WE'RE NOT LOST")

So, after the beer and some lowering of our internal body temperatures, Garage A Trois and I decided to just head back to circle. On the way, however, we encountered a Hash Wash (see photos), at which Disco gave us all a nice clean spraying. Of Water, unfortunately for him.

Feeling actually more nasty and gross than before, we tramped back to circle. Or as I like to call it, Hashing's "second season."

Postage Tramp, as the omnipotent (sorry about that, dude) and egregiously tyrannical RA that he is, decided that he was finally going to do it - break the Guinness World Book of Records time for longest ending circle. Congratulations!

During circle.....um. People were called in and shit and somebody got hashshit. No, two people got it, and then like half the dude's pulled a "Rickster" (e.g. walked around shirtless), and then more people were called into circle, and there were some virgins, and zzzzzzzzzzz....what? Sorry, it's like 11 o'clock by now! Um. Swing Low, yeah. and then people went someplace to on-after but Orgy Cum Dumpster and I were so tired we just left.

I'm sure it was an awesome on-after tho. Maybe not as good as Mike Talayna's on-after a couple of weeks back, cause that may be in the running for on-after of the year, but I'm sure it was good.

So, all this I remember.

Yours in Gispert (and always keep an eye out for anything that may have an "H" "P" or "V" in it as its official medical term) --
Eff you and Fuck you,
Strap On Strap Off


Big Hump Hash House Harriers - St. Louis, Missouri - Established 1999