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Hash Trash #1785: Surprise! It's a Berserk!

Hares: Blowhole and Tampon

Box and On-Home: Entrance to Talofofo Falls

Trail Summary:

Boy, this trail was a dud. I honestly can't remember the early parts because it was so long. I have a vague memory of some cool stuff in the first five miles--a latte site, some pretty river, a bunch of unexploded ordinances. It seemed like we were on target for a high caliber hash. And then everything blew up in our faces.

As we ran along we found a "NO HASHERS" sign up put up by an angry landowner, which gives you an idea of how this trail would go. Those of us who were dumb enough to take the Eagle Trail were treated to the sound of gunshots. A short time later we heard a voice booming across the valley: "GET THE HELL OUT! YOU'RE TRESPASSING! I'LL SHOOT YOU!" Turns Bambi and 2Beer had run into a hunter, and he was as pissed as you would expect him to be when 2Beer got in the way of his deer hunting.

Of course the shit didn't end there. After about 5 miles it started to get dark, with no potential on-home in sight. Marks turned off the nice jeep trails and then started to disappear. A group of us got stuck on a hill, trying to figure out where trail was, while Old Guy Paul wandered back and forth calling Are Yous down below. We caught up with Paul and the Eagle RRBs caught up with us, and we plunged back in for another couple miles of thick jungle, slippery river, and barely-present marks. We came across Tiny Dancer and another cluster of people, and finally came out at Mile 8 a little before 9:00.

Fuck. The. Hares. Tampon was actually excited because, in his words, this was the first time in years anyone had wanted to fuck him. He got the most action he's had in ages: Sleazy Rider and Erin the Side of Caution showed up to the box an hour late to find Tampon rustling in the grass, and he gave up his shorts all too easily, crying out, "Take me now!" Girls, I hope you washed your hands thoroughly after taking those shorts. Preferably with bleach.

Fortunately for the hares, most of the regular hashers were at home nursing hangovers and dealing with the fallout of Friday night's Beerlympics, and the rest of us were just too tired to form an angry mob. They got off relatively easy without so much as a sleeve of justice. Lame. The only good thing about this trail was the amount of ammunition I got for my bomb-themed write-up.

On on to the 1786, our annual Red Dress Run! Don't forget to bring $20 and wear an outfit that will blow us all away!


What happens on the hash, stays on the hash, except when it's written in the hash trash.

What happens on the hash, stays on the hash, except when it's written in the hash trash.

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