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Hash Trash #1802: no one quite died

Hares: Mary Pissmiss, Rip Van Wanker, Sawbones Box: Baza Gardens Sewage Treatment plant On-home: Togcha Cemetery Another week, another shit plant. But I had some high hopes when the map went up, because we were heading south, where there were actual rivers, even if they were full of shit. And with three veteran hares, good terrain, and some rainy weather, there were some good odds that we were going to see some blasting waterfalls. And extremely low odds, if I'd been bookmaking on this sort of thing, that I would lose my shorts. But speaking of full of shit, Mary Pissmiss was left by himself as a hare, as Rip took Tyrant Airlines a little further afield for Xmas, as did Sawbones. So Pissmiss' plan was to call out Bambi, the perfect holiday-time replacement hare. But Bambi's lymph nodes had swollen to the point where it looked like he had tucked an apple between his left cheek and gum, so he failed to show up to the box. Which led Pissmiss to calling me out at the box and making me a hare, a generous favor I will no doubt repay some day. The river was deafeningly loud, as trail led down into the Togcha, turning up the tributary to hit some steep falls. The swirling currents caused big problems for many of the hounds, as Just Olivia had fallen into one whirlpool and was just about to make peace with dying, before realizing that there were options other than that, i.e. living, and swam her way out. Tyrant named her Piece of Dumb Ass, which shortens nicely to PODA. PODA wasn't the only one with drowning issues, as Trampoline had some treacherous trail give way and dump her in a swirling tide - as she convinced Just Daniel to give her a hand, she neglected to tell him to brace himself or hang on to something, so she pulled him right in with her instead. Both were then rescued by Just Travis, who apparently has more of an engineering background than those two. Bloody Cycle also got in the wash, scratching up his ass so much that he had to show his wounds to everyone and anyone that he met for the next 48 hours. One guy wearing a snowman costume came out looking like shredded spaghetti. Going up the falls was too much for some, given the volume of water and near-death experiences, causing some to turn around. Others, like Gecko, knew to rely on their fellow hashers to help them. For instance, using Eat Shit and Die's face as a step ladder to help herself up the falls. Communication was difficult given how loud the river was, so when FNGs Just Jeff and Just Yoshio went past the check to take them out of the river, they weren't entirely sure what was being yelled at them from behind. But they plowed ahead, up a large waterfall, and then out into someone's backyard. Lost, alone, and clueless, they asked to use a phone at a nearby apartment, and tried to find out where they were. After that didn't work so well, they headed out on the road, and somehow one of the first vehicles to pass them was Slimius Maximus' truck, saving them (and the hares) from a night of wandering about lost. Meanwhile, Pissmiss and I are putting flour down, and I'm noticing a distinct lack of checks. "Hey Pissmiss, aren't they going to catch up to us if we don't have any checks?" "No Minstrel, they're at least a half hour behind us." We get to the new airstrip off Cross Island Rd., and I'm looking over my shoulder every 50 ft., expecting to see the front runners any second. Pissmiss takes his time, chatting, stopping on Cross Island Rd. to talk to some of the hounds who had gone back and were chariot riding to the on-home. And right as we get to the foot of the cemetery, I look back and there's Fuckin ReBar, at full sprint about 100 ft behind us. Unfortunately, the beer wagon was down by the ocean, and that's not where Pissmiss planned his on-home. Pissmiss starts to sprint north along a jeep trail that takes us far past where the beer is, far past where beer truck driver Two Buck Whore starts to stroll up with a couple of cans to help us out, only to get them snatched away by Fuckin ReBar. So now we're fairly far away from the beer, with a hound or two or three in between us. I think, maybe I can get past FRB and get Two Buck's attention fast enough to get a beer in me, and then I can come back and save Pissmiss. And I was half right. So coming back along the jeep trail, there's now FRB plus Dirtnapper, both of whom are on the opposite side of the Athlete-----Mathlete spectrum from where I am. So I try the ol' bend down and pretend to be wiped out shtick, since Pissmiss made sure we weren't doing anything more strenuous than a light jog back on trail, and get a good jump past them, but unfortunately, not on the jeep trail. So I'm jumping stumps and ducking branches with Dirtnapper on my heels, while FRB keeps to the jeep trail to keep me hedged in. The whole time I'm yelling for Two Buck, but the crashing of ocean waves ensures my voice doesn't travel more than 50 ft. or so. I get a large shrub in between me and Dirtnapper, thinking I'm pretty much boned at this point, not knowing that FRB had started puking from exertion, and missed my tiny window of escape. After FRB recovered and started the pincer, I tried to bull rush in the shallow water through Dirtnapper, which is a lot like watching a bear-bating if the bear is unchained and there is only one sickly dog. I struggled for a few minutes, but lost my shorts, and got up to see Pissmiss walking back down the jeep trail with Tampon, who he had somehow convinced that he had already been caught and his shorts had been taken, despite the fact that he was still wearing them. So Pissmiss won Christmas, and the rest of us ate shit. And nearly died. -MM

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