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Hash Trash #1804: Best trail of the year!

Headline: Best trail of the year!

Sub-headline: right up until an angry landowner called GFD and we did religion with no fire

Hares: Falsetbro, Fern Merkin, and Bimbo T. Baggins

Box: Channel 10 (like all the way to the radio tower)

On-home: almost a circle jerk, but just off on one of the side roads

Trail summary: I wish Tampon were here (wow, yeah, weird to say right?) because he was a KGB hare in such deep cover that he didn't even know it. He took Bimbo, her brother, and me to Upper Sigua a few weeks ago not knowing that he was actually on our scout. That's how we figured out that the road to the radio towers had been re-done and you can actually drive all the way up (2/3 of the pack didn't get this, despite Back Splash's urgings as the beer truck driver, and they walked 1/2 a mile to the box). After the hike slash scout, Bimbo and I looked at each other and were like, that's pretty much the trail right? right.

We hares thought we put the box in the exact right spot where no one could see us scrambling up by the radio towers and coming back down to the road, crossing it, and then heading to our on-home spot. We were almost right. Mere feet away from the on-home I was spotted from the box by Chili Chili, who was so excited he just blurted it out to everyone. This led to plenty of chaos in the ensuing minutes. Chili got to the on-home first, but I had already written out the on-home and run # and drank my beer. I told him where trail was then he went on his merry way. Then came a pack with FaceJam, Rebar, Tramp, Slurpee and maybe someone else. They also saw me and were disappointed. Some left, but Tramp, Rebar, and Slurpee were looking for my co-hares. This led them to look in a direction nowhere near trail. After about 3 minutes of searching in the wrong direction, they gave up and came back to the on-home. At this point, despite doing none of trail, Tramp decided that the trail wasn't done, because, let's be honest, once you get that scent of shorts you don't want to give up. This led to some back and forth that i'll spare the readers from. It culminated in Tramp recruiting 2 mindless drones (Rebar and Slurpee) to assist in the "shoot the hare now, ask questions later" approach to shorts taking.

From my perch on the top of a slight slope, with the high ground and a sense of disappointment that Rebar was not swayed by my compelling Bros before Hoes argument, we 4 got to some wrassling. I tried to cut the head off the snake by going directly for Tramp and shoving grass into her face ("THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED TRAMP! YOU BROUGHT THIS ON YOURSELF!!") while Slurpee and Rebar tore each leg of my shorts off. At the end of the session, I employed the classic "shoe wedgie" technique wherein you grab with two fingers the last laces of your assailant's shoe (furthest away from the knot) and pull as hard as you can. This allows you a grip so firm on them that it can be then used to pull your assailants (in this case Tamp and Rebar, one with each hand) off a ledge and down onto the dirt. As the person who just got shorts-raped, you get some small comfort in this until Tramp says from the ground, "eeeee, I don't think my ankle was supposed to bend that way." The badass that she is, she did no-nos on trail for a while, and thankfully the doctor said nothing is broken, just bruised. Still, a sign from the hash gods?

As for my co-hares, Bimbo gave up her shorts to Bushmaster. Fern Merkin outlasted all of the fliers and finally came out about 35 minutes after box broke. She strolled into the on-home while I held onto Bushmaster, who hated every second of male on female touching. Once Drip Lip got in there was some more arguments of whether a huge arrow way down the road plus a few extremely hidden marks on the road counted as a full trail (note: these marks were seen by Tyrant and Raped by Pigs). The hash gods weren't helpful because though there was no fire to burn the shorts, Chili kept insisting to keep a small fire going in an old goldfish box, so eventually they got singed. Call it a push. Wanker was tired of all of this back and forth so he instituted a trial by gravity, and i'll be honest, right up until that can of BudLight hit the ground, I thought I'd win.

As noted, 95% of religion was fire-less because the mean lady from down the road called GFD on us. No way she could have seen the fire, she just knows we're hashers and she likes to be a bitch to us. Instead of moving religion, Tyrant kept us put but did allow clutching because all of us wimps get cold on a chili night on Guam. There were a number of visiting and transferring hashers. From Okinawa came Just Steph and Peanut Butter Jelly and a Big Fat Dick, which might be the best name I've heard in a while. Boobs from both of them. Another guy was from Warshington and seemed like a cool old guy. Then we had a transferrer from Germany (he's military though). He had a great new song for us. Tyrant and I both received hand-carved wooden dick ashtrays (his was like 3x as big as mine) from a returning hasher. Bushmaster brought Weetabix for Tyrant to torture the youngins on the Family Hash and gave me some chalk squirt gun of sorts that will seemingly be useful for the next event run.

So, to sum up, despite physical injury, controversy, and no fire, everyone still had a good time. That's why we're us.

Honor to our truck drivers, Back Splash and her visiting sister, and honor to my co-hares at BuffHouse!

On-on to the 1805, where they will definitely have a top 2 trail of 2017.


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

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