Hash Trash #1808: Escape from the Walkie-Talkies
Hares: Beandad, I'm On A Goat, The Long One
Box: In front of Wanker's house
On-Home: Beach near Jeff's Pirate's Cove
I guess we needed a testosterone break between the Mankini Run and the Bro Run, which are apparently fighting for dominance of the Strapping Young Men demographic. (And really, who wouldn't want to dominate strapping young men? Amirite ladies?) Anyway, our trusty, rusty, aged hares stepped in to prevent the young bucks from loading up on too much testosterone.
The run started off strong when I'm On A Goat ran off setting marks, only to run right back through the box to get to her pickup truck. Cue Benny Hill music. Unlike Beandad, I'm On A Goat was not given a special chariot-riding dispensation on her 90th birthday, so the hounds swarmed her truck like a bunch of fast-moving zombies. But as we surrounded the terrified Canadian, we realized that (a) none of us are desperate enough to break a car window for shorts, and (b) none of us have any patience. So the hare snare dissolved as quickly as it had formed.
The run itself was pretty boring, except that I was still recovering from my battle wounds *cough* thanks Falsetbro *cough* and was forced to join the walkie-talkie crowd, which was actually really nice. I'd forgotten how much I like talking hahahahahahahahahaha no that's a lie of course I didn't forget that. Also apparently Tyrant was having the worst day of his life. First he cut up his head trying to catch a hare [insert hare/hair pun here]. Then he fell into a gaping huge...muddy hole. And finally, he passed me, frantically screaming about how he couldn't stand being stuck with the walkie-talkies and wanted to run, but couldn't find any of the marks which were right in front of him. Basically our Tyrant surprised absolutely no one by having a nervous breakdown.
Religion began with a whole lot of backsliders, the triumphant return of our favorite ginger, Vaj of Despair (aka Sideboob), and one girl who was oddly excited to see her identical twin topless. (Side note: I find this even weirder than regular incest, because she basically has the exact same parts herself.) We also said goodbye to Piece of Dumb Ass, who was gifted a custom Happi Coat embroidered with the names of all the people she gave herpes, or something. Torrential rain started pouring during her shoe-down, as if trying to drown her one last time. Happy travels, PODA.
On On to the 1809, which is the Bro Run! Don't forget to bring an extra $14 for a brodaceous shirt (Popped collar polo? Macho gym tank? Ironic '80s crop top?). Also bring your strongest liver for the On On On at TFI's house. Also also bring a designated driver because there will be a lot of DUI checkpoints this weekend. You're welcome!
-Tramp Oline
What happens on the hash stays on the hash, except when it's written in the Hash Trash.