Junkies, arsonists, murderers, and worst of all,
Baptists. The Hash
collected a motley and vulgar crew this week, as is
its inclination.
Even Hops from the oldest Hash in the U.S., Prelay
(the Black Aryan), and two fools whose names involve
Boner Comes and Saipan joined us. We congregated
at Sukišs (known for its dance floor, oddly placed
horizontal mirrors,
and, likely, for any number of misdeeds in the nearby
Travelodge), where Just Kristie/Christie/Crispy and
Just Michelle/Boobalicious-in-a-tank-top showed up all
glam, ready to kick wanker ass in painful-looking
strappy sandals, ŗjust to say hey˛. So hot right now.

The hares led us over terrain and highways that
induced a number of
idiots like me to hum a few bars of Rocky, for which
at least I paid dearly.
God damn these sweet tits for saving me from drinking
beer. But you know, I swear, if I catch Sweet
Fuckyoucracker at the Hash in the near future after
all wešve done to get the fuck rid of him, therešs
gonna be no saving him from a Rocky-style rumble. Get
the hell out of my country, asshole.
Anyway, along the way, our taste for liquor was sated
by Facialšs
generous installations of jell-o shots (the purple
stuff tasted suspiciously like foot fungus, which made
us appreciate the hideous orange stuff that much more)
and I Blowšs boilermakers and Grolsch mini keg.

Our checks were not limited to sousification, either.
We gleefully met
with both a boob AND dick check. Boob Nazi kindly hid
her disgust when Just Gwynne did her duty for the
wankers assembled around the boob check, and Snyphilis
let it all hang out just for me. One of the myriad
Just Jeffs disgraced himself by suggesting that there
was no need for Hairy Krotchna to show her tits after
witnessing someone elsešs rack. Just Jeff, you need
all
the tits you can get. Jesus.

Our fun on the treacherous, new dirt trail was nearly
stifled by the
misfortune of an ambitious Just Tyler, whose crossing
and subsequent
falling-off of a bridge-under-construction resulted in
a five-foot drop
and
thunderous smack to his backside that kept him on ice
all the way
through Religion. Well, until we dubbed him with the
inspired Hash name Mary Lou Rectum for fucking up a
perfectly good balancing act. Next time youšll be
punished for such rotten scores with a good dousing
from one of the stray
kerosene cans found on this weekšs trail.

Now for shout-outs to the disgraced: Backsliders
Barely Manbelow, Slips in Sideways, and some chick
claiming bicycle addiction were perfectly
uninteresting to welcome back, so we didnšt so much
welcome them as harass them. As it should be. Fuck
you very much. Virgins Jen, Jen, Jeremy, Brian, and
Micah were unremarkable until one of the Just Jens
complained about not being asked to show her ass.
Gosh, girl, would we stop you on purpose? Come back
any time and take off your clothes. Every fuckwit who
ran Hood to Coast was brought forward to face the
shame of the R-thing.
This included Head First, Magic Merkinride, AWOL, I
Blow, and Facial,
to name a few. Hang your heads. History was rewritten
when transplant Paddlephile was crucified in place of
Jesus Christ for being a
shithead; if youšre a goddamned transplant, say so.
Donšt feign virginity or tourism.
Youšll confuse the other half-witted idiots in the
crowd and win
yourself a Hash Shit. Lastly, letšs try to go a week
without trying to name Just Gwynne. I promise, shešll
royally fuck up sometime.

To our esteemed Grand Master, Bee Fuck, and Grand
Mattress, PBS: good on ya
for organizing a group so despised by the management
and patrons of
Sukišs.
AWOL brought it to our collective attention that we
are the most
fucked-up, obnoxious, and debaucherous group
some-guy-at-Sukišs has ever seen.
Laud them, praise them, sell your body and give them
the proceeds! PS Hot shirt,
PBS. Everyone should have an asshole nestled close to
her tits.