Run # 1400 – Monday, January 28th 2013
Start: Burrillville Middle School
Hare: Basket – Theme: Kilts in honor of Robbie Burns
Weather: A light snow, 28 degrees, followed by freezing rain - perfect
Pack of 9: Oozie, Rusty, WHO, FloBanger, SheMailMan, AssQuack, Crabby, Donkey Punch, & Crotch Tiger
Hash Shit: Mc Crabby Clan
Not sure why I even bother writing this shit, since Basket just files it away in his LTBW basket, eh Mc Basket laddie, ir ya gittin me drivt Jimmy?

T’was a night of terrible accents and crap music from the RIH3 Ensemble, we met in the parking lot at the Burrillville Middle School where a few inches of snow covered the lot. As a result, we opted to park in a distant corner for fear of having our ca’s pushed around by the plow driver.

Basket had pre-set the route with white flour right before the latest snow fall, making trail absolutely invisible to the naked eye. She MaleMan headed in the general direction indicated by the hare and the rest of us followed like hashers to the whorehouse. He was swiftly followed by Crabby and Flo as Ass Quack waddled about. Down the side of the school we went and out into the abyss of an unmarked forest covered in white snow.

WHO knows where everything is and was, he went straight to the beer check, alas he was wrong and so was Crotchy. Perhaps a fine example of why one shouldn’t follow a WHO. Meanwhile SheMale was sniffing out footsteps and using them to guide him when he could, FLO and Donkey were convinced trail would head south as cries of “where is the f ing beer” were made all the while echoing through the land. Beer, as it turns out was a long way off and so too was the “W” check.

A little bit of bushwhacking finally got us to a point where we felt comfortable enough to sing, drink and read a little from Donkey’s Robbie Burns book. This was followed by major bushwhacking back to Chez DogMeat where a shadow was seen running from the back door. Cries of “WHO goes there” went unanswered; Basket’s mother came out of the house shouting “WHO was that”.

We circled up, poured the usual paraffin on the fire and stood about drinking great beer and singing songs. The snow continued to pile up on us, so we finally retired indoors to gorge ourselves on the haggis supper (nice job Amish and Oozie). AssQuack was seen to have at least 6.9 helpings and Crabby performed some type of American Football Gators War Dance, we all ignored it as best we could. Basket started producing all sorts of musical instruments from closets and under floorboards – the pack tried to perform magic but the sound was sad to the extent that we all said we would be back for more next year.