Run # 1409: April Flo’s Day, Snake Den Park.
Start: Parking lot near Dame Farm
Weather: Windy and a tropical 32 F.
The Pack: PG, Donkey Punch, Pubic Housing, W.I.P.O.S., Ass Quack, Crabby Shag, She mail, Basket, & Butler.
Lost on trail: Oozing, WHO, W.I.P.O.S., Bondo & Bondo Pooch.
When I arrived at the On In, about the half the pack was already assembled. Crabby and I were underdressed for the weather. The rest of the pack had absolutely no sympathy for us. However, Ass Quack, not wanting to be left behind since Crabby had the keys, was wise enough to give her a hat and one of his jackets. It was very Hobo chic.
After most of the pack got done imbibing of the Bondo Brew (knowing full well the reaction it would create in their G.I. tracts in about 6.9 seconds after beginning to run), we all set out into the field. She-male was first to crash off into the thickets as usual, Crabby and I were less reckless and made sure there were actually marks to follow. After a bit Rusty passed me, remarking on my fabulous pink leggings.
Barely 69 yards into the trees there was a Beer Near mark. She-mail and Rusty bolted ahead in anticipation of a short trail and first dibs on the beer. Crabby was well ahead by this point with Ass Quack also somewhere off in the gloom. More of the pack caught up, there were several checks and such. At this point, I actually passed Rusty, earning another snarky remark.
Whatever, pink and orange totally go together.
Trail was pretty quiet. Clearly, BN had been an April Fool’s prank, and we were all a long, long way from beer.
Alone in the woods, as usual, I followed trail across a stream, up a hill, down a hill, through Narnia, and to the edge of Mirkwood until I finally spotted the Hare on trail surreptitiously trailing me. Damn the bright leggings.
Due to the beer-inspired over-eager speed that resulted in some well-deserved milling about looking for true-trail by the leaders, I finally caught up to the pack. However, now the Hare was skulking even further behind, so I hung back and noticed he had slipped off onto the trail that Crabby had just scouted as false. After a shout of “on-on” I followed he and Crabby down a hill and into the most photogenic early-spring-evening-field ever. Peepers were calling and the Hare looked rather pleased with himself to have ended up leading two Harriets away from the rest of the pack toward the beer. Then Donkey burst out of the woods, followed by Butler and Pubic.
We fanned out over the field looking for trail and beer, found both, including Buffalo Wings pretzels, which made Crabby extremely happy. Rusty and She-male arrived. She-male taunted Crabby, who commenced a game of kickitty-cunt, which she won.
Then, like a gorilla from the mist, Basket was seen, in the glooming among the tree-trunks, clearly NOT on trail, crashing toward us. It took him so long to find his way to the circle, we were able to mock him thoroughly, which continued when he couldn’t find the beer, even though it was in the center of the circle.
After much drinking of beer and derisive commentary on those missing on trail, WHO, W.I.P.O.S., Bondo, and Oozing, we finally ran out of beer waiting for them, and headed back into the brush towards the BN mark, which was a mere 69 steps from the beer check the whole time. Between the briars, the stream, and the mud, the scramble from the beer check to the “out” trail had the most shiggy of the entire hash.
Once we arrived back at the start, WHO and Oozing miraculously appeared. Apparently, WHO had decided that Flo’s trail was just not up to his exacting standards, so he and Oozing set out to find a better one, and walked all over the other side of the park. However, their trail didn’t have any beer on it, so clearly, WHO short-cut one time too many. Or he and Oozing just wanted a quiet place to spoon and play Doctor. Bondo had stayed behind and drank the Hare’s beer with the dog. At least, that was what he said.
We circled up, upon being found by the elder Wankers, but there was still no W.I.P.O.S. The Hare was given a rating of -6.9 and 9 “Fucks” from Bondo. There were no Virgins, 2 Timers, or Visitors. It was attempted to pin a “backslider” label on Butler, but he evaded it.
It was almost time for Swing Low, and there was still a missing hasher. Basket was really concerned about W.I.P.O.S. Rusty was present. Despite those two prime candidates, I had committed the even more egregious crime of wearing my pink leggings, and for said transgression was given Hashit. After the down-down, and being informed that I hadn’t sung the right song (at least I knew words to A SONG *ahem*), I was presented with the Douche-Bag, since the actual Hashit is still missing.
Then everyone dispersed for either the On After, wherever that was, or to go home to write research papers on medieval color theory. Guess WHO was so very lucky as to be the latter?