Hairy's Not-for Wedding Hangover Hash
Run #1636, July 17, 2017
Hare: Hairy and Company
Location: Division Street Sand Dunes, W. Greenwich, RI
Weather: Beautiful 69+ degrees and sunny until just before we finished this Ball Buster
Present: Dr. WHO, Basket, WIPOS, Rusty, Fecal Veneer, Just Kim, O'Bone'R, Amish Ithead, Wee Balls, OOzing, SheMaleMan, Ass Quack, Crabby, Y Shitoed, Just Pat, Crabby and Hutch, Butt Plug, DOB, Tird N'Beaver and Molly, Rainbow Dickless
The Hare promised a lot: Mystery Hares, Shiggy, Beer, Long Trail with Possible Death of Man and Beast, Bugs and A to B trail that you would not soon forget. He seemed to be too proud of himself and there was a lot of bragging going off before the 6-tirdy start. As I drove up, WIPOS was parked all by his lonesome about 1000 feet before the rest of the pack, alongside the sand dunes on Division Street. I'm not sure what he was doing, but he did seem to be enjoying himself, so I continued on to where the rest of the pack was parked. Crabby Shag was there with Hutch clutching her breast. WHO could blame him? DOB, here on the right coast for Fuwangii's wedding, was a surprise to see and as he had something white on is hands and upper lip, I'm sure he had something to do with what would transpire soon. Shemale was also reported to have a hand in this dirty deed, AND that is always an ominous sign. Fecal offered us some beer and we chatted about the impressive and fun weekend we had at FU's wedding. There was plenty of beer and food and too much Shemale Man's balls showing in the photos. (If anyone needs a copy of Photoshop to fix those, you can borrow my discs) Last to arrive was an old Newport H3'er Rainbow Dick. He said he decided to come out of the closet because the start was close to his house. ( Note to self: Don't set trail too close to this location...ever period).
Time arrived for the start and Hairy pointed us off in the directions of the dunes. I took a look back and saw OOzing walking in the opposite direction, and Shemale was not following the pack either. I thought for a moment that I'd either blow off the promised long trail and enjoy the beers I brought as an option, or at the very least head across the street in the opposite direction, as the Carr River and the promised shiggy would be found there. Unfortunately, I like the other lemmings, continued on a stupid circle jerk around the highest dunes and back to the cars. OOzing was already gone, as was Crabby and Hutch. The Hare pointed us across the street into the woods. It was more that a short distance of bushwhacking until we came across the first 'actual' trail, but unfortunately we went straight across it and back into the bushwhacking toward the river.
It was here that I found the business end of a hobby horse. Its head had been removed, possibly due to some cult ritual, as there is no good reason for this to be here. I was afraid to look too deeply into its bowels, as there was something growing there and it didn't smell too good. I thought it may make for a good Hashit, so I carried it on toward trail.
Eventually, all good things come to an end and so it was that our dry feet were about to embark on the Promised Land. The river was just off in the distance, as we encountered shoe sucking shiggy. Little by little, the depth of moisture was increasing and the viscosity of the mud became more lubricated. We were now, standing on the edge, looking across a lily pad field, where an occasional teepee of twigs was built to hold the toilet paper marking our way through the pit. The FRB's had disturbed the bottom just enough to allow bubbles of methane to surface, and as the occasional hole swallowed my foot, my nose became very close to those popping bubbles. I've smelled this before, but usually my own poop has a, somewhat, sweeter aroma and with the release of pressure in my lower abdomen it is quite pleasant...but I digress.
As I started in, following the trail of bubbles and rising smegma, I was tripping on the vines and whatever it was that grabbed my legs, into those holes up to my chest. The center of the field contained the main part of the river, where a steady stream kept the vegetation to a minimum. Here I did my best to give my horses arse an enema, but is was like shoveling shit against the tide, it just added more vile smelling and tasting (yes, unfortunately, one of those holes brought my nose and lips into to the shitty water, where I'm sure little crawling/swimming things were all too ready to invade my body) I looked back and saw O'Bone'R hesitating and then walking very carefully with her thighs tightly pressed together. I think she may have been worried about a fish spotting the string between her legs and thinking it a worm might, give her a little nibble. Can't blame them....but I digress, again.
Shemale and Hairy, being quite proud of their efforts to get us we so far, stood on the shore, taking photos, and calling us onward. The Whiskey Stop was found here, and Japanese Malt Whiskey was available to wash out the Brain Eating Amoeba found in these waters. It doesn't take much of a gulp infested pond scum to find yourself with less than the Half a Brain we tend to brag about in the Hash. Unfortunately, the amount of water to alcohol to cure the disease is 50%, so I had to give it a few good could gulps before feeling I had confidently rid myself of the organism. I don't know if it worked, because as we started out on trail again, I had this coughing, gagging, snotty mucus from deep in my lungs pull my stomach like I was going to vomit. I hate that feeling. I had been blowing the broken foot of the horsie like a bugle, and that, I'm sure, may have contributed to my distress.
I had worn an old pair of wet shoes that had a velcro strap to tie them on my feet. The velcro was now encrusted with the crap found in the bottom of that swill pond we just crossed, and they kept falling off my feet. I was, mostly, walking now as I'd be barefooted if I tried to run, and WHO and I just followed pack and marks along a very meandering trail. It was mostly dry, and the bugs were not too bad. I suppose we did smell a bit and that may have kept them away. Soon we came to a set of floppy bridges, followed but a grand, well built bridge spanning a stream. I didn't recognize the wooden structure at first, but stood in the running water to try and clean my shoes so they wouldn't be falling off my feet. WHO and I didn't stay very long, but left behind us WIPOS, O'Bone'R, Just Pat, OOzing and Hairy, as they cooled and cleaned themselves in the stream. Soon after, Hairy ran past us, and remarked about my very vocal complaints on the quality and length of the trail. It wasn't long before WHO and I could not hear any calls behind us and it seemed that darkness would be approaching, before this fucking long as trail would be over.
The trail continued uphill, downhill, getting ever so close to the water, and then uphill yet again. There were no calls behind us, so I kept calling on the DFL's filled with worry that they'd be out in the dark without a torch. Then someone would have to go out and save their sorry slow asses. Eventually, WHO and I could hear voices in front of us, and found the entire pack back at the bridge drinking beer. It turned out to be the Basket Memorial Bridge, the one that did in Amish's broken bone, and the very same bridge I cleaned my feet in the water 20 minutes previously. Evidently, Hairy, a bit upset about my complaining, hid in the bushes as WHO and I passed, and then changed the check to bring the DFL's to the beer stop. WHO and I were now the DFL and I'll tell you that did not stop me from complaining, even more than previously. Ya!
We were soon back on trail and going back from where we had been not very long ago. Molly was limping a bit from a torn pad, and was carried by the Tird until he got lazy. We found beer in the river on a large glacial erratic left by the glacier that carved this valley 10,000 years ago. Crabby and baby were here to greet us and we waded out to the rock and waiting beer. Crabby decided not to join us for good reasons, but O'BoneR hesitated for a bit as we taunted her with the beer. Again, she pressed her knees tightly together and waded into the smeggy water. The circle was formed as she climbed the rock and the Hares stood in the circle. Comments were mostly positive: too long, too wet, too smelly, WIPOS and Basket, no Bondo, Amish didn't break his leg again...yet, and others. WHO is his infinite wisdom, using Hash Math, found the average to be negative .69. The Hares drank and sang for their punishment. Backsliders were questions by Shemale and OOzing complained that it was getting dark and he still had to negotiate the river back in to the cars. Rainbow Dick was renamed Rainbow Dickless. I was given the Hashit for major complaining and carrying the horse's ass.
We worked our way down the rock, across the shiggy pit and back on trail to the cars, parked off and downhill from Rte 3 at exit 6. Here Crabby and Hairy's cars were found and drove us back to the start. I didn't want to sit on his seat and dirty it with my wet shorts, so I took them off. It wasn't till later that I discovered I had a sharting episode on trail and left a little stain there. We passed a few overachievers WHO were walking back, and soon we were all back at the cars. We drove over to Marks/Morks now known as The Woods Tavern and enjoyed a bite and beer before heading home.
Writing this trash the morning after, and finding my knees are not too painful, my vomit has stopped, mostly, the smell of the river has been thoroughly washed from my body, I think it was Shiggy Pit of the Year. That my point of view. If you don't like it, do your own write-up. Basket