Run # 2055 The Bastille Day Hash<br/>
Weather: Hot 'N Humid<br/>
the Pack: OOzing, PG, WHO, WIPOS, Just Pat, Just the Tip, Basket, Hairy, Amish Ithead. and two visitors from Northboro: Cuntsinger and CumonIwannalaya ? or something like that. (Rusty will know.)<br/>
The Hare: Rusty the fuckin' clown<br/>
Hashit: Hairy Krishner<br/><br/>

Tonight, a valiant pack answered the call of the wild and found themselves ensnared in the bewildering, winding, well-maintained trails of Ryan Park in scenic North Kingstown. Our hare, Rusty; cunning, cruel, and possibly a chaos god in running shoes, treated us to a 1.3 mile masterpiece of confusion. With more checks than marks and more misdirection than a politician at a press conference, it quickly became clear: trail logic had left the building.<br/><br/>

But the true act of villainy? The beer check betrayal.<br/><br/>

As we stumbled sweat-soaked and spiritually broken to the promised land, our thirst reaching biblical levels, Rusty stood there...and watched. Not only did he refuse to help locate the beer but he deliberately sent three desperate hashers into the river on a false cooler hunt. Into. The. River. Like beer-seeking lemmings, we splashed, scoured, and sogged ourselves, only to return beerless and betrayed.<br/><br/>

Eventually, sweet salvation was found (not by his guidance, of course), and the beer proved sufficient to numb our legs, our confusion, and the emotional wounds left by our gaslighting guide.<br/><br/>

In short:<br/>
The trail was too tidy. The marks were madness.<br/>
Checks outnumbered clues 10 to 1.<br/>
The hare was a monster. The beer was cold.<br/>
And we'll follow Rusty again... but never trust him.<br/><br/>

I sold two hats and one pair of shiggy socks<br/>

~hairy