You could call this a joint run with Great Falls, I suppose. More than 80 hashers made it to the start on time, sipping, gulping, and belching the fine Old Brogue ale being served kegside in the back of Drinks On Me, Bud's truck. 'If you don't start in the morning, then you can't drink all day!' Happily, No Class & I arrived just as the hares started setting up. You gotta love hares that have a keg at the start!
Hashers started pouring in before the foam started to subside. With such a prodigious gathering, and seeing a keg in the back of DOM,B's truck, you could have conceivably thought you were at White House, except:
- nobody was smoking cigarettes
- nobody was whining about having to run outdoors
- everyone was at least 18 years of age
- the nearest Metro stop was 20 miles away
- no band.
Hard Drive approached hare Fly The Friendly Thighs with some words of advice:
HD: "With all this snow on the ground, be sure to place marks on trees and poles so the pack can see them."
FTFT: "Oh, we ALREADY DID THAT PART THIS MORNING!"
My goodness, what is this hash coming to?!? Maybe I'll just defect to the White House now, and save myself a lot of aggravation. Then again, I'd have to get more serious about my running, so maybe it's not worth it after all.
When pressed, the hares acknowledged that there would be a beer stop on trail. What they neglected to mention was that to get there, you'd need three day's rations, map, and compass!
Poop Deck and Burnt Sox dragged the demure Buddha into the Father Abraham-- and wonder of wonders, Buddha had the hashit with him! Many believed we would never see our sacred hashit again...
The trail was a mixture of cold air, bad markings, bright sun reflecting off the snow, and a cohesive pack bound together by collective confusion and mass hysteria. My primary tactic was to keep former/current Marines & Army types in sight at all times. If necessary, they could always help us find our way back to civilization. The weather was much better than predicted since the wind wasn't nearly the fierce gale I originally expected. The FRBs had a devil of a time with BTs, due in no small part to the extensive pre-lay performed by the hares.
One noteworthy segment of the trail led up one steep slope, and then down another on the other side. One Great Falls hasher ahead of me simply dropped his butt down onto the snow and gracefully glided down to the bottom. "Hey, that looks pretty cool," thought I, and I proceeded in a like manner-- not quite so gracefully, though. "Hey Steamer, you could have left US some snow!" was the cry I heard behind me. Looking back up, there was a trail of bare earth I had snowplowed! Oh well, if you don't like the view from the back, start running faster than Steamer!
Fortunately I reached the beer check before sundown. Wilburrr was basking in the glow of certainty that he had fucked the FRBs once more. "Heidi [Cunning Runt]and Mike [Dr Jekyll] were totally pissed off at me!" he uttered with glee. I guess he used their nerd names because he figured he had nothing left to lose!
A single mile separated us from the On In, but it seemed like another three before we stripped off my soggy, steaming clothes and partook of victuals. Three cheers for DOM,B's efforts on the food, brew, and hospitality! The fire was a particularly nice touch, and Burnt Sox managed to keep his wet thing(s) out of it.
The habs had sweats to distribute, and the Old Brogue was a ball of confusion for the next several hours.
The Circle
Anniversaries: Blank Check (269), Slick Slit (200), Poop Deck (169), Red Snapper (165), Cunning Runt (155), Spread Sheets (115), Sweet Cheeks (69), In The End (15), Julie Pearl (5)
Virgins: Sue Silverstein, Kevin Hart, Jeff Conner, Bob Borsato, Kristin Motley, Deliverance, Cum Shot, Fox Catalina, Dr Feelgood, and Mrs Felt Him
Returners: Drinks On Me, Bud, Grave Robber, Cheryl Smith, Beer Nuts, Sticky Buns
Namings: Thaddeus received 'Glad He Ate Her'; and Crack Man kept his moniker
Violations: The Hares, for multiple unspecified violations, were richly rewarded with down-downs for their efforts.
Hard Drive: Hogging The Fire With His Ample Booty
Late Sign In: Burnt Sox, Marilyn Drucker
The Hashit
Buddha lost the hashit, but luckily it was found by Mismanagement and returned at the cost of a down-down. He uttered: "You can't scare Buddha with a down-down, just like you can't scare a whore with a dick." Ah, pure poetry!
The vote for Hashit was overwhelming and unanimous: Wilburrr did the honors once more! The debate over the hashit's age raged on into this winter afternoon. As the crowd began to thin, it became obvious that the Old Brogue is a comfortable place to partake of beverage. Let's do it again real soon!
My Work Here Is Done.