Hounds: PPL, Gooch, NBA
Location: Artichoke - 6:00 p.m.
Hash Cash: $3.00
Where to begin, where to begin....if you thought that hashers act outrageously, you would be correct. One never knows what might happen at a hash. And unlike Las Vegas, what happens at the hash, gets published on Hash Trash, no holds barred, and much to the dismay of certain half-minds, no breasts bared. Except at the Artichoke.
The hard-core hashers of TAH3 were present at this event. The Artichoke was packed with small, green-tinged Irish people (too much beer?), who could not sit still and were swilling copious quantities of amber-colored liquids. We couldn't tell if it was beer, ale, porter, or piss. The music swelled (along with certain body parts) with the sounds of the Pogues, Mumford and Sons, and Lumineers, and all feet were flying. When Gooch got up to dance, the crowd thought it was Michael Flatley of Riverdance. One might have thought he was used to dancing scantily clad before crowds of admiring females, it was so effortless. It was at this point that the shirts came off (well, really, it was hot in there). But enough about that.
Trail, you might ask? Yes, there was. It was an epic trail, the stuff that legends are made of. Approximately 6 miles, and the shiggy was outrageous. If you thought Tequila Tony's alligator-infested-malaria-swamp trails were taxing, you ain't seen nothin' like this trail. Anus took us through all the habitats of which Wichita boasts. Ice? Pfstsht. Temperature? Below zero. Meth heads? Working ladies? Hopscotch? Check. Check. Check. The highlight of the trail, though, was the beer slushees and the chip crumbles from a used bag of chips he left us at the beer near.
It is unlikely that we will ever see so many TAH3 bare chests and/or breasts at a hash again, so if you missed it, well, you missed it. You suck. ONON.
Hash Trash - A recap of bygone hashes.