Hounds: Ate Something Shocking, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, Pee Pee Licker, No Blow Angel, Power Bottom Redding, Gooey Spinjob, Hummer Gay'mes, Anything Goes
Had the Cherokee Nation not dibbsed the title of "Trail of Tears" for their puny relocation stroll, that would have been the perfect name for Peep'n'Dick's trail. This trash writer does have to give props to the Dick for taking us through the lovely environs of Bel Aire, since it was a new location for all of us, but that's as far as the praise will go with this trash. Oh, wait, he did provide us with a watermelon.
So, to begin, the pack watched as the Dick poured flour from a 25 pound bag of flour into his hash bag, but he forgot that one can't buy beer before noon on Sundays, so we were greeted at the start with NO BEER. Gooey valiantly drove to get us the golden elixir. This oversight also meant that Peep'n couldn't pre-stash the one beer-near beforehand. So he took off with 20 pounds of flour in one hand and 15 pounds of beer in the other. Feeling sorry for the wanker, we gave him a good 15 minutes head (who said....?) start. Evidently, he was deathly afraid we'd snag him, so he set the record for the number of intersections on one trail. He also didn't think he had enough flour, so he threw plops that strongly resembled bird droppings. I will not dwell on the trauma that the scant marks inflicted on the pack, but just know that most of us are making emergency appointments with our shrinks this week.
Wait, if I don't talk about the shitty markings, I won't have anything to talk about. After an hour of searching for trail in the neighborhoods (perhaps a quarter of a mile), the trail led us to our first shiggy, a muddy soybean field. The marks just stopped. Another 20 minutes of searching passed, and then our Native American Sicilian, Hummer, located a tiny plop in the field, not in a logical trail-like fashion, but 20 yards to the east. The Dick's bi-polar tendencies emerged, with 4 or 5 plops of flour, one right after the other, and then a dearth of marks for at least the length of two football fields. Hummer continued her magic and located the virtually unmarked beer-near in a hedgerow of vicious sticker bushes/trees. Once hydrated, we continued on through the sticker hedge, over a barbed wire fence, through poison ivy, and then continued in the Dick's erratic fashion to the east. Have I mentioned bloody wounds and bee stings? Trail continued on to Woodlawn, but it was at this point that the pack started thinning out. Only 3 wankers were race-ist enough to finish this trail of torture, with the majority of us shortcutting back to the on-in.
Circle consisted mostly of beer being poured in the general vicinity of Peep'n'Dick's prostrate face. We only got to a flying dead-bug because Gooey made a false accusation and we had to start over. No worries, we had enough material to start over with the dead-bug process. All in all, it was a shitty trail and there was much rejoicing. On on!