#1222

Trail #1222
Hare:  Cuddle Puncher
Hounds:  Amanta, Anything Goes, Boathouse Pussy, Gooey Spinjob, Hummer Gay'mes, NBA, Puff, Trashy, nnDanial, nnDenise,  nnKen, nnMatt, nnMatthew, nnRobin, nnSamantha, nnTambra

Cuddle Puncher picked one of the most scenic parts of DooDah to set trail through.  We met at the Tropics "Lounge" on north Broadway, where the employees and patrons seemed to be highly entertained by our antics.  (At least we weren't accused of being satanic as we were at Casey's a couple of weeks ago.)  In addition to the magnificent scenery of the area , we were also treated to the pungent aromas of dead cow carcasses from the rendering plants.  (Our hasher friends who are Cargill employees say that that smell is the smell of money, but I'm thinking that money is not worth it at that cost.)  

Starting off, Cuddle thought he'd take us on a roundabout tour of the residential area behind the Tropics, complete with a loose pitbull, which was not nearly as scary as a kamikaze kid on a bicycle who tried to play chicken with us on the street.

We finally found trail leading across Broadway to the railroad tracks.  Small note:  We are proud to point out that, due to a worldwide flour shortage, Cuddle conserved on his use of flour plops.  He is just that conservation-minded.  The downside was that it took extensive searching of chigger-infested shiggy before we found trail hidden by the tracks across the damn street.  Once we found the very few marks leading to the abandoned grain elevators, we were delighted to discover the beer near stashed on top of a boxcar.  Our joy was soon diminished (unlike our sweat) once we discovered that carnivorous flying insects found us irresistible.  So our thirst-quenching respite was short-lived since we pretty much all like to keep our blood inside our bodies.  Trail took off to the north where we found an intersection on 29th Street.  I will not mention the true trail that was falsely marked by a no-name who will not be identified, leading toward a YBF, taking the FRBs on a wild goose chase.  The DFLs were quietly chuckling and pleased that we weren't stupid enough to be racists like the FRBs.

Trail took us back to the Tropics.  It was a relatively short trail, but this was a positive thing since it was such hideously hot and humid weather.  Back at the Tropics, we circled up on the smokers' patio, which I'm sure endeared us to that population.  Despite the fact that Dipstick has abandoned the pack so he and LSD can lie around on the beaches of Panama as well as drain the world supply of beer, the kennel carried on.  Cuddle Puncher stepped in and conducted the RA duties, after NBA screwed up the beginning accusations.  Our substitute RA managed to carry on Dip's tradition of falsely accusing innocent hashers of heinous offenses and we were able to enjoy several deadbugs.  Puff, of course, ditched the circle early, knowing that deadbugs were in his future.  Songs were sung, accusations were flung, beverages were consumed, and there was much rejoicing.  On on!

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