Hounds: NBA, Tina, Cuddle Puncher, Hummer Gay'mes, Cumbag Shitpants, Poopy the Fruitdick Slayer, nnNeil, nnKevin, nnMichelle, nnMike
(P Team’s note: PBR requested that trash for his trail be described as “epic” and include the phrase “trail of the year,” but unless “epic” is used in phrases like “epically bad” and “shitty to an epic degree,” and unless “trail of the year” is used in “shittiest trail of the year,” this trash writer will pass.)
For his inaugural solo hare, PBR introduced us to Dusti’s Restaurant, right at the intersection of MacArthur and Way-The-Fuck-Out-There. Swayed by their bright colors and low, low prices, Cuddles purchased a round of Jell-O shots, causing a plethora of painful college blackouts, er, memories to float back to the group.
After an odd chalk talk where Hummer humiliated herself by knowing the correct number of degrees in a circle, the YMCA poster boy and newfound racist took off at lightening speed, glancing over his shoulder just once to warn the hounds of unprecedented levels of shiggy. The three virgins quaked in their shoes, fearful of what lay ahead.
PBR kept his word for the first half of trail. The hounds thrashed through thorny brush, fumbled through forests, dipped down ravines, and slogged across streams in efforts to find the Golden Nectar. After miles of shiggy, the forest spat the hounds, (now covered in scrapes, bruises, blood, and, in at least one case, poison ivy) out into a field where trail disappeared.
Never should the hounds have feared, though, for a silent fox emerged from the suburbs like a spirit animal and guided the thirsty pack to the Beer Near.
The second part of trail was so shitty, it really doesn’t deserve its own trash paragraph. After a terribly confusing YBF (not in chalk talk), trail was lost. Two virgins, nnMichelle and nnKevin, took off through a field, found trail, and failed to tell the rest of the pack, who by then was following NBA as she hiked along K-42 to the On-In.
On-In was at Paula’s Bar and Grill, right at the corner of Where-The-Fuck and Tyler. P Team had to dodge out briefly for a Save-The-People Conference, but circle was rumored to be incredible. A virgin, much to the delight of the hounds and the virgin’s date, talked his way into a deadbug.
In order not to offend Paula’s patrons, the group held a whispered naming session before christening nnMike as Brown Nose White Sack. At least half the story’s worth asking about.