Hash December 22
Hound: Cuddle Puncher
Hares: Dipstick, Dipshit, Gooey Spinjob, Poopy the Fruit Dick Slayer, Cumbag Shitpants, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, No Blow Angel, Hummer Gay’mes.
In true Christmas spirit, our hare picked a snowy day to hash. What a guy. The hounds prepared for the day's cold events by pounding beers and scarfing down Dipstick's homemade cookies behind the Vag-abond. Who knew Dip was so domestic? He'll make someone a wonderful wife someday. Our wanker hare showed up in some delightful batman socks with small built in capes that dangle from the back of each calf. Before seeing the
batman symbol, the hounds assumed these were some kind of sexual hand-holds for Hummer Gay'mes. Unfortunately no, it was just a pair of socks that he found in the boys section, where he does all his shopping.
The hare, being the jolly and gay fellow he is, left the hounds with a snow angel near on a snowy embankment. Gooey Spinjob took great pride in crafting his snow angel, only to see an inconsiderate No Blow Angel create her snow angel directly on top of his. Not the first time we've witnessed NBA create what she considers a work of art on top of Gooey. It's just not normally within view of downtown Wichita. A motel that charges by the hour on South Broadway maybe, but not a hill at 1st and McLean.
As the shitty trail wore on, the frigid temperatures, deep snow, and period blood-colored hash finally took its toll on the hounds. There was a man down! Cumbag Shitpants, usually a shining example of athleticism and rugged good looks, took a tumble on the ice. Dipshit, in fear that his beloved Cumbag was injured, rushed to his side, eager to lock lips and breathe lifesaving air into Cumbag's lungs. Cumbag stood back up, pushed Shit away, gazed into the distance, and said, "No, I must continue on in the name of the hash." For his valiant performance under adverse conditions, Cumbag will forever be honored. For laying such a shitty and dangerous trail, Cuddles will die a sad and lonely man of AIDS in a filthy alley in Memphis.
The hare did perform one redeeming act—leaving an apple cider near, spiked with whiskey. The two FRBs had found the ACN and were posing in threatening body language at the rest of the pack. In a preventative measure, to selflessly protect the warm and alcoholic cider from the clutches of the FRBs, the non-racist rest of the pack launched an onslaught of snowballs. The FRBs were pelted, as they deserved, and the rest of the pack took the cider that was rightfully theirs.
From the ACN, our clever hare led us astray. There was a split, from which we saw his oafish snow tracks. It was unmistakable—with the long drag marks typical of his lame leg he suffers from childhood polio. Puff was dispatched as reconnaissance, by which he made a very thorough circle of an elementary school and came up with no hash. As we followed the most-likely trail, we came across something suspicious. The tracks seemed to be laid backwards from the split. The hounds went on full alert, suspecting we were being surveilled and possibly stepping into an ambush. The pack was on edge, pushed to the breaking point with the snow angels and whiskey, when Hummer Gay’mes came forward with information that the ONIN was at her house.
The pack, being exceedingly lazy, decided to make a bee line for the ONIN, when we eventually came across the hare’s menarche-tinted flour again, and realized we were back on trail. A few blocks later we entered Hummer from