Hares: TACO (Tits and cunt only) edit: Tongues a Cunt Occasionally & B-Dubbs (Butthole Whisperer)
Hounds: NBA (No blow angel), Dipstick, Tina Eat the Piss, Cinnabar, Puff the Magic Assgrabber, CIA (Caught in Action), NN Chris, PCP (Piss Car Poor), PUTA (Professor Up The Ass), Cumbag Shitpants
Trail was in Shart City, or whatever that trailer park suburb is called north of Wichita. It’s kinda like how Eastborough is its own city even though it seems like it’s part of Wichita. Except Eastborough is a nice place, and Park City looks like Haiti after the earthquake hit it. Hashers met at a distinguished drinking establishment called Samuel Brewskies. They were greeted by the hares, looking ever so cute in their matching pink tops and bottoms. Apparently, the pink theme was in commemoration of the movie, “Mean Girls.” They are, indeed. Lord, let’s hope they never end up in prison. For those that were too lazy to wear pink (or are just plain misogynists), the hares passed out pink wristbands/cockrings. Tina attempted to wear the wristband around his man member, but had to roll 3 phone books around it to increase its girth. The hares ran the hounds through the 3rd world living conditions, which are called “luxury estates” in Park City, and trail led to a Beer Near at some storm tunnels. After running through the squalid neighborhoods, it was only appropriate that they reward us with a 3rd world (Wisconsin) beer, Boxer Light. With the sour/putrid/tangy beer to quench the hounds’ thirst, they set off again, hoping that the god-forsaken trail would end soon. Trail revealed an ass check alongside the highway. The majority of hounds pleaded ignorance and/or stupidity, and did not perform the required two-cheek salute. After the ass check, the pack was forced to traverse some kind of moonscape underneath a bridge. Apparently, the hares mistook the pack’s fitness level, and thought they were athletic or something. Around this time, CIA attempted a coup d’trail and announced herself as a co-hare, leading the pack this way and that, by merely pointing her finger. Initially, some hounds followed her uprising, until they realized she was under the influence of the ever-present Park City methamphetamine fumes, and was just as clueless as the rest of the pack. Puff, in a moment of desperation, possibly trying to end it all due to the sheer misery of this shitty trail, attempted to hurdle a hedge, instead of merely walking around it. But wait, how could he know to walk around the hedge when there was no marking indicating such? Ah, silly hares. You drank for that one. The ridiculous trail ended shortly after, and the circle included some bar patrons and staff. To show our good will to the bar owner, the hash minstrels sang him, “It’s a Small Dick After All.” He was left speechless, possibly thinking, “How did you know?” The waitress had us play a drinking game. The premise of the game was that the person who secretly has a tequila shot must use their poker (poke-her) face to trick the other players into thinking they actually only have water. Unfortunately, Puff took one sip of the tequila and gave the secret away by immediately punching Cinnabar in the face and yelling something about getting his revolver out of the Lincoln. And that’s how we discovered that Puff has a history with tequila. Circle had a rare quadruple deadbug to celebrate the stupidity of the hares and whatever hounds that were stupid enough to be associated with them. Hopefully, Park City is nuked by North Korea so we never have to hash there again. ONON!