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!

Hares: Deb's Dipstick and No Blow Angel

Hounds: Poopy, Cumbag, Tina, CIA, BW, BP, PCP, BrownNose WhiteSack, Wet Pussy Flasher, Anything Goes, Audrey the Drug Dealer, Chihuahua, FastChug, Solo Sex Rex, Whiskey Dickerson, Too Cheap to Deny

Trail began at Quincy’s—an upscale type of place where you can get a High Life for $1.75. Somewhere you’ll find someone you want to bring home to meet mom. Some out of town KC wankers joined us, and realized what a shitty hash we have, and reinforced that they never want to travel on I-35 W ever again.

Trail went east into the neighborhood, and the hounds were foiled by a vigilante citizen who sprayed chalk off the pavement with his hose (not that one). After the pack bumbled around a bit, trail was found again. Trail went within one block of Cumbag’s in-laws, so they were lucky enough to see the hasher, who married their daughter, running in bright red speedos. When asked if they had seen the hares setting trail, Poopy’s mother replied, “I saw someone in a dress running that way, but I think it was a boy.” No, Poopy’s Mom, even “boy” is an overstatement.

A memorial song check was laid in ASS’s driveway. Appropriately, the required song was, “Ass O.” Markings then veered north towards the river. Kindly, the hares had let us know that the water crossing was no deeper than ankle-high. As the hounds were enveloped by the mighty Arkansas River, using their hound doggy-paddle skills to fight the strong cross currents, and keeping their eyes peeled for the giant man-eating catfish who survived the years of the Vulcan chemical company’s water contamination, we realized the hares have no clue of human anatomy and where the ankle is actually located on a person. I blame that on the fact that both of the hares are virgins, will die virgins, and will never be lucky enough to see a naked human (other than the peep holes they drilled into the public library toilet stalls).

Beer Near was placed on the far side of the river, which was convenient. The hounds could dry their soaking clothing, enjoy a beverage, and tend to the hepatitis A, B, and C that they had acquired in the river water.

Trail then went by a dog park (how do you not lead a pack of hounds THROUGH the dog park??), another pointless neighborhood, and down by another part of the Arkansas river. Thankfully, this time the hares had the decency to not try to again replicate the Lewis and Clark Expedition, and we ran alongside the river, rather than through the wretched thing.

The lovely trek parallel to the river was accompanied by a bouquet of smells most of the hounds had never smelled before. Unless, of course, they had previously been exposed to what a pile of rotting afterbirths smells like.

After cresting a hill, the shitty, substandard ONIN was in sight. But alas, there was yet a steep path down to the ONIN, marked by jagged rocks, waiting to puncture the hindquarters of the tipsy hounds.

ONIN was ridiculously long, as the idiot hounds and hares punished each other for their transgressions in life, and generally regretted ever hashing. The kennel rejoiced in the fact that they could demonstrate the local “deadbug” tradition to our out-of-towners, to further show off what degree of immaturity we relish in. After several of the hashers had been waterboarded to the point of losing consciousness with beer, the bags of chips had either been eaten or crushed into powder, and the coolers had been drained of anything alcoholic, it was determined to do us all a favor and end this sad excuse for a hash.

In the end, shitty trail, shitty hares, shitty hounds, and you’re an idiot for reading this far. ONON!

Hares: Boathouse Pussy & Butthole Whisperer

Hounds: Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, Dipstick, Tina Eat the Piss, Caught in Action, Wet Pussy Flasher, No Blow Angel, Tounges a Cunt Occasionally, Piss Car Poor, Cumbag Shitpants, NN Biker Dude at the Biker Bar

The hash began at a lovely establishment, The Elbow Room, which will likely have a very long and dynastic history. Trail began marvelously, with all hounds searching for a mark—ANY MARK—for 5 minutes. To be clear, this was from the FIRST mark. A sign of things to come?

Trail had two song checks which required our own No Blow Angel to do the honors. She serenaded us with lovely songs, the second of which was made up on the spot. Unfortunately, due to her severe Alzheimer’s, she was not able to remember it during ONIN.

Beer Near #1 was held in an area which we initially took for a Final Friday Art Crawl, since there was so much beautiful work. We had no idea that so many artists frequented that particular area underneath a train bridge in south Wichita. Hounds amused themselves by playing with discarded children’s toys—unfortunately there were no discarded children to play with.

Two half-possums were discovered on trail on the train tracks. Oddly, they did not appear to be the corresponding halves. Luckily, most of the hounds were current on their Parvo, Bordatella, and Distemper.

Beer Near #2 was held at a biker bar that proved to be an excellent future hash bar. So excellent, in fact, that the hares left the original ONIN bar and came back for circle at the BN bar. Between the time when we left the initial bar and the time we were to arrive for ONIN, the first bar closed. Probably permanently. It is suspected that the hares were kicked out for sneaking leftover BN beers in, but regardless, the ONIN was good. No thanks to the hares and their shitty trail. ONON.

Hares: Cumbag Shitpants, Poopy the Fruit Dick Slayer

Hounds: No Blow Angel, Tina Eat the Piss, Cinnabar, Puff the Magic Assgrabber

The hares intended to start from Harry’s, but upon arriving at the bar, the entire plumbing system seemed to be laying in the parking lot. Despite the fact that any respectable drinking institution should respect the day that He is risen by staying open, the hounds and hares moved to a private residence to begin the trail. Trail was relocated to Cumbag’s and Poopy’s estate, and the hares had to improvise from their already shitty trail to a big stinker fished out of a public campsite toilet.

After running through the alleys of College Hood, the hounds came upon a fence to negotiate. All hounds hurdled the fence with ease. NBA, however, seeing an innocent young gentleman getting out of his car nearby, accosted him and demanded the man help her over the fence. Something about using the guy’s face as a seat… I don’t know… Something we dare not even describe in Hash Trash.

Anyway, the hounds ran to a picturesque hill next to scenic US-54 and enjoyed a PN (Peeps Near) to celebrate Easter, ran through some more alleys, had a BN in an alley, ran through more alleys, then more alleys, then a couple more alleys. In summary, all the hares could come up with was a bunch of alleys because they’re not that creative.  ONON.

Hare: Boathouse Pussy

Hounds: Tina Eat the Piss, Cumbag Shitpants, Poopy the Fruit Dick Slayer, No Blow Angel, Dipstick, NN Chris, NN Kim.

Immediately after the hare arrived (late) at the bar, she left with Dip to discuss something privately. This discussion took 20 minutes, which led the hounds the believe sex-on-trail occurred even before trail. Thankfully, the wait was well worth it, as the hounds discovered the far shittiest trail in the history of TAH3.

The pack ran through every trailer park in south Wichita. Dip came close to breaking his probation when children approached within 100 feet of him in the trailer park playground. Apparently he thought it was appropriate to conduct a sex ed class for the children, by using playground equipment as props.

Somewhere after the second trailer park, and the vast expanses of South Wichita Wastelands, we had our BN at the mouth of a tunnel running underneath the highway. Kudos to BP for picking such a scenic BN—the sun was starting to set and the light cresting over the trailer park was to die for.

After the BN, it was obvious the hare stopped caring about the hounds, and life in general. Markings were few and far between. A bit of shaggy paper tied on a tree turned out to just be the hare’s normal practice of using South Wichita as her own public toilet.

ONIN was at the hare’s house (not a trailer park, but I wouldn’t call it a step above) and we ate wieners (what else would she pick to shove in her greedy little mouth?), drank beer, and had much rejoicing. It was unfortunate to have two virgins witness such a shitty trail, but BP almost redeemed herself by performing a deadbug and flying deadbug for everyone’s amusement. All around, a shitty trail.

Hare: BP
Hounds: PCP, BNWS, Dipshit, Cumbag

Started From: Magoo's.  Apparently, BP was trying to either kill all hounds from lightning strikes or at the very least, get them arrested by placing small children along trail.  There were so many calls to crimestoppers that their server crashed.

Hare: Tina
Hounds: Puff, Dipstick, NBA, On Her Knees, Cumbag, Poopy, PCP, Pied Piper (SF), Wet Pussy Flasher, Anything Goes, BP, nnDakota, BW, CIA, nnScott, nnAl, nnKatie

We started at Mick's ran through a neighborhood, hit a YBF, crossed the Kellogg Foot Bridge, drank lukewarm PBRs next to a bunch of wooden spindles, ran through train tracks, ran back to Mick's, sang songs, drank beer, and hated Tina.

ONON