Hare: Tina Eat the Piss
Hounds: Anything Goes, ASS, Cuddle Puncher, Hummer Gay'mes, Little Red Dipshit, NBA, nnColt, nnTambra, Octoteste, PBR, Puff
Gathering at John Barleycorn's on Douglas, the pack began the ritual celebration of All Hallows Eve in its usual manner, that being drinking. The usual wankers shamelessly dressed in costumes, while the more repressed ones were too cool for that nonsense, and chose to be boring.
The hare, a giant slice of bacon, didn't seem to understand the concept of "pub crawl", and actually forced the hounds to climb muddy hills and cross railroad tracks. Sheesh! What did he think this was? A hash? Nonsense. Trail took us to two watering establishments where the pack took its sweet time downing the nectars after all the silly physical demands that were forced upon us by the inconsiderate hare. We eventually found trail leading to the on-in at Heroes, where the hare was snoozing on the patio after waiting sooo long for the pack to show up.
Since we had two no-names on trail, both having 12 hashes under their belts, we commenced with the double naming. After we recovered from the shock of the stories, we finally named nnColt, who will now be known in the hashing community as: Little Box of Whorders; and nnTambra will be known as: Wet Pussy Flasher.
Hares: NBA and PPL
Hounds: Anything Goes, ASS, Cumbag SP, Hammy, Hummer, Poopy, PBR, Rhinestone Catbitch, Tina, nnCollin
Unlike the 2012 shit show, this year’s World Peace Through Beer actually had t-shirts, leading the hashers to believe that it might be a good trail for once. They were wrong, but at least they looked stylish as they hashed in overpriced World Peace shirts.
Trail started at the Park Villa in Riverside, where the hares, NBA and PPL, provided the pack with the ever-worldly beer, Natty Light. Trail headed north and was so boring that the P Team cannot honestly remember anything between the start and the first beer near, except that PBR remembered to wear his Chucks and no one’s eyes were forced to look at his nasty-ass white grandpa New Balances.
In an attempt to be “one with the people,” Hummer Gay’mes held back to be with the second-class citizen DFLs who taught her their ways. The experience was both exhilarating and terrifying.
At the beer near, the hounds were greeted with more Natty Light, which might be worldly in some place, like, I don’t know, South Fucking Africa, but is pretty damn common here in the ‘Ta.
The hounds headed south-ish and, due to some incredibly shitty marks, immediately lost trail. A great cheer erupted when trail was found. The cheers immediately turned to tears when the FRBs discovered a Check Back…….. THIRTEEN?! Fuck that. The hounds, having only five digits on each of their hands, were unsure how to count that high and stumbled off in various directions, overwhelmed with the thought of math. Eventually one fearless hasher found trail and the pack set off at lightening speed, eager to put as much distance between themselves and the CB13.
The hares had laid a second beer near amongst Wichita’s finest foliage and the hounds found themselves stepping gingerly (sorry nnColin…) through poison ivy, stickers, and more stickers only to be greeted by more shitty beer.
Trail eventually wound its way to Oak Park, where the group photo bombed an unsuspecting family, making a special portrait session even more special. At the ONIN, the thirsty hounds were greeted by (finally!) some real world beers, as well as by a real hound, Otis.
PPL sensed a dangerous circle lay ahead and quickly excused herself with some bullshit talk of her mom picking her up, leaving NBA to fend for herself. In an effort to save her skin, NBA pinned all blame on PPL, but it didn’t save her from a dead bug.
After an intense questioning session, nnColin was named and will forever be known to the hashing world as Piss Car Poor, or PCP.
Hounds: NBA, Puff, Hummer, Amanta, CIA, BeeDub, nnCollin, Boathouse, Cumbag, Chevy, Anything Goes, PBR
This was supposed to be the "Ass-tounding Southside Trail" hared by PP, but since she wimped out on us six hours before the start time, it turned out to be the "Where Am I? Trail" hared by Dip. Kudos to Dip for filling in at the last minute as hare, even though it turned out to be one of the lamest of lame trails ever, since he didn't know where the heck he was.
Starting from Garvey Park, in Where-The-Hell-Are-We? South Wichita, the hare teased us by starting in the direction of a tantalizing-looking, shiggilicious trail along the river. No sooner had we gotten on this intriguing trail than things took a major turn for the worse. Meaning, trail doubled back through a field, and we ended up on the rough streets of the neighborhood, where we remained, snaking down one mean street after another. When we got to Hydraulic, the hare developed some sort of tic, demonstrated by multiple zig-zaggings back and forth across this very busy street. (No BVC mark in chalk talk, btw.) We miraculously found a plop of flour in a car wash parking lot (thus saving us a lot of misery by bypassing a silly leg that would have taken us through a couple of holes in fences, thank heavens), and followed trail yet again across Hydraulic, aka "Street of Doom". Trail was now an endless zig-zag through the neighborhood until we found the bike path again which led us back to the beer.
Circle got started under a picnic pavilion, when much to our dismay, a young family with two small children decided this was also the perfect place to have a family meal. This put a major damper on our song-singing, with the naughty words needing to be replaced by noises like "hmmfhmm". Apparently, we do seem to have some social awareness about the appropriateness of some of our traditions. Songs were sung, accusations were flung and there was much rejoicing. On on!
Hare: Amanta F & F
Hounds: Dip, NBA, Puff, nnTambra, Anything Goes, Octoteste, nnColt, Hummer, Gooey
Since Trash Team D likes to name some of our trails, this trash writer will continue in that tradition. This trail could be called "Chalk? Markings? What For?" Trail". Even after close to 16-odd (very odd) years of hashing, Amanta still has not mastered the art of actually laying down trail that either makes sense, or is visible to the human eye. The hounds were not 10 feet out the door of Biggins before we had our first example of what we were in for. Had we known what awaited us, we would have turned right around and gone back inside the bar for the beer.
The first mark was right outside of Biggins' front door, pointing due east. After scouring the ground for two blocks in the direction we were pointed, we realized that we had to go back to the start, because, after all, this was Amanta, and there was no telling where she actually meant us to go. Instead of straight ahead (who said...?), what she really meant was diagonal off to the left through the parking lot. This was only the beginning of the torture that lay before us. The next CF was on Washington St. where we came to an intersection, with NO marks visible in ANY direction. Amanta claimed afterward, as we were stringing her up to the nearest tree, that because of the sprinkles of rain, she hid the marks under overhangs of bushes so that the rain wouldn't wash them away. But it also prevented us from actually seeing them.
I will not belabor the details of this experience, since Amanta was sufficiently and appropriately punished for her sins at the on-in. Let it just be said that trail meandered off to the north and east, then west and south, and then eventually brought us to the beer near at Jay's, where the beverages were cheap and we pretty much had the place to ourselves. Trail then took us off to the south where the whole pack totally and completely lost trail by 1st Street. Apparently, trail went by the Arena and then up and over the railroad tracks before coming back to Biggins. But since the entire pack lost trail long before this, no one was subjected to this torture, um, I mean, this part of the trail.
Back at Biggins, circle was conducted by our venerable RA at a very large table. So large, in fact, that no one could hear from one end of the table to the other, thanks mainly to the lousy acoustics and the drunk bar patrons at Biggins. I assume that songs were sung, accusations were flung and there was much rejoicing. Although, it was hard to tell....On on!
Hounds: PPL, PBR, NBA, Cuddles, Hummer
Word spread quickly that Dip was haring, so only five wankers made the journey to Andover to enjoy a shitty trail and water 3.2 beers. Complaining of a “running” injury, Dip asked for a twenty minute head start, giving the hounds’ stomachs time to adjust to 3.2 beer and for NBA to parade around her plethora of HHH fashion shirts.
The racist NBA, still on a high from having acquired first place hardware at the Kanopolis 10k, took off at a breathtakingly quick pace, leaving PBR, PP, Cuddles, and Hummer behind. The DFLs threw their middle fingers high and trudged along trail, trying mightily to follow Dip’s faint and few drywall markings.
Trail eventually cut into a forest where PBR and NBA gallantly led the way through brambles and brush and into a neighborhood, where trail disappeared. Using NBA’s Native American senses, the hounds finally found a tiny drywall scratching.
Upon hitting a gravel path, trail took a turn for the worse and travelled in such a straight line that the hounds could only assume Dip was trying out the accuracy of a new yardstick. Threatened with death by boredom, Cuddles and Hummer took a disappointing Eagle split, while PBR and PP continued to follow the Turkey in the wake of NBA’s dust.
The hounds took their sweet time at the Beer Near, where they discussed the finer points of life (beer).
Trail was momentarily lost after the Beer Near and it was only after much confusion that it was discovered that Dip had reused trail. Later Dip would vehemently swear up and down that he did not reuse trail, but rather just marked trail (suspiciously) close to old trail, causing the hounds to howl bullshit and call for a deadbug.
Trail eventually wound its way back to the Dip Abode, where Dip cooked up hotdogs and a half-assed circle was conducted with the help of OKC HHH’s song hymnal.
Hares: Hummer Gay'mes and Octoteste
Hounds: NBA, Dipstick, Puff, Cuddle Puncher, Tina Eat the Piss, Anything Goes, Cumbag Shitpants, Chev Ho Laid, Phi Pee Licker, Butthole Whisperer, Gooey Spinjob, Professor U.t.A, nnTambra, nnColt, nnMike, nnKen, nnRobin, nnJay
Due to the exponentially growing number of lame-ass trash writers, trash has fallen to the P Team. Shit’s really gotten that pitiful.
In order to prove herself a wise and valuable hasher, Octoteste, under the guidance of Hummer Gay’mes, set off to lay her first trail. Hummer Gay’mes imparted all her valuable haring knowledge to Octoteste, leading the two of them to create the greatest trail known to the hashing world.
The pack started at Pubic, where they were quickly stumped by a cleverly laid YBF in Pubic’s outdoor courtyard.
Once reoriented, the hounds followed trail east through Wichita’s premier drinking area before heading south through glass-filled alleyways.
Beer Near was located near Washington and Waterman. The hares must have been moving glacially slow as the beer near was haphazardly pitched underneath a trash-strewn crack building, breaking the BN bag and scattering cans of golden nectar far and wide. The P Team can only assume the hounds stood around, admiring the view of garbage and a used mattress where a pair of shoes sat. Gooey checked to see if he could add it to his store’s inventory, but realized it wasn’t his beloved New Balance and walked off.
Trail continued south, parallel to the railroad tracks, where the hounds followed flour and Octoteste’s glitter markings before crossing over the tracks to Wichita’s beloved Commerce Street and back to Pulic for cheap drinks and mediocre service.
Songs were sung, drinks were drunk, patrons were offended, and Hummer Gay’mes smashed a glass in protest to the shitty service.
Hares: Cuddle Puncher and NBA
Hounds: ASS, CIA, Lil' Red Dipshit, nnCollin, PPL, PBR, Tina
TAH3 has had many shitty trails over the last few months. Trail of Tears, Trail of no Beer Near, 3 mile strolls through 6 foot high poison ivy, etc. Saturday’s Trail shall be known as the Trail of a slight shrug.
The pack met on the west side’s Pawnee Prairie Park, a location of many epic TAH3 trails. The sullen hounds gathered around a pile of automotive glass which would serve as Cuddle’s poetic representation of shiggy. A lost Chihuahua wandered the PPP PL(parking lot) is such as way as to force the hounds to question what it all means and how they are really any different than this small canine searching the premises for a scrap of food or a kind hand to scratch the area just behind its ear.
Trail then started and the hounds became fucked by the “you’ve been” variety multiple times. The first Beer Near was hanging from the branches of a tree in a curiously similar fashion. One hound even claimed the hares trail had “Tequila Tony plagiarism all over it.” NNColin and Tina found one of the YBF through a dried up creek bed which ended with one of them knee deep in creek shit and the other using the Indiana Jones survival guide warning the wank, “not to stuggle it makes the quicksand worse.” Later, trail was lost through a thick patch of high grass. ASS soon found another strand of shiggy paper that was not thoroughly soaked in feces proving that it had been placed by the hares recently. Tina looked from afar and observed the hounds jogging through the tallgrass. He promptly said, “Fuck that shit” and shortcutted to the second Beer Near. A redneck coupled stumbled upon the check and what we are guessing must’ve been the female - due to the thinner facial hair-consumed a PBR on trail. Soon after, the pack became worried as Dipshit left a beer can on trail, but no muddy footprints to signify that he had crossed the 20th watercrossing of the day.
Hounds finally made it back to the safety of their shitty vehicles and 3 bags of Lays potato chips. Hummer showed up with 2 people from Portland or some cool place like that and allowed them to witness our sad circle which was conducted while sitting down and half-heartedly singing our favorite songs. The Chihuahua was gone and rest of us made our way home waiting for the next available hash.
Trail # 1235
Hares: Cuddle Puncher and Hummer Gay'mes
Hounds: Gooey, Amanta, Tina, NBA, Anything Goes, BeeDub, CIA, Cumbag Shitpants, Kibbles n' Chips, nnCollin, nnColt, nnMelissa, nnMike, nnTambra, PBR, Professor, Puff, Just Steve (Yoko Yoko H3(TAH native)), Midget Molester (Rain City H3)
Starting from the Stadium by the actual Stadium, the hares took off toward the Stadium. The trail figuratively went downhill from here (figuratively because it's pretty much a flat plane in the downtown area). Much confusion took place at the Douglas bridge, with DFLs not locating trail, FRBs not marking trail, and hares just generally screwing up. This writer (A Team) was one of the lame-ass DFLs and so does not have the pack experience to report. Perhaps the D Team can fill in the gaps. Anyway, trail had a Naughty Check by the Drury, which was discovered by only two of the DFLs (which proved to be convenient for a prolonged Naughty Check). After much searching, trail was located heading south around Century II and on by the Boathouse and Gander Mountain. The highlight of the trail was the placement of the two beer nears, one across the street from the other. Of course, there were only 9 beverages in each beer near, with 20 wankers in the pack,thus, the slower half-minds ended up being excessively thirsty since the beverages were already consumed by the inconsiderate FRBs( sorry).
Here's where D Team might take over, since A Team turned around and went back to the start, since so much time had been spent searching for trail. (Thank god she's finally shut up, she's always fuckin' bitchin' so drink your beer get...oh I guess you have a point nevermind.) D-Team: Trail was way too long for the wanks who don't get prizes at 10Ks so after the 2 BN's which were 20 ft. apart, it was mostly a miserable experience.
Back at the start, the pack attempted to circle up on the Stadium patio, but thanks to the professional alcoholics, also known as the regular patrons of the Stadium, the noise level was too loud for us to enjoy the subtleties of the circle. Midget Molester attempted to get the AA escapees to quiet down and respect the sanctity of the ritual, but to no avail. The decision was made to delay the circle and move it to the Monarch down the street, which we did. Food was ordered, beverages consumed, and CIA considerately gave a birthday flash to a patron of the bar. Circle continued. Midget Molester, visiting hasher from Seattle, bestowed a few gifts upon a select few of the wankers, gifts which he had obtained from the various world interhashes he has attended.
Since we have so many nameless no-names, we went about the difficult task of questioning and naming one of them. The lucky wanker was nnMelissa, who, for now and forever more, will be known to the hashing community as Octoteste. On on!