Hare: Cumbag Shitpants
Hounds: Kibbles n' Chips, PBR, Puff, PCP, NBA, BDSM, nnLisa, nnAdam, nnAndy, Phi Pee Licker, Tina Eat the Piss
Starting from Harry's Uptown, Cumbag led the pack on a quaint tour of College Hill. We were so happy to be able to run past Kirstie Alley's tiny little cottage, but I don't think anyone took the opportunity to moon her as we have done in the past. Once trail got past Blessed Sacrament, things quickly went downhill, both literally and figuratively (I threw that in for my literature/grammar-nerd fellow hashers). We found an intersection but (and here's the literal part) trail went down the sledding hill but, surprisingly, it was difficult to see the scant plops of flour in the dark. As we stumbled about in the dark, we found a plop of flour on a tree. Stupidly, we assumed that trail would go in a straight line, since in Hashing 101 we all learned that if trail veers off the straight line, it is necessary to indicate the turn. As we scoured the little park, we finally gave up and remembered that we were dealing with Cumbag so we had to quit thinking logically. Fanning out, we eventually located a few marks waaaaay off the line of symmetry that we were expecting. Once again, the FRBs haven't quite figured out that their job is to mark the direction trail takes, because, as we all know, this is the only reason the DFLs tolerate the FRBs' racist asses in the hash.
We located the beer-near on the darkened porch of Gooey Spinjob's empty house, he having abandoned the pack for the snooty social scene of Kansas City. Little does he know, but he's taking a HUGE step down in life since we all know what the KC hashers are like. (I don't think they read this drivel, I hope.)
Trail took us through more of College Hill, and eventually to the on-in at Harry's. Circle took place on the patio, with Puff deciding he preferred the company of his society friends inside the bar to the hashers on the patio. Surprisingly, he re-joined us once we had swung low. We agreed to remember this heinous act for his dead bug at a future hash. On on!
Trail #1249 - Drinksgiving and Tina's First Hashing Analversary
Hare: Tina Eat the Piss
Hounds: Anything Goes, Boathouse Pussy, Butthole Whisperer, Caught in Action, Cumbag Shitpants, Hummer Gay'mes, No Blow Angel, Phi Pee Licker, Piss Car Poor, Poopy the Fruit Dick Slayer, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, Stumpy Whisker Biscuit, Wet Pussy Flasher, nnCarol, nnLisa
Even though this was our anal hash event that coincides with Thanksgiving, the poor hounds discovered there was very little about this trail for which to be thankful. The weather that Tina provided us was just miserable; so miserably cold, in fact, not many of us were able to dress in appropriate festive attire. We had a smallpox-infected blanket, a fat Chiefs fan with fast food wrappers coming out of the pockets, a wanker with a dead turkey on her head, and a couple of overgrown kindergarteners with their classroom construction paper Pilgrim and Indian head gear. The rest of the half-minds were just doing their best to ward off frostbite. To add insult to injury, there was no Wild Turkey of any variety, liquid or living, to be found on trail.
We should have been forewarned of the upcoming shittiness of the trail when Puff showed up to the start before the hare did, if you can believe it. There were so many transgressions committed by the hare that the dead bugs should have gone on for hours, but Tina prevented that by providing us with miserable weather, and no one was able to withstand the bitter cold longer than necessary. Circle was short, complementing the male hashers' cold little johnsons. On after was at Larry Bud's where the wankers finally warmed up with many pitchers of golden nectar (considerately provided by Shit who was not even there), and there was much rejoicing. On on!
Hounds: Gooey Spinjob(fuck off), NBA, ASS, Cumbag Shitpants, Octoteste, Little Box of Hoarders, Amanta F&F, PBR, Hummer Gay'mes, Dipshit, PUTA, nnLisa, nnAdam (I wasn't there, going off of who I see in pictures, if someone's missing and doesn't want their feelings hurt, just let me know!)
Trail #1248 was so boring that little can be said about it. Dip started at Mort’s where the pack enjoyed the finer things of life, such as flavored cigars and martini specials. After weeks of unexplained absences, Gooey made a surprise appearance. We thought it was because he missed us, but it turned out he was just looking for people to help him pack up his house later that week.
Dip took the pack north and then east and then south. The pack crossed the pedestrian bridge over Kellogg and came across a confusing mark referencing a full moon. No one remembered the mark from chalk talk and a howl of Deadbug! quickly emanated from the pack, which soon turned into Flying Deadbug! when the pack discovered a check back a few minutes later.
Trail continued east for a hot second before heading back north with the promise of beer, more beer, and a deadbug for Dip.
Shunned by the DFLs for being too much of a racist, PBR sprinted the last quarter-mile of trail to the ONIN, forever sealing his fate as part of the FRB pact. Songs were sung, bandanas were finally distributed, Dip played the Indoor Rules card, and no one dared to try anything from the full-meal vending machine. Gooey left us for the Big City and the Bacon Cave, swearing never to return –a promise we hope he keeps. Best of luck and fuck off, Gooey!
Hare: Hummer Gay'mes
Hounds: Dip, NBA, Cumbag, Poopy, Puff, PCP, nnAdam, nnLisa
Hummer started us off from the north end of Pawnee Prairie Park, teasing us by setting trail in close proximity to the park, but not actually taking us into the park. The start of the trail was very promising, as she led us through waist high shiggy, across a muddy little creek and through a small wooded area. But this promise was short-lived. Soon we found ourselves on a crappy little back road. Trail led us down a culvert to the north, and then on to the beer near in the midst of an industrial park. The story goes that the hare was setting trail to the beer near when she encountered Sex on Trail! She screamed, turned around and went to Plan B. After she regrouped, she went back to the beer near and discovered the horny couple had left, so she marked the sandbar with the command that the hounds were to commit the same act. After the beer near, the hounds followed the straight line trail down the old railroad path until the hare led us back into the woods. The hare reported that at several points on her trail, she encountered the two-who-could-no- afford-a-room, with the male finally yelling at her to quit following them. Hummer explained that not only was it HER trail, but that she's a secret voyeur and couldn't help herself. They eventually got away from her and Hummer was able to continue setting trail. Trail eventually led us across a fairly significant creek, but neither the hare nor the hounds were stupid enough to follow it, with a bridge not far from the water crossing. Back to the on-in where circle ensued, beverages were consumed, accomplishments and misdeeds were celebrated and there was much rejoicing. On on!
Hares: Amanta, Poopy, nnJennifer
Hounds: Hummer, ASS, Anything Goes, Dipstick, Tina, PBR, Cumbag, NBA, PCP, Wet Pussy Flasher
In honor of Trail #1246 three consecutive numbers date, three hares (including a no-name! Take note, named hashers.) decided to lay a three-mile trail. In keeping with the “three” spirit, the pack hoped for a three Beer Near trail, but no luck.
Trail took off from Walt’s and led the pack up one neighborhood street and down the next before the hares sadistically veered off into a gopher-plagued field. The hounds did their best to navigate the treacherous hole-filled lawn using the faint light of flashlights. It was nothing short of a miracle that no one died, especially Cumbag Shitpants, who had, in some sort of stupid chivalrous act, lent his headlamp to a hare and was forced to step blindly.
Trail meandered through the neighborhood and possibly a schoolyard. Beer Near was at some house next to a trashcan. Unsure of how to thank the generous Beer Near location sponsor, ASS decided to just pee near (or in?) the driveway.
Trail wrapped up at Walt’s, where the hashers piled into the tiny outdoor warming hut for songs and booze. After Circle, the hashers stumbled out, dripping of sweat and reeking of beer, where they were greeted by awed onlookers who compared the scene to clowns exiting a tiny car.
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.
Hares: CIA and BeeDub
Hounds: Tina, Dip, NBA, Hummer Gay'mes, Cuddle Puncher, Piss Car Poor, Amanta F&F,
P'Quad, Trashy, Puff, Anything Goes, Boathouse Pussy, nnKen, nnRobin, nnHerb, nnCody, nnDenise,
For their first trail ever, C.I.A. and BeeDub brought the group to the culture hub known as Valley Center’s Spirits Lounge, which boasted of both its Mexican food and its use of rice bran oil.
The hares promised a short trail and took off. The hounds took no notice of the hares’ small purse of flour and tiny stub of chalk, but later, as they recalled the trail’s low points and ever lower points, they put two and two together and trail finally started to make sense.
Trail wove through scenic V.C. So awestruck by the Center’s beauty were the hounds, they barely noticed the lack of trail. The hares had taken a page from Amanta’s book and laid a mark roughly every quarter-mile, leaving the hounds all but stranded, lost, and confused.
Things briefly looked up as the hares took the pack past a pretty fantastic playground, but trail went downhill from there when the hares ran out of flour, looked at each, shrugged, and said, “Fuck it. They can just follow our scent.” After much searching, the beer near was found, but the freezing cold weather got the best of the pack and there was little rejoicing as the hounds quickly downed their beverages and scampered on.
The pack eventually returned to Spirits where it found Puff waiting. It has been said that Puff can move so fast that it as though he was never on trail. Or, in this case, he just wasn’t on trail.
Despite Arctic temperatures, circle was held outside by the ever-enthusiastic, tights-clad Dip. Despite a shitty trail and even shittier weather, we look forward to C.I.A. and BeeDub’s next trail.
Hares: Hummer Gay'mes and Cuddle Puncher
Hounds: NBA, PCP, PPL, PBR, Poopy the Slayer, Tina (this was almost the Acronym Pack)
Wow. How many ways can one describe "shitty trail"? The following will be just one description, although this may have been the shittiest of the shitty trails.
Evidently, the hares were channeling the spirit of Saint Tequila, TAH3's patron saint of hellish trails, through the second half of trail. The first half of trail was a tame neighborhood stroll through the streets of Bel-Where-the-Hell-Is-Aire. The hares' purpose must have been to lull the hounds into a drooling stupor from the boredom of the route. Little did the hounds know that Shiggy Hell was waiting for us.
The hounds located the first beer near about 50 feet from the start, thus falsely leading us to believe that trail would be extra short. Continuing down the dirt roads of the neighborhood, we eventually found ourselves by the railroad tracks near the Koch Evil Empire Complex. Trail could have been a long straight line down the tracks, but no, the hares decided we hadn't experienced enough poison ivy, dead animals and mud yet, and led us off the tracks through some shiggy to a fallow field. After we ran through plenty of mud and weeds, they then veered trail back to the tracks. We eventually were led to Wichita's premier outdoor art gallery on the concrete walls of the 96 overpass. Soon, trail veered to the south through a desiccated soybean field to another bank of trees and crap. Lo, and behold, on the other side of this greenbelt, we found ourselves on the grounds of the Center for Health and Wellness Through the Consumption of Roots, Berries and Twigs and the Medicinal Use of Crystals. Here, things went from bad to worse.
Trail took us across Hillside into some major shiggy, which was fine and dandy. But then we came to the Fiscal Cliffs of Doom (reference last year's Drinksgiving trail which circled up in spitting distance of said cliffs), which the hares decided was a dandy place to stash the second beer near. At the bottom of the cliffs. The only way to get to the nectar of the gods was to risk death and scale down the sheer and muddy cliff. There was no choice. But Death will not stand between a hasher and his/her beer. Once everyone safely made it to beer level, the pack marveled at the natural beauty of the location, with the pristine waterfall cascading over the concrete chunks, and the salmon and rock fish charmingly traveling upstream to spawn. After getting rehydrated and refreshed, the pack looked for trail and found one of Cuddles' characteristic microscopic rock-arrows leading trail up the other side of the creek to the top of Wichita's Grand Canyon. Once we scaled our way to the top, we found trail going down a paved path. What nice hares, we thought! But no, this did not last long before they diabolically veered trail back into some major weed-infested shiggy. And lo, did the pack discover yet another heretofore unknown Creek of Hades. I will not belabor the dismay that we felt when we realized we had to risk our lives yet again and rappel down yet another sheer cliff only to be confronted with an icy cold stream to cross and the necessity of scaling up another vertical wall of mud in order to escape the River Styx.
Were we at the end? Oh no. Trail took us endlessly through some untouched by human hands or feet shiggy. We found civilization by stumbling onto some railroad tracks by the animal shelter. So, on to the west down the tracks we crawled until we came upon a "park" with an On-In mark on the pavement leading us to .......seemingly nowhere. However, the hares were hiding at the bottom of a hill by the water with our blessed refreshments.
Considering what we had had to go through to get to the nectar, the substitute RA humanely conducted a shortened circle, with the pack granting the only dead bug to PCP, who yet again did not bring a whistle. Beer was consumed, cheese sand was eaten, and there was much rejoicing. On after was at Freebird's on Hillside. On on!