So many hashes, so many stories, so little time. So in as few words as possible, the Hash Trash will attempt to describe the highlights of the weekend's hash campout. Hashers started gathering at the cabins Friday afternoon and took no time in trying out the variety of crappy and plentiful hash beer that was available. We occupied the Buffalo Bill cabin and the Wyatt Earp cabin, with the sensible, mature hashers hanging out in the Buffalo Bill, and the "cool" hashers in the Wyatt Earp. There were rumors of hashers climbing on roofs, and staying up til 3ish in the morning, but only the cool kids could report on that.
Saturday morning started off hideously early, with Dip zipping about making coffee and organizing and acting chipper. The rest of us dragged ourselves into the cars to get to the Trail R*n on time. A couple of the wankers were still drunk from the night before, surprisingly. The event started off innocently enough, with no hint of what was awaiting one hapless harriette. (Insert the music of doom...dumdumdumdumdum......) Wait, wait, I'm getting ahead of myself (who said head? I'll take some of that....). I think we need several versions of the morning's events, and you can take your pick of which one is most feasible.
Story 1. So there we were......r*unning the trail, leading the pack, making spectacular, record-breaking time, when NBA, who was out in front, noticed Dip and YourAnus attempting to pass her up. The RA and the GM, it seems, were so jealous of the fleet-footed NBA that they conspired to trip her up and send her hurtling over the side of the canyon. They were, after all, jealous of the record she had set for leading the pack as GM for sooooo many years, and had evil thoughts about doing her in. So the current GM and RA conspired to "accidentally" send NBA over the edge of the cliff. She suffered unspeakable trauma, but courageously climbed back up the steep side of the canyon, and carried on, heroically finishing the r*n, and limping across the finish line in second place.
Story 2. So there we were.....getting ready for the big r*ce, and NBA was tidying up the cabin, making a full ranch-hand style breakfast for the other r*nners, making sure that everyone was well-fed and ready to do their best on the trail r*n, as she always does, when the GM and the RA decided she wasn't cleaning the kitchen to their specifications. After all, they're the men and they know best. She deserved getting smacked about for not doing her job fast enough. We've got to keep the little women in line, after all, to maintain the universe as it was intended.
Story 3. So there we were....on trail, in our designated spots in the pack. NBA had on her DFL t-shirt, but was determined not to make that a reality. She had the goal of finishing the r*n ahead of her 76-year-old nemesis as well as the 66-year-old man with COPD. NBA had the early warning system of the man's labored breathing to signal to her to pick up the pace. On a flat straight-away, she heard the heavy breather getting closer so she picked up the pace and was flying down the trail, when a malicious rock jumped out and grabbed her toe, causing her to fall on her face with amazing force. After losing a copious amount of blood, but feeling no broken bones, she somehow got back up, and shortcutted back to the start, but not before the breather passed her by.
The rest of the pack climbed up the big rocks after the trail r*n end, but did not circle until Dip and NBA got back from the hospital. Back at the cabins, the pack was carrying on with their jobs of getting drunk and being obnoxious. We circled up and there were many honor down-downs as well as punishment down-downs. As soon as that circle ended, YourAnus and Tequila Tony set out laying a new trail, which will be known as the Sadist's Trail. It took the pack through stickers, and brambles, ticks, poison ivy, poison oak, and I'm sure poison sumac. The only thing it lacked was rattlesnakes. But, the good news was that there were no water crossings. Tequila Tony must have been feeling ill. Plenty of blood was lost, but I think we made it back with all hashers accounted for.
Dinner catered by Dip was outstanding, and there was much rejoicing. The evening's merriment was brought to us by the costumes by Dip, and dancing efforts of a handful of the hashers. The rest of the wankers sat around in their nighties, drinking their beverages, and trying to look inconspicuous.
It was a fairly early evening for most of us, except for the professional drinkers, who kept on consuming and acting the fools. We woke up to Dip's magnificent breakfast, and the hangover hash hared by NBA, the fat lipped wench. The highlight of this trail was the remainders of nnAaron's regurgitated dinner from the night before.
It was a good campout, all in all, in that there were no fatalities or broken bones, just one minor hideously disfiguring face plant. On on.