So there I was, in a hot tub with six naked harriettes, the waves breaking a mere twenty yards away as the tide rolled in on the Outer Banks of North Carolina.
I lifted my shades as a shooting star sliced across the big dipper overhead. Took a drag on the cigarette, exhaled slowly, deliberately. Then lifted the bottle of Thunderbird to my lips for a long tug.
Goddamn was that shit nasty.
I wiped my lips with the back of my hand thinking, “I really should finish the hash trash.”
For those who don’t know, this is how deeply fucked my programming is.
It was March third Saturday, a few weeks ago. Schnecksville, PA. The Game Preserve North Range. I was co-haring so I had asked Just Christa to take notes for me. Record the highlights. I’d scramble something together from it later.
I just now filtered through all the spam in my email to find it. I’d be lying if I said I had read it when she sent it. I was determined not to even look at it until I was properly drunk and ready to write it. This was it.
To my surprise she had not only sent notes but pretty much WROTE a hash trash. Holy fuck was this going to be easy.
So without any further ado, in the words of Just Christa:
“March 3rd Saturday
Opening circle – invaded by visitors, mainly from Reading H3. About as many visitors as LVH3.
Quick N Little led the pack out of circle and on to trail. Stragglers followed along with barking dogs as we started a death march up the first hill. As the pack spread out, there were people scattered across the hill side as we searched for the elusive marks and the third dog joined the pack. We breezed through the second check which led further into the mountains.
Isn’t this supposed to be a game preserve? It seems the only animals others are us.
Finally we saw a true trail. On on! Up ahead the front of the pack must have hit a check gone wrong because half the group drifting up the hill to the right while the other was coming back from a path from the left. Finally and “on on” from down the hill so off we went.
There were people r*nning across the hillside with dogs barking among them. Is this a hash or a steeple chase? As we headed up another hill, Gloryhole was pacing Just King until Clark Cunt couldn’t keep up any longer. We each step it didn’t seem like the top of the hill was getting any closer when we finally heard a joyous sound in the distance, BEER NEAR. As the front half of the pack enjoyed their BN with a spectacular view of the rolling, green countryside, the chattery back half caught up to enjoy the spoils. Just Missy was the super extreme DFL bringing up the rear long after the hares were back out. Rubber Ripper made contributions to the river from a picturesque rock just down the hill from the BN before the pack went out. Reading led the pack out.
As the FRBs approached the next check, the pack passed the family with teenage girls. They looked a bit shell shocked to see us all coming at them. Down the hill from the check we heard an “on on”. With two back to back checks, we could have gone over the rusty fence to the left, up the hill to the right or down the hill straight ahead. The rusty fence would not have surprised me but down we went again.
Along the winding trail Camel Toe was short cutting and thought it paid off, but have the pack was ahead of him anyway following the desolate path parallel to a road. Three way Runaway was telling a story about people video taping his entire body. Was that on a trail gone wrong? Or maybe right?
Then it appeared in the distance… The hill of death… The cheerful chatter behind me would soon turn to moans of misery when they saw what was ahead of them. And steep rocky ascent. Midway up the grueling climb was a check with the pack divided. Apparently trail went further up and a shortcut went to the left. Then it could be heard in the distance. “On on!” Coming from… Somewhere.
At a desolate crossroads, trail turned right while a short climb left and down a bank was a fireball shot check. As each person approached, they could choose the path more or less traveled to take the shot or carry on.
Suddenly Scratch N Sniff and Chasez Boyz approached rocking ACDC. As we turned the corner on the trail the distant hillside was speckled with hashers like colorful glitter on the horizon. Finally the second true trail of the day is visible. At this point I’ve forgotten about the marks and just follow the music CAUSE I’M TNT!
So how trail going up a deforested hill yet hashers are scattered across a yonder hill to the left. I don’t know what the fuck is going on other than I’M DYNAMiTE! Another check. Safe to say the pack went left since we clearly see them that way. If the DFLs get out of eyeshot of the pack they are fucking fucked.
Another check, this one marked with sticks. Meandering through the forest trees, we can see the road we came in on and its steep as fuck. Next there’s turkey and eagle marks. We’re climbing fucking mountains so which do you think we took? Up ahead there’s a congregation of hashers dotting the mountain top. BEER NEAR!
The DFLs rolled in. illegal Discharge and Ghetto Inferno where wearing caution tape. Scratch N Sniff dripping a trail of blood from both arms “like a teenage girl bleeding for the first time”. What the fuck happened to him??? Apparently he tried using his arms as machetes while shortcutting.
Before long the pack was back out with half taking the high road and half the low road across yesterday another deforested hill. A fascinating conversation sprang up between Just Christa, Chasez Boys and Twinkebaby about the need for a third hand or for guys to be able to suck their dick. It’s not so far off… Some bioengineering and yoga would do it. Or just service each other.
As the hashers fro the high road descended upon the trail, the children biking seemed scared of the motley crew approaching. (Good thinking kids.). Along the way, UR Cutoff had to shake down a log for trying to trip his friends as they traversed the clearing.
We finally made it back to where we started only to realize the hares and FRBs were carrying the beer up yet another monstrous hill. is this a cruel joke? Who are we, the Van Trappe family? The hills may have been alive but soon they’ll be littered with dead hashers from altitude sickness. As we finally reached the summit to closing circle, the view of the rolling hills and green fields dotted with trees and houses was beautiful. Well played hares. It was still a shitty trail though.
Sent from my iPad”
Sex here. Don’t believe any of her bullshit. It was awful. There were no song checks, no dance checks, no boob checks, no dick checks, not enough beer at the beer checks, it was all hills and the hares were race-ist bastards.
The only thing that saved the day was Just Christa, who tried to sneak away, forcing us to hog tie her, so that we could name her before she slipped off to the ballet or somesuch. We had to make sure she was presentable.
So forevermore (or until we decide otherwise), due to a pre-humper altercation with a purse snatcher a few months prior, Just Christa is now known as SNATCH AVENGER.
All but one thing I wrote was true.