Post date: Feb 22, 2012 11:49:09 PM
Yes I know, worst scribe ever. You think you could do better? Probably so but it’s my show so too bloody bad. Better late than never, better drunk than sober, better…. laid than lonely? But I digress, much to talk about.
The Saturday of the November edition of the CUNTH3 was perfection, as was the trail itself but don’t tell Pimpy or Shaves because they’re both smug enough as it is. And speaking of our illustrious hares, those handsome, strapping and only mildly functionally retarded (can I say that word? Not PC? Too bad.) Pimpy Longstocking and Sir Shaves-A-Lot were pretty much giddy like a duo of 12-year old girls about the trail that they were about to subject us to. Before taking off from Scotland Yard, the ever so beautiful Junebug supplied the group with some epically awesome hash shirts that a gaggle of us sported on the run while the other Second Cumming proved herself to be the more badass one with a pre-trail shot of Jameson. I’ve got a lot to learn, never even considered it. A downing of beers and a mildly rowdy chalk talk then we were off like the boozehounds that we are. Nothing too fantastical right off the bat, lots of straight running on the river, an arrow technically pointing INTO the river because again, functionally retarded hares, then some rope crossing in the random park that sits on the water (and harassment from Lazer because yours truly sidestepped it to enjoy the view) then back onto the river running again. We hit some shaggy where Jersey discovered the remains of Halloween in the way of a ghost on a stick. Did he run with it for most of trail? Yes he did. Does he probably have a disease because of it? Probably. We headed into Greek territory where we chanced upon FIRST some arrows connected to a sign in chalk that still somehow confused more than a few of us even though they were pointing the opposite direction and kind of blatantly part of the non-hash chalkings. Right past that? “Free Herpes” AND “Free Penis”. Minor 69er and I were all about it but we’re also lazy and the free penis wasn’t right there so we had a photo op then moved the hell on. Actually we kind of did since I-Feel Tower made himself the breathing advertisement. Don’t believe me? Check his facebook for an amazing picture of it. Moving past Greek whore mile, we of course kept losing trail. I’m pretty sure that Lazer and I found every single false trail, while Captain Swallows was posing “On-on!” in the form of a question that entertained both Lazer and myself as we hauled boobs to catch up with the pack. Next up was the near death of I-Feel Tower since he felt a need to prance across a busy multi-lane intersection while the cars were in motion. That man’s daredevil streak has no age limit, we’re lucky to (still) have him! Anyhoo, after those bastard hares made us run the longest gradual uphill stretch of a bridge EVER, we were rewarded with quite the kick ass drink check. What has multiple layers of jello shots, a case of beer, Doritoes and a possibly hepatitis-ridden red stuffed canary? Our under-bridge first drink check of course! By the time we got there I’m pretty sure that the hares were already drunk and the rest of us followed suit. Teacher’s Pet was self-proclaimed drunk after about four jello shots and quite a few of us were headed in the same direction and it was AWESOME. Back to said Hepatitis bird, I-Feel Tower decided to risk death again first by the attempt to get the bird, then by actually touching it for more than a few seconds. After much imbibing and loitering like the homeless people that usually inhabit the place (sans the crack cocaine), we took off again. Deja vu set in as we loaded into the elevator at the train station and after a failed attempt by select hash assholes to violate the ears of the innocents sharing the elevator with us, we semi-drunkenly stumbled upon the most important, random and fucking awesome part of the entire hash. Impromptu drink check at a new and amazing bar called Twisted Kilt thanks to Doggie Erectus? Yep, that happened. Hot chicks in fractional amounts of kilt and Marines with lip herpes and a desire to share their nachos and beer with Minor 69er and myself? HOT. Well, the first part of the description at least. After pitchers of beer, pictures with the smoking hot servers and promises to come back, we took off again with the two Marines in tow. Good ole Jimmy and Mark, entertaining for about 10 minutes then I'm pretty sure 95% of us wanted them to give up and take their douchbaggery elsewhere but they stuck it out even after Jimmy had to stop to throw up. Impressive stamina but they were still douchebags and apparently they thought we were too because they didn't even stay for circle. They could've rescued kittens on trail and they'll still be douchebags just because of that. After getting bombarded by a pack of kids that Swallows promptly reprimanded ("Where are your parents?!?!") and crawling on our stomachs military-style under a fence, we eventually came to some SERIOUS shiggy. In the pitch black. In a place that seemed like we'd probably trip over dead hobos or puncture our feet on dirty syringes. Chivalry took over and the male hashers helped all of the females get through everything safely using head lamps. All off road with no lights besides the head ones after that and who should be waiting under another creepy bridge, completely wasted? Our illustrious hares. Pitch black, desolate and sketchy, perfect for circle! Too bad by the time circle started there appeared to be not a single sober hasher. As a matter of fact, pretty sure that this circle might have had a record setting amount of attempts to get people to shut up. Not naming names, but Pimpy and Jersey MIGHT have been the catalysts for most of the yelling. Violations on trail... Swallows' wasted ass got more than one down down for both missing the October trail and for repeatedly using nerd names on trail. Just Kyle felt the need to apply for a job at Twisted Kilt while we were there, most likely inspired by the ridiculous amounts of above average cleavage that dominated the wait staff of the joint. Hell I'm straight and I still wanted to motorboat half of the staff and I'm not remotely ashamed of that fact. She came up for a second down down as well for the fact that she was apparently the one one out of the group that missed the memo that we had Marines in our midst. That lead to a bit of a yelling match seeings how she felt that yours truly falsely accused her of said violation even though she said it to both myself and Lazer. And nobody fucks with Lazer, let's face it. Tower had to drink for the hepatitis bird while his fantastical wife took a down down for her Jameson imbibing at the pre-lube. No decent hash is complete without a little blood on trail and Doggy Erectus took that dubious honor this time around. From there, well, we kept drinking. It was decided that we all needed to get back to the Pre-Lube to resume drinking since our alcohol supplies disappeared pretty quickly. When "normal" people are involved, one vehicle and almost 20 people would mean that some ride in the car and others walk/run to the bar. This particular pack of hashers? On top of the vehicle, hanging off of the sides, running beside it... we like to take things from all angles kind of like your mom. Once at the bar it was the usual debauchery until people started to weed out, then the FUN started. 43987345 cup demolition beer pong closed out the night for a few of us and after thoroughly pissing off pretty much the entire back room of the bar and bruising ourselves head to toe, the last of us limped out once we got tired of body slamming each other to get to beer pong balls.And thus ended the November edition of the CUNTH.
"Here's to alcohol: the cause of, and solution to, all of life's problems" - Homer Simpson