Waaaaaaaaay back at Nash Hash, DANCING FOOL promised us he’d stop by sometime and set a trail in our honor. Being the drunken idiots we are, those words were remembered in a fuzzy and “hey wouldn’t that be cool” kind of way. So there we were, after the prophecies came true, with the man himself.
SERIALBATER brought the offspring and some trash bags so we could do a half assed job at picking up a thing along the trail, and so off we went. Trail led across the road to a beer near in the Kroger parking lot, thereby lulling us into a false sense of security. Could this be another Renegade-style “one beer near per mile” style trail…?
Nooooooooooooope to the nope. We just didn’t know that yet. So on we soldiered, through bits of scrub and brush, picking up trash along the way. Note to self: that jug is filled with piss. No matter what jug, it’s filled with piss…???? After a bit our visitor, whose name I can’t be arsed to remember after a month and a shitload of beer, had to leave with MOON OVER MY TRUCKIE to get to the airport. As it would turn out, they were the smartest of the bunch.
Trail led behind shopping centers and through parking lots and generally meandered back to a culvert under Broad Street, over to a creek. Oh yay, real shiggy! Through the woods and a little water (who cares if the water wasn’t really on trail) and back to the bar we started at. Oh yay! On-in!
Nooooooooooooope. Our On-Start was also another beer near. You shifty little shit. By the point, the little ones were in no shape to continue trail, so the pack dwindled further. After quenching our thirst, trail continued…how hard could it be?
Whoops. Those that were there know, after that beer near the hare must have hulked out or something, because things went downhill fast. Right back into Shit Creek (it has a mommy given name, but no longer) and sure, why not, let’s stay in the water for a long ass time. At least we found this historical monument, hidden from public view for some weird reason.
Oh, we were bitching about water? How about the god damned brambles on the other side of the road, which your author totally doesn’t still have stuck up his ass a month after trail. How about that, mister hare? And why not, just for good measure, make it fucking rain on us.
So the herd had been culled and the true hashers persevered to on-in, most graciously hosted by a friend of the hare. Only then did we learn the guy was the seventh Brutus Buckeye! We were having circle with royalty! Many thanks to DANCING FOOL and Brutus emeritus for the trail and hospitality…it was shitty and awesome, respectively.
On-on, you wankasses