Hash Trash
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Birthday Trash: Cuntcussion edition | All Along the Hashtower Hash Trash | Return of Mastor Gator* | Divorcee Hash 2.0 | hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB
| Birthday Trash: Cuntcussion edition
(5 years ago)
Prelube - Naco Taco:
We ate tacos, tortas, chips & dip, and drank beer and margaritas in ritual preparation for the first Sunday trail of the year, and to celebrate Cuntcussion's birthday. Hares: Cuntcussion, Swedish Eagle Bagcar: Blondie McFucksalot Pack: Bottom Wrangler, Shart of Darkness, Orgasm Famine, Rainbow Fuckin Bright, No Man on the Moon, Friar Fuck, Just Katie, 50 Shades of Glaze, Mudlsut, a virgin (Mudslut's cousin), Mange my Vagina, Testicular Mechanics, Clit Notes, Shits & Ladders Chalk talk: Bottom Wrangler administered chalk talk in mostly standard English, for the benefit of the virgin. A notable point was Mange informing Wrangler that "there are no dick checks on Taco trail". We corrected Mange that she was, in fact, at a BH3 trail.
Leg1:
We meandered east and north. Twice the treacherous hares marked possible trail onto live train tracks, and twice I cautiously examined the potential route while remaining vigilant for loose trains out looking for hasher blood, only to hear trail called in another direction. This leg featured a shot check at Donnelly Field. A big red jug that looked like coolant for use in a car. I'm told it tasted slightly less like that. Pack would work on this for the rest of trail.
BC1: Gold Star Mothers Park:
We sat around a picnic table during beer check, while a man did yoga close by.
Leg 2:
Again possible trail was encountered at live train tracks. This time I saw a blob of flower, and stopped for five to ten minutes to investigate, as an attentive hasher does. This, of course, caused most of pack to get ahead of me as they proceeded on the actual trail. I may have waylaid several members of pack here in my search for trail - sorry guys. The rear echelon of pack finally got moving. We didn't find the actual trail for a little, instead zenning parallel to it, then catching it again a few hundred meters later. Eventually we found ourselves back amongst the rest of pack, as we headed North into Somerville and then past Somerville Ave. It was correctly surmised that trail would go uphill to one of our favorite parks.
BC2: Prospect Hill Park:
Great views on a beautiful day during our beer check atop the tower. From our high vantage point, we observed the hares heading north as they went gay.
Leg 3:
We tracked the hares in hot pursuit, though for Famine and I the trail soon turned cold, as we proceeded to zen in a wrong, and then even wronger direction, before finally circling back to the last check. We followed pack marks across a very busy four lanes of road (route 28) without a crosswalk, later learning that the hares had been spotted from across the highway, and then snared by some of pack. Others, who were not lucky enough to get in on the action, apparently ran a long YBF, which Cuntcussion and Sweagle had needed to lay hapahazardly. The hares had been unaware of the 'closed' status of Washington Street in Somerville as it passes under the train tracks, until they marked trail up to it.
On in - (adjacent to) New Washington Dog Park, East Somerville:
There were people and dogs in the dog park, so we ate pizza and circled across the street in a nice grassy area. A tall hedge provided a visual barrier from an apartment building whose residents might disapprove of our shenanigans. In addition to the pizza, Cuntcussion supplied us with home-made cookies (espresso chocolate chip!). Not to be outdone, Blondie countered the hare's offering with one of her own; a shot that contained clear liquor, a raw egg, and hot sauce. Circle watched Cuntcussion's face as she went through shock, denial, anger, depression, and finally, acceptance, all during the birthday shot's creation, before downing it. The Virgin was called in, and Mange, now almost a full hundred percent certain what kennel she was hashing with, demented him, in true Mange fashion. We had several additions to circle, including Goat & assorted company, and the virgin's girlfriend, whose phone number he had written on the back of his hand before trail, for safety reasons. Accusations were eventually called (same haircuts, people who didn't know what day of the week it was, etc.), announcements made, we swung low, and headed out.
On-on,
-Shits
|
| All Along the Hashtower Hash Trash
(5 years ago)
What: The All Along the Watchtower Hash
Where: Brendan Behan Pub
Who: Do Me Decimal, (not) Massage A Trio
Pack:
Wikipedophilia, Bring Out the Gimp, For the Love of God Finish,
the virgin from last week, the just who brought the virgin from last week,
Dribbles, Dry Hose, Sex TFF, Twat My Mom, Topless Barbie, Chunderelli,
definetly other people I’m forgetting.
Start:
Arriving at the start early - running because trusting the orange
line is like waiting for when I paint my masterpiece - the bartender very nicely
informed me that the hare had called ahead to warn the bar of our arrival, so
they had set up some orange food and pretzels on a few tables away from the bar
as to not distract the denzins at the bar. Rage. As I was walking in, All Along
the Watchtower was playing, on theme. Chunderelli walked right past the bar.
Pack slowly trickled in, with tales of woe coming in from all those who braved
the T. The hares and bag car arrived slightly be 7, and changed into an all-red
outfit (this is relivant later) and was gay, or straight, or whatever, they
left us alone at the bar with promises of beer lingering in the air.
Chalk talk:
Qatar Mile Queer led us in chalk talk, but decided to draw the
marks in white chalk, unlike the hare, who decided to paint the side walks
black with their chalk. The hare had given a whole set of “special marks” to
our earstwhile RA, but he had forgotten all but one of them - CN/CC which stood
for “Champange Near” and “Champange Check.” We were promised that it wouldn’t
be “divorce juice”
Trial Grey-marks:
Everyone was scouting left, and some were scouting right. I
scouted the wrong way around a super-market, and eventually I hadn’t seen
nothing like a trial mark, so I headed back to chalk-talk. I found some
grey-chalk-on-black-side-walk and followed until I saw cranium lamps bobbing in
the distance and ran towards them. Pack ran helter-skleter going
check-to-check; the hare living up to their origins as a cajun-hasher. Once we
found marks it was easy to follow, but pack hadn’t seen nothing like an easily
visible mark. Looping our way through JP - the lack of ability to see marks
made us run in circles without knowing it - we eventually couldn’t figure out
what any of it was worth and found marks leading into the woods with “CN” writen
in chalk on a rock. The hare then used the tried and true practice of “an
entire bag of flour over 100 yards” leading us through the woods to the
champange. Luckily they ran out right at the champange, laying only one
“wiki-mark” (as apparently laying down sticks in the formation of arrows is
called - who would ever DO THAT?). Next to the champange were the cards that
read “have mercy on their souls” as it was discovered this was, in
fact, divorce-juice. [For those who don’t know divorce juice is a term of
art for almond flavoured champange from trader joes] There was also hatorade
mixed with something for the feinter of hart. After trying hard to finish the
bottles, we looked around and saw that pack had shrunk to about six, so I went
back to look for the rest of them. Apparently they were confused by the
definition of “near” and didn’t see, or follow, the marks going up the spanish
stairs, looking around instead for champange near the champange near mark.
Trail “well, lets just assume it goes up hill”:
We all know the adage that “the hash runs up hill” and never has
pack seen this montra more faithfully executed. We hashed around the heath
street hill, through some parks and up some stairs. We got to an intersection
and ran up some more hills, then to another intersection and up more hills. We
were running a long a street at there was a check at the base of a flight of
stairs, there was one easily visible and a second mark not too far up them, so
I bounded my way up the stairs. Twat my mom kindly intercepted a local muggle
who asked him why I had just bounded up the stairs to his house. Twat replied,
in effect, that I was (am) an idiot, and that it was the wrong way. The man
invited Twat to run a 5k on Saturday as I ran back down the stairs to catch up
with pack. There was a check at the next flight of stairs, and trail did go up
those, to a second shot check.
Trial “this has to be where the beer check is, oh, no, wait.”
Starting from the mad dash up the stairs to the second shot check
all of our - or at least YHNs - beer-dars were going off, only to be
investigated as false alarms. After the shot check we finished running up all
the hills to the park which overlooks the city - really narrowing down which
one - and trial ran, unexpectedily down-hill, so we kept thinking that the beer
check would be “right at the next park.” It never was. Eventually we kept
running down, and down and down until we got to the Orange line tracks, which
we ran over, to a hash-sit-a-peed by whatever-road-the-orange-line-follows.
Continuelly getting my barings again, I suggested that we “scout up hill” to
that weird tower thing we went to once one a red dress after being kicked out
of Sam Adams. Pack blinked and ran down the “big road” while Chunderelli and i
scouted - and found - trail crossing 4 lanes of traffic and going up hill.
Trail came to an intersection and kept going up hill. It did this three, or
maybe four, more times, until finally, blessedily, we saw “BN” pointing into
the park with the aforementioned weird tower.
Beer Check Sex Cult?
The hare maintains that the tower was built in the 60s as part of
a sex cult? They were very adoment about it, but I wasn’t really paying
attention. I was paying attention to the fact that my legs were no longer
climbing hills. The only conversation of note at the beer check was about how
opiodes make you constipated, then people shared stories about suffering from
the inverse of constipation as an adult. We thought the hare had been away for
a while when we started talking about hashers who signed up to get colera, but
were informed that they had only been away for a few minutes. Not wanting to
talk about shit anymore, i wandered around the park, scouting in all the wrong
directions.
Trial “We have to go downhill to get to where we’re going”
If our beer-dars had been biased after the second shot check, they
were totally out of whack following the beer check, except that we totally go
lost at least twice looking around at “View Checks” whose views featured
tripple deckers with maybe a sight of a sky scrapper peaking over them in the
distance. I’m pretty sure we ran down more hills than we ran up, but according
to science that’s not possible. Fake news. They were perfect hills. We crossed
back over the-main-road-heading-south-west-from-the-city and Twat led us in
“Oh, sir jasper” to let pack catch up and reform. Sex scouted straight and had
a knack for not following the falses down all the sides streets which went up
hill,unlike YHS. However, that scouting led YHS to be slightly behind Sex at a
group hug in front of a cool chruch on a hill, which we had circle for moon
behind many moons ago. Sex and a few others went off scouting and calling
“OnOn” in, lets be honest, whatever direction doesn’t matter, because I saw,
running back towards us crouching and trying to stay behind trash cans, a
runner dressed all in red. They sprinted across the road mid block and i turned
and chased down the hare!
We sang the days of the week before running around the chruch and
on-ining at the park next to the parking lot where moon ended years ago.
ONIN:
Precircle food! Not only was it pizza, but it was, like, good
pizza. We stuffed our visages with it. After pack had enough time to eat the
delicous pizza buffet, QMQ started singing about the mayors daughter and we
carried the beer-cooler over to a basketball hoop in the middle of a round
court for circle.
CIRCLE:
Quarter mile took a long pull from his beer and called the hare
into circle, then went around asking for comments on trail. Disco showed up
looking dabber AF. We sang the hare the “Shitty Hare” song, and they sang us
... something? Mobile? Sure lets go with that. It’s not true, but it doesn’t
matter. When we finished their song and QMQ almost dismissed them from cricle,
but then called them back in because he had forgotten to get comments on trail
sign them a song. We, the pack, were slightly confused, so we all yelled our
comments out again, and QMQ sang “Shitty Hare” and second time, no knowing that
we had just done all this! The RA had lost control so the hare and YHS ran
around circle yelling that while pack stood looking dumb. The RA then asked
“what else he had forgotten” not wanting to retrace the entirety of his life
accused the RA of “forgetting circle” and sang to him that ... “he should’ve
used more flour and chalk.” Circle was quickly decending into madness but it
was the amazing level of madness which is as indescribable as it is fun and
intoxicating. There weren’t any virgins - not that I remember at least - but we
did call sweat test failures in. When pressed for a song, we sang that the
backsliders “should’ve use more flour and chalk....” The RA tried invain to
assert some kind of control over circle, and kept on calling in people for
accusations which should’ve had specific songs. The backsliders, for example,
were asked “where o where were you last week? We should’ve used more flour and
chalk...” There was a celebration of the end of summer by doing the same
swedish-frog-jumping-thing which we celebrated it’s start with, but that didn’t
take hold either. QMQ was accused of running into a tree, and sang to that he
should’ve used more flour, or chalk. The hare was called in for being snared,
and also told, for a third time, that they should’ve used more flour and chalk.
Eventually, with the time progressing towards 10 and the beer flowing quickly,
it was time to swing low and end this farce of a circle, which could’ve used
more flour and chalk.
On - you should’ve used more flour or chalk - On
-Wiki
EDIT: The hare provided the following document about their research and references for the trail:
All Along the Watchtower Trail: An Explanation, with
references
Summary of inspiration for the trail:
The Lyman Family, also known as the Fort Hill Community, is
a Boston-bred cult founded by musician Mel Lyman of Kwenski’s Jug Band. Lyman
had a bit of a musical spat with Bob Dylan at the 1965 Newport Folk Festival,
when Dylan played an electric set to an audience who expected a different style
of show. After Dylan performed, the displeased crowd began to empty from the
venue, and Lyman retook the stage to play for 20 minutes on a harmonica.
Sometime between then and 1967, Dylan wrote “All Along the Watchtower.”
Two years after the festival, in 1966, Lyman, who’d moved to
Boston in 1963, started a cult near the “Watchtower” of this trail, Fort Hill
Tower. Like other charismatic cult leaders such as his more murderous
contemporary Charles Manson, Lyman was able to draw people to him and
manipulate them using sex, isolation, and music, topped off with healthy doses
of LSD. When not being actually-not-hippies in the Fort Hill neighborhood, the
Family was out selling a newspaper called Avatar, which got them into legal
issues while supposedly expanded the cult message. As the 70s approached, bank
robberies and assaults tied to the Lyman Family followed. Lyman supposedly died
in 1978, though no death certificate was ever produced. Family members
eventually founded a construction company, which may or may not exist today in
Boston. Coverage of the Lyman Family as a cult began in the 1970s and has
continued into 2019.
As a person studying information science, ol’ Do Me (Re)
Decimal has an interest in communities of practice, and occasionally argues on
trail that the hash, which is not-not-not-a-cult, as well groups like the Lyman
Family that are actually-freaking-cults, are also communities of practice. Do
Me heard of Lyman in a book ostensibly about Van Morrison’s album, Astral
Weeks. After reading the work last year while spending a month convalescing at
Buttler’s house, then discovering upon moving to Jamaica Plain that the site of
the Lyman Family’s intrigues near the Fort Hill
“Watchtower” were within
hashing distance from Nira Rock, Do Me began r*nning stairs and plotting a
route. Thus a trail was conceived, haphazardly, but with references, for this
not-a-cult-but-perhaps-a-community-of-practice.
Selected References
Brennan, J. (2018). Van Morrison: Astral Weeks, Movement and
Murder. Disgraceland (podcast).
Felton, D. (1971). The Lyman family's holy siege of America.
Rolling Stone.
Turner, G. (2019). My childhood in a cult. The New Yorker.
Walsh, R. H. (2018). Astral Weeks: A Secret History of 1968.
Penguin.
|
| Return of Mastor Gator*
(5 years ago)
The
Return of Mastor Gator!
Hare:
Master Gator*
Bag
Car: Marblelous Asshole
Pack:
Dribbles, Fireball, Wikipedophila, Shart of Darkness, Sketcy Ho, Popo Peepshow,
Spunk in the Trunk, Blonde, Fellowship of the cockring, Qater Mile Queer,
Chunderlli Chunderelle, Knuckle, O’boner, Mechanics, Shits, Noman, The Buttler
hit it, Barbie, Twat my mom, Goes down on Buoys, Jiggly Tits, For the love of
god, Disco, Easy as 123, others I’m forgetting
Prelube:
Pack
arrived on time at Harry’s and had a few drinks and snacks. Chicken wangs were
a popular choice. Master Gator was welcomed back after a long hash absence. The
hare left on time and everyone saw him make the first check outside of the bar.
Eventually 6.9 was called and we left to find bag car and chalk talk.
Chalk
Talk:
No
Justs! No Virgins! Shart was missing on a “work call” and Disco went in bag
car.
Leg
1( dammit hills):
Trail
went up ALL the hills. And stairs. At some point, QMQ had to “take a shit” and
left pack. People remarked "yeah that sounds right". Wiki went off to
zen and Chunderelli was missing. Buoys refunded into a bush. There was a rum
shot check that no one really wanted. Vanilla flavoured nonsense, we hates it.
Knuckles gracefully fell. Eventually, pack made it to the...
Wine
Check (baggo!):
Before
Shart caught up to pack at the wine check, Easy informed us that she wasn't
Shart's keeper and therefore didn't know where the fuck Shart was. Blondie said
we were missing a handful of pack including Wiki and QMQ, though Fireball swore
she saw Wiki’s Marks on trail.We finished a pretty good amount of the bag of
wine (a rare white), our enthusiasm stoked by various hashers showing off their
'And1 Baggo' moves that they'd perfected on the summer tour. We did not finish
it all and Fellowship of the Winebag bore the weight of the bagho out of the
wine check.
WC to
BC(oh look people) At this point Fireball was getting increasingly worried
about the length of QMQ’s shit. Tech on trail reassured that QMQ had “found
pack” and was no longer glued to a toilet. During this leg pack was in awe of
Gator’s newfound love of mileage.
BC (beer
and snacks)
In a
shocking turn of events for the Boston Hash, we drank beer in a park.
BC to
End (beep beep!):
A car
nearly ran Wiki over. We gave the motorist a citizen issued citation for
rolling through the stop sign. He is due to appear in kangaroo court next week.
Jiggly asked a muggle for his phone to show him the hash website. He seem
enthralled with our antics and took a swig of hatorade before heading off to a
tea party.
Circle
(shit escalates):
Circle
started with the location of beer and pizza being argued over. Some thought
that we should circle right where were on the hill (a pretty level spot), while
others thought we should proceed a few hundred metres more to another spot. We
compromised by taking 5 steps up the hill and doing circle there. Pack started
getting incresingly worried that Gator was no where to be found. There were
theories floating around that he was stationed up the hill, and FTLoGF went and
shouted for him to no avail, before returning quickly due to fear of wolves.
And The Hares started, and 5 different people jumped in. To what seemed to be
everyone's complete surprise, we were all learnt at this pointt that the trail
had been hared not by Gator, but instead by Wiki. And Shart. And Qmq. And
Disco. And Chundrelli. Gator had gone home after prelube. Actual hares had
engaged in some extreme trickery/COLLUSION to lay trail, unbeknownst to the
rest of pack. Please see the Strava flyby for more details on this. Hares were
called in for they fuckery. With no virgins to dement, and limited visitors to
entertain ourselves with, we moved on. FTLoGF was still confused where Gator
was. Accusations were hurled around, true and semi-true alike. We would
eventually swing low, and then leave leave.
Scribed
by Master Gator*
Anonymous
Grizzly, Anonymous Chinchilla, Anonymous Kraken, Anonymous Dinosaur
|
| Divorcee Hash 2.0
(6 years ago)
What: Divorcee Hash 2.0
How: Swedish Eagle, Yellow Dick Gnome,
Chunderelli Chunderelli
Where: Whitey’s Harvard Sq
Who:
young just, old just, ass cowboy,
quater mile quack quack queer, do me decimal, po po peep show, wikipedophilia,
anal disco, peeping tom pussy, strap on strap off, kunckles deep, orgasmn
falmon, necropheliciac jack, the butler hit in, oboner, dribbles, dry hose,
luva lamp, full frontal fireball, vagabond, sketchy, testicular mechinaics,
foreskin abortion, probably others i’m forgetting, no capital letters.
Start: Pack made up the entirety of
the crowd at Whitneys and Vagabond did a much more friendly impression of “give
me yo money” than I ever had. We discussed why we were here, and our sincere
hopes that this trail would be better than the last divorce trail . The hares
were eventually gay - if only, that might have helped their marriage - and we
continued talking amoungst ourselves. Eventually two people showed up who
looked like they were going to be the bouncer for the night, and we ignored
each other. Pack away was called and we played another game of “cram bags into
small cars” as we filled quater miles’ transport with our shit.
Chalk Talk:
Was relivitely calm; we said what we
wanted to get in the divorce, and went over marks...some of which were used,
some of which weren’t. We were told that there would be an abritraity number of
“bad decision splits” - the hares would make them up as they go but we could
expect things like “401k/vacation house.” Cool idea, we left to find marks.
Leg Honeymoon:
Well, this was no honeymoon. This
marriage was off to a grey start as the first leg of trial [note: I -am- trying
to spell trail but google (I’m writing in google docs) is -always-
correcting it to trial.] was marked in grey and sidewalk color chalk. Combine
that with us running through the
never-thronged-with-tourists-and-summer-camps-harvard-square and you could just
tell that pack was already harkening back to the early days of crushing and
mid-day bangs. Eventually we found a mark which was a perfect metaphor for the
divorcee trial; a true trail leading to a locked gate. On the other side of the
gate was one of the best splits I’ve ever seen; a “Drinking Alone/Therapy”
split; the drinking alone just looped you back to the locked gate true trail
and the same split again. In order to continue on trail, you NEEDED TO TAKE
THERAPY!!! On the other side of the therapy was a song check in the middle of
Hahvahd Yahd, at which I thought it was appropriate to educate the denizens of
The Yahd about how you can have a balanced diet - and stable marriage - if you
eat hot viginia for breakfast, lunch and dinner! There was a kids/pets check on
the other side of the Yahd, and then trail rejoined and we run through “lower
Cambridge” towards Cambridgeport and a beer check in the park near the Western
Ave Bridge.
Beer check:
Had Beer! Though, to be fair, it was divorcee-able beer, as it was, we hope, finally the last of the marathon beer check gennie cream and warm PBR (though bag car had placed it on ice to try and gas light us into thinking it was good beer). Speaking of gaslighting, some people talked about early 2000s German ciniema and no one had heard of The Edukators. Kool.
Pack away was called (or I thought it
was)
Leg Working Through It:
The second leg of trail was one
designed to remind pack of everything they hadn’t as we trampsed on various
paths through Harvard Business School. There was a Mom/Dad/Runaway check. Your
humble narrator took the “Mom” path which was a pleasant stroll passed some
pavillions, gaint out-door chess and a “cool art” check. Nerco and Vagabond ran
off to have sex, and I scouted trail alone across whatever extension Hahvavd is
building into Lower Alston, and ran into the 401k/Vacation house check. The
vacation house led quickly to a “B”N so I looped back and ran the 401k
backwards hoping to find “shots” but none were to be found, so I caught up with
the walkers and ran into the “B”C.
Not Almound Champaign Check:
The B was in quotes because the
refreshments on offer were cosco-champaign and the champange of beers - High
Life. Blessedly there was no Almond Champange and pack began to think “maybe
the hares aren’t gunning for ‘Worst Trial Of the Year’”
Leg Run to the Courthouse
From the second beer check trial
meandered again through LA to an obivous check-back on Hooker st, which I blew
through and found true trial a block away pointing to a “CN/CC” where the hares
had hidden the other six bottles of champange under a bridge. Second
rolled up to the check with a posses coke-addicted doll which he used as a
batton to pass around champange. I think her name was ... Sally? He found her
in an Alley? I forget. Trial continued across the North Harvard Ave Bridge to
the Most Obivous Checkback Ever (TM) back across the Mass Pike to a pretty much
straight shot to where all marriages end; the backroom of the Shilloute.
ONIN:
Was the backroom of the Shilloute.
Bags and pizzas were distributed and we stuffed our faces with pizza and free pop
corn until Ass Cowboy called us into circle. The hares were called in for being
hares and laying a shitty trial. They admitted to their crimes and sang that
they were dumb. Visitors were called in - one whose name I forget from Everyday
Is Wednesday - whose naminy story involved banging in the Hahvad Library, and a
visitor from Boulder CO, #PossiblyTheBestBH3. They were welcomed and song “Dead
Whore.” Then July birthdays were called in - second, popo, butler, maybe others
- and we sang to the linear progression of time. I was called in any number of
times for any number of crimes. Strap on Strap off was called in for following
me and I massarced the “Like a Virgin” song. Dry Hose and Luva serinamed us
with their weird song, though I forget which accusation drove it. Eventually
the beer was running low and the more constrained passing of time which we were
aware of was getting close to the end so ass cowboy called for announcements
(see below) then we swamg low.
On - there are no such thing as
mistakes just wrong decisions in the moment - On
-Wiki
Announcments:
TONIGHT TONIGHT TONIGHT: Choir practice at the Owl’s Nest Beer Garden on the Esplinade. Google maps: I will mark trail from the Feedler and Dartmouth St footbridges.
Saturday: Zig-Zag Trail starting at
the Shilloute, 8PM HST
Next Wedensday: Revere Trail, Bill
Ashes’ Lounge
Saturday 7/20: Bullbuster
Saturday 7/27: Boston Moon H3 Present:
Tour de Franzia 2.0
Wednesday 7/31: Mastor Gator is haring
a trail which isn’t the Tropical Hash
|
| hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB
(6 years ago)
What: Hash Backwards Trash
Where: Zero Washington Dog Park
Who: Shits and Ladders
Pack: Right, a lot of justs, a just who was named Full Frontal Fireball, a virgin, Sex the Final Frontier, PoPo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Organsm Falmon, Dribbles, Bring Out the Gimp, Wikipedophilia, Testicular Mechanics, Foreskin Abortion, Bottom Wrangler, Quarter Mile Queer, Dry Hose, a just from holden (well, rutland, but I’ll take it), other’s I’m forgetting.
Chalk talk:
The marks being blue and well trodden were slightly hard to see, and since we were all eating pizza (suprisingly good?), we weren’t paying much attention. There were no flour marks, though the majority of trail would be laid in flour. We did introductions in a record amount of time, as a very drunk Wrangler spon around in the middle and told us to “Yell out our names” when he pointed to us. The virgin was very confused, but we ran off anyway.
Trail goes up, because of course it does:
Trail turned left out of the start, and we were immediately deprived of some of the best urban shiggy and abandoned train cars in boston. We ran around the back of a retire complex then crossed Washington street when we saw and sign which cruelly promised that a T station might be there soon.. We ran up a short road, crossed a green bridge, then got to a 5 way intersection and a song check. Unfortunately the motorists had their windows up so they couldn’t hear us saranade them with the gang bang song. We crossed the intersection almost directly and ran pretty much straight up the backside of whatever-hill-has-that-tower-on-it-in-Somerville to our first beer check. There was some pleasant musical accompanyment for the FRBs, but by the time pack got there the muscianians had dispersed.
Beer check sans music:
The beer was dropped off and the musicians left. We spent time enjoying the views of our fair city and wondering where trail would go from there. We were promised an indoor or outdoor onin, depending on weather. I had my suspicions, which were wrong, and caused some bad zenning in the future.
Trail goes down:
Apparently Somerville is fixing stairs and doesn’t want people running on grass? Anyway, we had to run around the tower to get back down to Union square, and a check that was actually solved relatively easily, given the roads in the area. We ran over the bridge past CEPs old place, and Testicular tried really hard to pull a Butler by darting out in front of a car. Everyone saw the car stop and then ran around it too. This very much confused the driver and he tried to yell at us, but we were running for beer! There was a group hug a bit down from CEPs and I am getting confused as to how we got there without cross a major street, but I’m assuming somehow we did? We then had a nice jaunt through deep Cambridge and it’s warren of not-quiet logically connecting streets until we ended up at the backside of the Kendal area. There were no marks down the train tracks because apparently those tracks are becoming more and more active? Trail ran through the bio-tech building neighborhood to and we were finially rewarded with a beer near a dog park/playground thing off Binary street.
Beer check in the dark:
Despite the lengthening days, it was getting dark and we were getting kinda cold. I found out that one of our just was from Rutland and that sadly he was more well versed in the Holden bar scene than I am. In my defense I actively avoid the Holden bar scene like the bubaunic fucking plauge. Cool story. With the darkness encrouching on our rage, we hastily finished our beers and took off in search of trail.
Trail smart or stupid? Everyone’s stupid.
Trail ran straight for a few blocks to a smart/stupid check. Gimp somehow found trail and ran almost straight to the end. I thought I knew better than to follow a Gimp sprinting off into the unknown, so instead I followed Sex. I have regrets in my life. We scouted a block and found trail and then verily happily ran trail, despite marks being slightly hard to find, for a few blocks. We heard On-On calls in the distance and were vauguely heading towards them. Then there was a check dozen people coming from one way and a dozen people coming from another and we kinda just looked at eachother all stupid like until I decided that maybe following Sex wasn’t a good idea, so I followed falmon and we eventually found our back to the joining arrows of the smart/stupid – but still no sign of Gimp. A few blocks later we were running past the court house and our beerdars were flashing red alart. A quick mob-run across Cambridge street greeted us with a Beer Near and OnIn at Courtside.
Circle:
Circle got started quickly with the Ras accusing the hare of an S-H-I-T-T-Y trail, and the hare singing a short dity about our sisters. We then brought in our virgin who was close to guessing what eight something squared was and had a very ineresting interpartation of a pig orgasming. She’s now a just, and I promise to be good a remember justs this summer! #scribegoals Sensing that pack was already drunk and that there was a story which just needed to be told, the RAs accused Just Lindsey of being a just. As she knelt before us we heard tale of her drinking too much fireball at marathon, going home, leaving her door open (who amoung us hasn’t done that?). Her roomate then came home, thought someone had broken in and called the cops who founded our earstwhile just contentenidtly passed out on her bed. At another trail, this time in Oregon, she went down on a fellow hasher after she though trail was over. When she came up for air, she discovered that they had not finished trail, and were in fact, in circle. Based partially off these relaltively true events, just Lidnsey will be known as Full Frontal Fireball from now on. That out of the way, we moved onto accusations. Backsliders were called in, I think, though somehow I missed out? There was an accusation of a group back massage and Testicular face planting running down a hill. Since we were at Courtside there were pitchers and shitty pizza flowing generously and the RAs, admiting that they could no longer control themselves or circle, swung low. Oh yeah, there were announcements – beaver trail in Billerica Sunday, in which we might burn down Gimps house? I’m unsure. Summer campout season is upon us, so you know, get your tent and rage?
On – Rage – On
-Wiki
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