The pack convened one Saturday night in October, of 2015. Ice Princess, Funny Bone-her, and Peru-vit I Don't Bolivia Ya were the hapless hares. People showed up, and as we waited for this trail to commence, we listened to the beginnings of the Cubs thrashing the Cardinals. GO CUBS! The half-minds circled up and then we groped around a majorly destroyed Bronco that appeared to be abandoned in the parking lot. We chucked empty beer cans into the back of it. Because why not? Fast forward to 3 minutes later and said owner of the aforementioned Bronco comes walking up to me. "Hey man, I know it's a piece of shit but you guys don't need to throw beer cans in my car." Oops. Hastefully I apologized and offered to remove said beer cans. He counter offered that it was no big deal, but he would take a beer, for compensation. I figured that was a completely fair exchange and complied. Whew. My 42 year streak of not getting my ass kicked by a redneck that lives in an old train car remains intact.

And the pack was out. 1/2 mile into the trail, things got crazy. Little did we know that there was a small zoo out in the middle of nowhere. The owner of the zoo let How Do You Like My Headlights Now RIDE A GOD DAMNED ELEPHANT. I stroked a Peacock. Ovary Punch licked a tortoise. The hash was swiftly kicked out of this zoo when Fake Bake Fuck tried to mount their giraffe. The pack was away but not before Claim To Flame got their goat to nibble on his crotch area.

The trail continued along some railroad tracks where apparently earlier in the day the hares were confronted by the law. Earlier in the day. There were three god damned hares and they pre-laid trail. Don't you hares realize how stupid the rest of us hashers are? This is not necessary. Then the pack came along a small encampment of homeless people/hobos. We searched among them, assuming we would find Glad-He-Ate-Her recruiting people for the next Hobo hash. He was nowhere to be found. I posited that he was probably in Brooklyn on one end or the other of a Glory Hole. We did find an old friend from Springfield, however. Sure enough, there was someone no one thought we'd ever see again. Deep Woods Cutter was in house and she was all like "Hello Mr. Frankie. Can I stay in your room tonight, again?" I declined, at that time, but probably went back later to pick her up.

The trail continued and there was a beer stop. And then 87 miles later there was another beer stop. This second beer stop, at some Fire Stop or Fire Light or Fire Stand bar had a baseball game airing that was moderately important to most of the people at the hash. Everyone voted to fuck the rest of trail and we all watched the last few innings of the Cubs beating the Cardinals. GO CUBS!

After the game we ALL still decided to fuck trail and piled into vehicles and auto hashed back to circle. Beaner Weiner and Princess Pussy Pants were waiting for us there, after all, so we had to get there quickly and force them to catch up on down downs. So we made them get drunk. They really didn't put up much of a fight. We circled and down downed.

Then we went to a bar and some funny shit happened. You want to know what happened at the bar? Well fuck you. Get your ass to a trail and be there.

*** I may have just skipped trail and went to the beer stop and watched the baseball game so not all of this may have actually happened ***