They don't call us the Chlamydia capital of the U.S. for nothing! The Green Dress Run Flu of 2016 had taken its toll, and sickly Big Humpers crawled out of their beds and off their couches and dragged their pathetic, limp bodies to a park in Maplewood for more hashing, because three days of you fuckers isn't enough for some people. The scheduled hares had gotten sick and were replaced by Ice Princess and Beaner Weiner, heroically, because they were also sick.

GDR.1 began much in the same way as GDR.0... at a playground, surrounded by children, groaning and passing around bottles of Pepto Bismol. Disco Ass brought keg dregs for us wankers, and Locknut Monster circled us up. Beaner Weiner gave chalk talk and thorough explanations of hash marks, while just sort of dribbling flour into the grass, which was actually fine, since none of those marks were on trail anyway. Locknut reintroduced backsliders Anthrax Tampax, I Cunt Hear You, Plot My G-Spot, Fuck Me Rudolph, Gay Blade, Monistat, and Ricky's Crabshack It Was Only Once and It Was 27 Years Ago I Just Want to Point That Out. Locknut had thought he'd gotten rid of us for good and all...but just like crabs, we're back! Visitor Lawrence of a Labia, who was bursting at the seems of his pirate costume with enthusiasm and maybe an erection, and a bewildered Virgin Just Andy, who Gay Blade had convinced to come along by telling him they were just going to make a quick stop at Home Depot for one second, were welcomed to the hash. Once introductions and vaccinations were complete, we were away. Trail traced back and forth over the same goddamn hill twenty-seven times, because when Beaner Weiner is feeling a bit peaky, he likes to take it easy, and do hill sprints. Somehow, we still got lost three times, but eventually passed up several perfectly good bars to drink some ice cold cans of Natural Light at a bus stop.

When we got back to the start, How Do You Like My Headlights Now brought out the Lost Property Bag filled with stained green dresses, old underpants, and the shattered dreams of our mothers, and we settled in for a Fuck Me Rudolph circle. "I don't remember these songs, and I hate you bastards" he muttered...and then, "ICE PRINCESS GET THE FUCK OUT OF CIRCLE UNTIL I CALL YOU IN!" He didn't miss a beat. It was like he'd never left, and it was beautiful. The consummate RA, he roused us from our fugue states, and every song was on point, each blending seamlessly into the next down-down, which were completed perfectly, except for Just Andy's, because he was really just looking for some power cables. These halcyon moments of Circle Transcendence lasted upwards of three or four minutes, until Beaner snuck out of circle and called the cops on us. This is the only part of hash trash based in fact: four or five police cars surrounded the park and waited until we were gone. Luckily, Locknut and Headlights were able to shuffle the keg out of there under those shame dresses, and the hashers proceeded to the on-after, where they rallied and showed Lawrence of a Labia the best time of his life. Probably. I don't know I wasn't there.

Yours Forever in the Bond of Hashing,