A great RA once asked “Who’s here that’s fast?” and no one raised their beer. Then the RA decided that I was fast, and swiftly proceeded to sing me a song and proclaim my title as Hash Trash Scribe for the evening. I’d blame the RA, but the weather was so delightful (while my cock was so frightful??? … that’s not how the song goes.) since it was 65 degrees out in January.
Wankers gathered in a south shitty park, circled around the coolers, and tried not to get run over by Jeeps speeding through the park trying to prove their manhood. The fucking hare did his chalk talk, explained that we might miss the special puke halt on trail (while the real Puke Halt was in attendance), but I wasn’t listening since I was too busy overhearing a convo about turning an engagement ring into a cock ring, with the diamond mounted on the top, but that’s a story for another time. The hare was away, beer was drunk, Gladdy did all the downdowns in the beginning circle because why the fuck not, followed swiftly by announcements. I forget what was said, even though the main point of it was to get information to slightly less drunk hashers, but it failed. 15.69 minutes later, the thirsty pack was on out.
Trail took us across the road and through a cemetery, followed by a puke halt on a gravestone with a four loko waiting for us, which reminded me of college and all the poor decisions I made. Shortly after that, the pack crossed a bridge over the beautiful River Des Perre only to be duped by a check back. No idea how far those FRB’s ran, but I made it just in time to not go across the bridge. Check back lead to the side of the river where we climbed down on the shitty concrete banks of the River Des Perre and under the road. Surprisingly, the river was low and it was able to be traversed without getting your feet wet. After a few hundred feet of shaggy on the banks, the pack encountered a shitty beer hault, where there was atleast a Milwaukee’s Best Light tall boy, another reminder of my college days and how poor I was having to drink the Beast.
After the slow climb up, I waited uptop for Two Fuck Canuck, since it would be the Canadian thing to do. He said “Sorrie,” and we were on our way to try and find the pack. We lost the pack, but kept on trail. Eventually we got lost after a weird Y street crossing and zenned in the direction we thought we needed to go. After crossing a church parking lot without igniting into flames, we saw trail once again and proceeded to the beer stop. Two Fuck and I thought we were DFL’s to the beer stop only to learn that Gladdy, Greg LooseAnus, and TrAiNwReCk never made it to the beer stop… The beer stop was at one end of the park near a playground. Some hashers played on the playground, while others drank beer.

Eventually, the pack made its short trek on the walking path to the dock in the “lake” where the “polar” plunge took place. Now, it was 65 degrees out when we circled up, which didn’t really make this a typical polar plunge. Nevertheless, hashers ended up in the “lake” with varying amounts of goose shit waiting for them at the bottom. Strap On stripped down to his birthday suit to do the plunge, while not getting arrested for indecent exposure in a city park. There was some middle school towel snapping which ended up with either Claim to Flame or Puke Halt back in the water. I was too busy walking back. Hummers Para Libre warned hashers that there was “really muddy” on the way back, but we all know she just had to pooped and then stepped in it.

Back in circle, I forget all the hash shit and pins of lager, because I was so disappointed in the SAVE A LOT TORTILLA CHIPS without salsa, thanks to Strap On. Or I just cant remember.
The pack went to Sybergs for the On After which I did not partake in, but I didn’t hear about anyone getting arrested, so I guess that’s considered a win.