So one evening in February a bunch of wankers gathered around coolers at Sublette park to drink shitty beer and run a sure-to-be-shitty trail.  The hares made a point of posting that the on-after's kitchen closed at 10, so clearly it was going to be a nice short trail. GladHeAteHer was RA, and he started things off with a Who-Are-You go around, prompting several queries of "Wait, is this normal order, or is he sauced already?"  

The hares Go Gayhound and Psycho FillHer decided it'd be a good idea to tote around all the flour inventory available they could purchase.  Gladdy dumped half of it on them during blessing, because clearly they wouldn't need all that flour for a nice short trail.  Circle included one virgin, one Lazy Ass in a wheelchair, and seventeen dogs.  The hares went away, and Gladdy rambled incoherently while nobody listened. Somewhere in there Crouching Tiger Hidden Cowcock left pushing Lazy on walker's trail while making a complaint about something about her back, to which Lazy gave her a funny look.  Then pack away.

Immediately a fast FRB took the lead - one of the dogs, speeding around aimlessly, leash flapping in the wind.  Wait, whose dog is that?  Should we yell at it?  Or maybe help corral it?  Fuck it, beer is ahead, we should be there soon!  So the pack went on, meandering a trail through the streets and alleys of South city, for a mile.  Then another.  Hmmm, this is foreboding.  Then a Turkey - Eagle split.  Little did the pack know the gravity of the decision of this one little split, for the fucking hares had decided it'd be a good idea to have a bunch of hashers run a marathon this evening.  And hey, while we're at it, let's have the poor slobs constantly criss-cross Sunday's trail, so they never know which marks are right.  It'll be great!

So one group of hashers was either clever enough to read the tea leaves that Turkey was a better idea, or they were just fukkin lazy.  Either way, they soon made their way to a beer stop in a park, where they met up with late-arriving Disco Ass and Dewey Sexual System.  They claimed their tardiness wasn't on account of having sex, but nobody believed them.  The turkeys all started drinking beer, but of course they'd be cognizant to leave enough for the eagles when they arrived, right?

Oh, the poor bastards that ran eagle trail. "HOW far have we gone?" "Did we miss the beer stop?" "Are you sure that mark's from today?"  Never have these questions been asked so often on a trail.  Passers-by, seeing a swarm of individuals near a fire hydrant intently peering at the ground faces inches away, probably wondered if this was some type of crime scene.  No, they're not looking for DNA evidence, it's just a bunch of hashers debating whether that mark is from tonight or Sunday.  So yeah, we did that for several miles.  And for the chick checks the only ladies available were poor Licks N Sticks and Hardly Ever Cums.  Meanwhile the hares had an atypical hard-on for two-dotters.

After eleven miles the pack came to a Shrine Stop in front of FYE's on Hampton.  The hares had said to sing 4 songs to honor the soon-to-be-closed venue, but heartless hashers - Kibbles, Vierd, Aunt Flo, Strap On, Just Adam - decided to "regale" the shrine with just the caveman song and quickly moved on. "I'm tired", "I just want beer", blah blah blah.  Trail continued for a bajillion more miles, with the usual two dotters every ten feet, and only Hardly Ever and Licks to work the chick checks.  Pretty awesome.  Finally the rest of the pack reached the beer stop in the park.  The kind walkers/turkeys had drank most of the beer, so the exhausted newcomers only got to scrap the last few.  I guess that's what happens when you wander South City for two hours.  

When the whole pack finally arrived back at circle in Sublette, another travesty awaited: No beer! The hares were nowhere to be found, presumably gone to get more beer.  Don't we have like 9 BeerMeisters on the website?  Did nobody predict a large turnout on a 70 degree Feb day?  Questions to be pondered.  Finally beer arrived and the hash circled around Gladdy, who clearly WAS sauced at this point.  The virgin Just Somebody did a solid with a strong knock knock joke, and Veird did a solid by producing an excellent batch of baked chocolate goodness.  Puke Halt stupidly nomimated the hares for hash-shit having a hill on trail, which sealed the deal for his own hash shit.  The bowl of disgust was so bad even the connoisseur of Malort couldn't get it down.  Then the hash Swung Low and headed to hit City Park Grill before the kitchen closed.