The other half of the group was lollygagging in the the gazebo at the front of the tawdry little mini-mall parking lot.
When they finally all managed to get together, there were a lot of them. You have to admire their peserverance, coming out on a night like tonight...not quite cold and not quite hot with rain coming down from overcast skies in various degrees of strength but uniformly wet.
They were hanging out there talking amongst each other, beer and well drinks in hands, apparently waiting for something. A signal perhaps. And then finally an older gentlemen jogged up sporting a tank top and a bag of flour and the fun really started:
When Norman arrived we all circled up and he proceeded into a virtual explanation of the the trail markings.
Dots, checks, lady's checks, bj's, yadda, yadda, two dotters, yadda, yadda, check back, yadda, yadda, a double bj, yadda, yadda, Editor: Wait a minute, how can one hare give two bj's at the same time? And is he attached?
It was raining, it was pouring, and we were chasing the old man through the streets of Bellefountaine (apparently in localese prounounced Bell-fountain).
Depending on how hard the rain was coming down the life span of a single dot was about that of a mayfly...short. Checks seemed to stay in place pretty well, and two dotters and BJ's were a little confusing, especially when one or more dots in them had washed away.
The runners raced off and the walkers cruised along after them and then the runners were coming back so the walkers turned around. Apparently the FRBs had encountered a CB 13, which ran us right back passed the mini-mall. And wouldn't you know it, but it was exactly at that point on this fine evening of wet and wild hashing that we lost every harriet in the group aside from the stoic Sucidial Tendancies.
And I thought Harriets liked to get wet?
The next couple of checks were lady's checks, so ST took one....actually several for the team...and for some weird reason she ran down pretty much every BJ, but before getting to the BJ she would whistle that she was on and we harries would start to follow after her and then she would yell out BJ and turn around. You think we would have learned by the second or third time, but our half minds weren't putting three and two together. Anyway we made it to the beer stop eventually despite the rain and the BJ's but mostly because the Harriets were driving by and yelling "This way!" so the FRB's followed them and the SRB's do what SRB's do, bring up the rear.
Still missing two Harriets whom I was told were together. We tanked a few beverages and WB stripped down to try and ring some of the water out of his clothing without much success. Then he observed that he was actually warmer with his shirt off because his skin had a chance to dry out. Some of them harriets were interested in this warmer thing and seeing a potential opening, WB kept on in ths vein, but unfortunately, none of the harriets were convinced, much to the dismay of the harriers.
So, no nakedness for the boys, meant it was time to ON OUT after the hare. We followed some sort of trail winding about what appeared to be a park. A few steps into the park and the rain started coming down like a Black Angus heifer pissing on a flat rock. I mean it was wet. It was so dang wet that the little hashers in their summer running gear were close to dissolving faster than the wicked witch of the west in a pail of hot water.
Ending up in the a parking lot of a tennis court, the trail ended, er dissolved, er got washed out. At a loss or lost (depending on how you look at it) someone said doesn't that road up there lead back to the mini-mall? The FRBs said "Okay let's stick together and head back." Then they took off, leaving the SRBs to wonder what they meant by 'stick together'. Cold and wet, we shrugged it off and followed in their wake...literally it was like freakin' water skiing! I know I hydroplaned on at least two or three times!
About a quarter wet mile later, we arrived at the mini-mall. The harriets were parked near the gazebo, drinking beverages right about smack dab where the local policia like to sit and chat about police things (doughnuts and hand guns perhaps?) ...half minds, remember.
Still two harriets and now one hare short, we started the circle and had a virtual hare do a down down in lieu of the real hare who we hoped wasn't dead in a ditch somewhere, as no one was looking forward to getting back out into the rain and doing any ditch searching. Finally the two missing harriets sporting freshly painted fingers nails, no less, joined us in circle. Knowing that the police liked to hang out in the mini-mall parking lot, we practiced a Pee-Pole-A circle, or least we tried, but the RA wouldn't hurry things up because he was trying to keep the circle open for the real hare to attend.
Winding down towards the end it was Hashsh*t nomination time and who comes cruising in, but Norman Bates, our missing hare! Just in time to have the Hashsh*t handed to him. He requested that all the hashers that got wet on trail join him in the circle for one massive group down down and we did and there was much rejoicing. The stand-in RA, Postage Tramp, quickly finished up the circle and we headed over to Kathy's Bissell Lounge for drinks and pizza.
The only other hashsh!t nomination was Rat Gas, because he missed the hash in order to practice his role in a play. Guess whom he plays? Jesus!
Witty and Orgy Butter would have been nominated for getting their nails done on trail, except this was so silly that the harriers didn't realize they had really done this; they thought Witty and Orgy were joking. It all goes to show: never trust a hasher, except when you think they're lying.
And all in all, it was just another Shitty Trail.
On On