Hashers gathered for Rainbows and Raves Hash on Saturday, March 20th 2011. Ahhh the first day of spring. The trail promised to be shiggiriffic as this was the return to the site of The Goddesses of Booze and Blooms, which happened to be the trail of the year or something like that
Roll call: Spit Valve, Homo Erectus, Plop Plop Jizz Jizz, Mexiho, Camo Tow, Fish Don’terase Lips, Just Paige, Just Toe Mass, Donkey Punch, Just Larry, Cuntrifuge, Just Steve, Just Alex, Hit Me With your Cumshot, Money Shot, Nekkid Ninja, Double Fister, Trail Tail, Hot 2 Twat, Pubio, Beefy Tits 911, Just Tim, Just Audrey, P-Ditz and her pooch Load Warrior, Sexy Stink Fingers, Just Liz and Brokeback Belcher. And Me. Your narrator for the evening.
I arrived in style with my right wing wench, P-Ditz, in our chariot pull by the all mighty Load Warrior. We drank, whizzed, drank and chattered like a bunch of old hens that haven’t left the coop in months.
The Hares, Spit Valve and Homo Erectus became restless. Money instructed the dynamic duo to what they do best, get on their knees. The hares were blessed and off they went. Introductions were made, chalk talk whispered, beverages were consumed, whizzes were made, the fornicating began and Blow-Js for all!
Hashers Away! There we were, strolling along me and my left wing wench Cum Shot. The pack was quickly split with yours truly, Mexiho, Cum Shot and Money; and few stragglers behind us. I don’t know who they were…..Do I have eyes in the back of my head? The gap between the pack grew as the knitting circle discussed prom dresses. Money skipped ahead like a little school boy. We turned the corner and what do we see? Money Shot standing proudly on a manhole down the tree line. Over the road and through the trees, far and wide not a whistle to be heard….Wait… what was that? It was music to our ears, the echoes of a shrieking Spit Valve ringing through the trees. Finally, we have a visual of the cool kids frolicking on an island.
We forded the river in true Laura Ingles style. I took the low road and jumped right in, immediately going down and down …deeper and deeper and deeper; HEY You pervs! This is not a porn. I was knee deep in westside quicksand. One thing I love about hashers is that you can always count on them to laugh, mock and humiliate you. On some chivalrous occasions, one might even attempt a dangerous rescue mission. What the hell was Donkey thinking as she, all 92 pounds of her, attempted to pull me out with a soggy tree branch. I envisioned Whack on Whack off’s synchronized swimming stunt that landed him head first in a mud bank- legs kicking in the air. I’m still not sure who actually pulled me out.
It is rumored that several devious little half-minds baited the mud hole with frosty beverages for the rest of the pack. I was done with that nonsense and did not return to the scene of the crime.
From there on the trail seemed to be quite a cluster fuck. Here some flour, there some flour, where is the flour? Again, we were split from the pack, Mexiho, Cum Shot and our tour guide Money ran through an apartment complex and came across a set of ta-tas with a pack arrow. After a quick game of Ring Around the Rosie, we found trail again. Wait. I think that was before the first beer check. Doesn’t matter. Hey Ditz, is Money’s tattoo magazine in your car? I found remnants of it in my backpack.
At some point Don’terase found me walking in circles like a cat with pine sap plaster to her whiskers. We marched on until we found a muddy beach with basking hashers. We drank, laughed, whizzed. After Don’terase trimmed the trees, a very important question was asked. “What is the difference of a chode and a taint?” Finally, DF solved the mystery, but with a giant big boy word that 20 lb does not understand.
Is that even how you spell chode? Or is it choad? Hmm sounds like Chris Farley in Tommy boy.
Those devious hares. Trail went through a beaver sewer swamp. Pubio swept Cum Shot off her feet so she wouldn’t get her panties wet. That’s Money’s job.
We went through the woods and around the parks, then following a trail that was laid earlier. We jumped around having a pillow fight in our panties until someone found trail.
More trail along the creek. Then there in the distance was Just Alex escorting each Harriette down the riprap like the princesses we are. Under the bridge hashers crouched like trolls. More beer, food and a joyful round of Jesus Can’t go Hashing and wonderful song about Yogi Bear and his horny little friend Cindy.
The circle and the remainder of the evening is to be left to your imagination. My evening ended with a blurry memory of rice water and shrimp. Or was that a dream? Shug.
Can I go to bed now?