**Today you are getting TWO hash trashes for the price of one! Were the space unicrons a glittery mess? Was Wiki’s Fat Boy trail actually a Fat Boy? Keep reading to find out!**
Editor’s note: As you have probably long suspected, Wiki-corn and Sharty-corn are actually the same person. Thus, we are jointly referred to as “I” throughout this hash trash. And by that, I mean that the editor was too drunk and too lazy to make the pronouns intelligible (or to correct the typos, which are a beloved part of hash trashes at this point).
Editors second note: A fith unicorn (I plead the fifth) also remembered and wrote down what they saw and experinced, and that retelling has been afixed to between the "offical unicron trash" and the hang over trash.
*****
Geetings, wankers!
Since I was at that point in the morning feeling quiet sober and somewhat responsible I got to the start bright and early, just before 8:30. The bar tenders – very nice – seemed confused and slightly amused by me, but they fed me breakfast and made a beermossa, so all’s good. Slowly, over the next half hour unicorns began coming down the stairs. First one, then two, then dozens at a time, the bar was quickly overwhelled by 69 people, pretty much all in pink or other eye-jaring colors, so already bedecked as unicorns, others await their give-aways.
The give aways arrived and we started registeration – tags, cozies and hats. Oh, the hats. They were hand-made pink or black unicorn hats with extremely phallic beige horns that looked like gaint dicks, slightly redundant, but whatever. I apologize for forcing the hash to chose between pink or black, but, lets be honest, that was the hardest decision we made all day.
The first hare (Easy As 123) was given her sash and sent away at the same time we went out to do chalk talk in front of the fire station. Chalk talk was amazing because it introduced us to the newest addition to the “hash” – Blubber’s megaphone. I can’t describe it in words, I lack the ability to properly convey the experience around it, but whatever. It should also be noted that this megaphone was later used (abused) to play a really jarring siren sound, which never ceased to make me jump for a second no matter how many times Blubber did it, and also to "whisper" sweet nothings into.
Easy-corn trail:
Trail started around the fire station, down to Newbury then up to Mass Ave and towards the brigde. Standing at the foot of the bridge was Easy, and a guy on a bike blasting dance music from a speaker on the trailer of his bike. (Shout-out to Boston Bike Party! Many thanks to Jon for helping us rock out.)
As one of the FRBs, it seemed natural to me to form a tunnel of ribbons and unicorn helmets to welcome the other hashers to party. The hashers all understood what we were doing and danced along and joined the line, though the muggles who were innocently going for a light morning jog (the j is soft) were more than slightly confused and giggled nervously as they ran through a tunnel of adults in pink and blue acting more like children. From there trail devolved into a roving dance party around the bicycle dude* as we danced our way across the Mass Ave Bridge then along memorial drive to a beer check where the bums and the ducks hang out. Blubber is terrified of geese and said that if any attacked him, he’d f them up. Luckily, none attacked him as we had already made a shit-ton of sandwhiches for trail, but more on that later.
As we were standing around mindless drinking our beer and eating very strong taffey (was the taffey that strong or am I that out of practice?) (where was I for this taffy?!), Peeping-corn grabbed the bull horn and explained to everybody what this trail was about. It was about hashing, and, to a lesser extent running, but mainly about beering, and for each beer a hasher completed, they would be rewarded with a customized pin representing that hare, or something. Once everyone had finished their beers, we were forced to trust the remaining taquitos, as they had disappeared to hare the next leg.
Sharty-vagi-corn trail:
[Editors note] This was “supposed” to be vag’s trail…but shart is a unicorn, so we allowed it.
With instructions to find someone we trusted (amoungst hashers that was a bold assumption) and to then have one person of the pair blindfold themselves, the hash set about trying to figure out who they could trust, or just not participate (challenge by choice) at all. For some reason that G only knows, Jello decided to trust me. I led her up out of the beer check to the road, with the only mild complaint that I was “having her walk into trees” I then had her step over/onto a construction barrier and across the bridge. Everyone else was walking, but I was dedicated to running as much of trail while sober as I could so, I started running and kind of dragged her along. We got to a blindfold-swap check halfway across the bridge, and I got what was coming. Cold beer and lager, I’ve never been more terrified; just as I was building up courage, jello ran me into a light post abutment because she was busy taking my picture. Whatever, she’s an amazing rage-animal. She also guided me – somehow – across 4 lanes of traffic and 2 sets of train tracks. Safety third.
When we switched blindfolds next, I turned and saw that Butler had somehow procured two “Stop” signs, like what they use for school kids, and was escorting pack across Comm Ave. I guess once you get hit by a car, you’re kind of weary of them for a few years. We sang about blind jelly fish, then continued into Brookline. Spotting Alicia^2 running ahead of us, I pulled Jello into a run, against her protests, but was able to guide her to a tit check (she has amazing tits), down a hill, across a train track, through some shiggy, and to the beer check, though not in anything even close to that order. So there we were almost FRBing the beer check (she stopped when I ran her into a tree), when a park ranger shows up. I went over to him thinking myself somewhat responsible and he assured us that he didn’t care and was only checking on the bums. Harlot somehow assumed command, and told everyone to relax and wait until he was gone. But we didn’t and when he returned from checking on the bums he decided to remind us of the open container laws, jerkface, whatever, we took a group picture then gave Senior Cocksucker a PooF start.
Senior-corn trail:
Started down the path we were on, then turned off to a song check by Longwood medical where we sang about our continued problems finding employment in Chicago, before scouting in every direction except for the direction trail went – back over the Fens and into Brookline.
We finally reached a group hug check in the middle of a playground, where we assembled for a passionate embrace amid the bemused children and the concerned parents. (Actual quote from a bystander: “Let the unicorns pass, honey.”) Finally, we turned a corner and saw a semi-sketchy guy smoking a cigarette outside a minivan. Yankee calmly informed us, to take a beer and go to the beer check. The beer check was maybe a mile down the same park, but the ranger wasn’t there so we drank and peeded, and generally had a good time until we noticed that our next hare, the fabulous, wonderful and rage-tasktic Anal Disco has disappeared.
Disco-corn trail
Someone needs to take this lady to New Orleans and show her what a Cajun is. Side note: Disco received special permission from the SUH3 to distribute more than the allotted amount of alcohol on trail, so whenever you hear about her trail, remember that imaginatively marked as it was, there were 4 shot checks, and you were already 3 (or 4) beers deep. Onto the trail itself, it ran down a road, crossed another, then went up some hills. She took liberties with what checks meant what (true trail as a check?), invented some checks of her own (including the infamous “I don’t know what I’m doing” squiggly-line check), and was, according to other scribes, almost snared.
Eventually, though, she led us to the top of a hill and, to a sight that the FRBs were becoming familiar with, a sketchy man standing outside a minivan – Yankee awaiting pack with beer. We moved the beer check into the woods so that we could technically qualify trail as “level 1” shiggy, and collected our pins. Sooner or later, most likely later, a ginger count was taken and we were down to one; Piggy was here, but Krusty was gone.
Krusty-corn-YARG-trail:
Krusty claimed to have lain a check in the middle of the road so there was no reason for pack to run up one hill, then up another, but we did. There were no marks up there, trust me. There were marks leading down the hill, through the VA and towards the end of the Emerald necklace. Vaguelly recalling that Krusty had asked for flour I started scouting trees after the check back, however there was no flour and the marks were on rocks. Surprisingly, pack was able to follow trail, through a professional photo shoot, up a hill, across a road, and through a field to the YARG challenges. (YARG = “Y’all Ain’t Right Games.” I’m pretty sure the Krusty Goat just wanted to invent an official-sounding name to make their friends do stupid things, but it involved consuming beverages, so we’ll allow it.)
The YARG challenge was simple; the first 6 FRBs had to find 5 friends (teams of 6), then run to the bottom of the revene. There, one person was to be the unicorn (ie, get on all fours) while the other 5 mounted them; only the mounters could drink; first team to finish, won. I was on TEAM SHART (the best team! clearly!) with Coonass, Gnome, and Dildo-bag-on, or something. We were the only team that ran to the bottom of the ravene, and therefore the only team that won, but, whatever, we all got pins and Johnie Depp was proud. Also, it was after noon, and pack was getting hungry. They were told that they would be fed after the next leg, but that the next leg would be the longest leg.
WHOREDORE-
Whore-a-corn hared this one with one simple rule; the two FRBs to each Whoredore check had to Hodor each other (piggy back) until they found the next check. Though, in reality this mean that everyone Whoredored the first check, including a triple whoredore (that’s fucking team work!), then realized that Whoredoring was actually quiet difficult, and only a few continued on trail. Special commendation for Sweagle to actually running while carrying me (again, for the purposes of this hash trash, “me” could be either Shart or Wiki; choose according to the humor level).
Eventually, 2.5 miles, 2 hills and a check back later, we found Whore-a-corn standing, calm, commanding, instructing us that yes, we had reached the check, yes, there was food, yes there was beer, but also that yes, there were cops. Eventually G interviened from the Great On-In, and the cop left and we were able to proceed to a lunch/beer check at the bear cages.
Lunch lasted a while, and there was talk of making up time. However, since we were at the furthest point, there was nothing we could do. We did spill the unicorn beans and admit that we had, in fact, cut a lunchtime beer-mile from trail. People were shocked that we even considered such a thing; we were shocked at their surprise. A few additional things of note happened on the Whoredore trail; firstly, Udder-corn and others Ubered it to the BC, winning, maybe, if it weren’t for the next tail. The walkers stopped at a bar to relieve themselves – nothing special – until it came up in passing conversation that one of the walkers, and I’m accusing DUI of this, had never heard of, or done, a shot-ski. Luckily, the bar had one, so a fire-ball-shot-ski was had on trail by DUI, Buster and Blowhole.
Pappy-corn trail:
Pappy lives near a play ground and so he took it on himself to lay trail through every single playground between the zoo and some random green space that the Unicorns spotted on google maps. Apparently there was a moment during which there was a swing set check and the swing set was occupied by three children and… Tickets. We really had no idea about this one, and asides from some locals thinking the park was a perfect place to do body work on an aging Camery, it was a perfect beer check. Also, someone gave Two Minute Ride a beer for running up a hill. Boston’s a great city.
Also of note: there was a hash sit-a-pede laid at the top of a hill, wherein someone had the *brilliant* idea to sing “Dinah Won’t You Blow Me,” and YHS had the even more brilliant idea to jump during the jumping-moment. It went about as well as you might expect, given that we were all perched precariously on each other’s laps.
CPA-corn trail:
It was getting hard to keep running; the beers and the miles were piling up. I was also getting confused about where we were and where we had placed the beer checks, so the turns of trail were constantly surprising me. That being said, this leg of trail had been specifically chosen, and planned for Bloody who said “I want a hilly trail” so we gave him a hilly trail. Bloody later came to his senses, so we gave the trail to the biggest r*cist we could think of: CPA.
Trail ran down hill from Pappy’s beer check, across the train checks, then up hill, and down hill and up hill and down hill, past where we circled for Moon AGM, past Cum Ear’s house, then up another hill to what I’m calling Mission Hill Park, because it’s a park, on a hill. Pack collectively collapsed on the ground sipped their beer from semi-prone positions. Friar showed up about 10 minutes after Eagle had left and decided that he wanted to stay horizontal for as long as possible, so he rolled down the hill.
Eagle-corn:
Eagle-corn laid a trail that only Eagle-corn could lay, after a YBF and a check beck, we were running behind the MFA when we hit another check back. CPA-corn and I were feeling drunk and lazy so we strongly suggested that pack look for marks in the Fenns, and surprisingly, there they were! Though, again, not the part of the Fenns I thought we were going to, but, whatever. There was beer, there were bushes, and there was sitting.
Peeping-corn trail:
As peepers left, CPA-corn came up to me and told me that pack was drunk, it was getting dark, and we were going to combine Udder and Blubber’s trail (which made perfect sense), leaving trail as Peepers->Wiki->Udder + Blubber. What I didn’t know was that Peepers needed help laying trail, so you can thank Udder for getting you to the next beer check. The trail was quiet simple; out of the Fenns, past Bloody’s apartment (a much needed bathroom break), up Mass Ave to Synphony, across Mass Ave (lead by the fearless Wiki-corn “Clearly they can see us; they have to stop!”), around the empty reflecting pool and into the Southwest corridor park, where we were greeted once again by our favourite sight of a sketchy guy smoking a cigarette while handing beer out of a mini-van. Apparently beer wasn’t the only intoxicant enjoyed at that beer stop:
Wiki-corn trail:
I have no idea what you guys did, but here’s what happened to me. After laying the GBC and running through the mall, I stopped in front of the fountains/marble platform, looked around, didn’t see anybody and thought “this would be a perfect place for a song check” so I drew one and ran on. Approaching Neiman Marcus, I stopped again and drew an S/S check, leading either out to the right or through the store, then ran through the store. As I was outside laying the second GBC a pimply-faced mall cop asked if he could talk to me. I said sure, and he asked what I was doing, etc. I explained I was leading a scavenger hunt, that I apologized for vandalizing private property, and that I’d gladly go back and wash all the marks off. He paused, and called his manager over, and I repeated my story; neglecting to tell them that in about 10 minutes 70 glittery unicorns would be following me. The manager, moved by my honestly, pink pantaloons and dick helmet, said I could go, so I laid a true trail and ran into Back Bay station to mark the walls and stairs leading to track 2. No sooner had I finished the true trail than I had another friendly conversation with T-cop, who basically wanted to make sure I wasn’t drawing “gang graffiti” I said “No, I’m not in a gang; I’m leading a scavenger hunt.” And again, persusuaded by my baby blue eyes, the friendly cop let me go. We were supposed to play “Chubby Bunny” at the beer check, but no one was interested.
Trail Blubber-Udder-Corn:
At the beer check behind the CVS we were presented with the most glow sticks I’ve seen outside of a Phish concert (Butler and I agree that Suzie throws are wasted, and the 2001 and Hood are the best ones), along with finger lights. Basically we were going to book-end the trail with roving dance parties. This party took us through Chinatown, downtown crossing and the old state house. Everyone was yelling “On-on to hong kong” and I was muttering “it’s not the hong kong” and eventually we all found our way to the basement room of the Wild Rover, and the beer flowed free. Well, not free, $1.50 per draft, which is pretty much free.
Circle:
Happened shortly after everyone arrived and consisted of a dual accusation of hares and planners, though I have no idea what was sung to us, nor what we sang, followed by Peepers throwing pins at people. Blubber and Krusty, realizing that they could no longer control themselves or pack, quickly moved onto announcments – Burlington Mardi Gras first week in March – then onto religion. Finally, we were released to descend upon the thing resembling food in the corner.
“Space Unicorns….them, them, fuck them! May the Hash Go in Peace!”
Unicorn Magical Cave Rave:
To the shock and awe of all Unicorns, the basement of Wild Rover quickly morphed into a magical unicorn cave; there were glow sticks, finger lights and glitter everywhere, the roof was leaking and the beer was flowing free. Since the beer was flowing so free, we opened up the bar to any drink and fireball shots. The beer quickly stopped flowing so free, and the dancing resumed, though with a much more inheribirated crowd. After the brief experiment with "open bar" ended, we tried another experiment with "Strippy Cup" which lasted until the first shirts came off, and the bouncers quickly shut that down. [Note: we were assured by the manager that we'd be allowed to play...liars!] Every few minutes a muggle would wander down, drawn by our mythical rage powers, and I’d greet them with a glittery smile and a slurred “this is a private party.” Eventually even the party ended, and we were dispatched into the night, spreading rainbow, glitter and happiness everywhere we went.
On – May the Space Unicorns Rage Again on the Waves of Beer – On
-Wikicorn
-Shart-corn
A thrid recollection of the Unicorn Events...
My day begin early at the House of Rage (ButtlerDome). Our Uber driver was an engineer turned inventor, and shared with us his latest invention for preventing take out pizza cheese from sliding while sitting on a car’s inclined seat.
We arrived at the Pour House to looks of horror, disdain, amusement, and judgment. We embraced them knowing that beer and greasy food was a few short hops away. We ate unwisely but didn’t care. We proceeded to bag car where remarks about stuffing Yankee’s back end tightly ensued.
Chalk talk began with a megaphone that the circle quickly wanted to shove up Blubber’s corn hole, but our disdain quickly turned to delight as Harlot began her dance of the purple dildo bubble factory. Introductions were made, numerous hash names were butchered to accommodate Unicorn themed hash names.
Leg1
Trail began to some cool dude with a bike, speaker, battery, and inverter cleverly in tow. The most fun death march in Boston history took us over the Charles with hashers driving cyclists out of the bike lane into traffic. They still high fived us. Bloody and several other hashers unsuccessfully attempted to coerce Muggles jogging along the Charles to join. Beer was consumed at the Divine Park of Much Geese Shit.
Someone made out with the Rapi-corn.
Leg2
Blindfolds sized for 7yr olds were handed out and Trust Me began. Stop that Reich Now somehow thought that allowing me to lead him was a good idea. Muggles thought it was a pledge prank so I waited for the pack to catch up. Blindfold Swap happened and we crossed, sorta, over the Green line tracks and waited for traffic to cross Comm Ave. My guide told me to step forward just before the Green line hit me in the ass.
Reich then proceeded to carry me on his back the remainder of trail. It wasn’t auto-hashing or zenning, but somehow I felt I had won the hash.
I approached beer check yelling and was told to shut the fuck up, not noticing the blatantly obvious Ranger Dick SUV parked 10 feet away. Wiki assured me that it was OK to drink and that he had cleared it with the ranger. For some reason, I believed what Wiki said, and was just about to crack my beer when a voice behind me said “If you open that beer you will be arrested.” I called Steve Buscemi and asked him to add Ranger Dick to his list of people to kill. I took my unopened beer and thought “road sodas are fun”
Leg3
The We’re-not-running-anymore mindset had sunk in, and we meandered to a lovely park where delightfully tepid beer awaited. Much smiling, biological functions, and laughing ensued. It was here that the last FB-friendly photos that might not limit future professional careers were taken. I was pleased we still had our virgins.
Leg4I literally have no recollection of this part of trail at all, until we ran into a bunch of kids on bikes. I could
not tell if there were mocking us or envious. The pack got snagged in prickers at beer check where nearly every hasher pissed in the woods.
Leg5
Most of the pack had given up and it was all just drunken Lemmings. About 10 minutes into trail some hasher remarked it was no longer a Cajun trail. That didn’t help us much. CPA led us in a different direction than the pack, telling us we could take this way and still get to trail, then abruptly turned 90 degrees to follow pack anyway. Many hills later, we wound up following the same place she told us to go originally. The Force is strong with that one.
We were greeted by some hasher demanding I join his team. I was very confused and was gonna punch someone in the dick if a beer mile was expected of me. Instead, I chugged a beer and was told my team won. I chanted “we’re number1!! We’re number 1” and then fell down in an unforced error.
Leg6
Trail started with several people trying to mount Tickets…..errr I mean WhoreDor. Worst case of Lemmings of the day. Trail was well laid, maybe, but WhoreDor is not a smart man and neither was the pack.
We arrived at the old abandoned zoo for lunch and shoved food recklessly into our mouths. A bunch of teens arrived smelling of Axe body spray while we munched on sandwiches and orange food. They proceeded to enter the lion cage, and Parkour Hardcore ensued to our great amusement.
Leg 7
Pappy left disturbing early, but I didn’t care because I knew that whiskey would make me smile. I was disappointed that my second Pappy trail of the year contained no whiskey, or maybe it did and I cannot remember.
While running through a side street some well dressed women asked what we were doing, and I replied we were celebrating the Republicans taking back the Senate. I made a baby cry. For the first time in 2 hours I might have actually ran.
I have no recollection of this beer check, at all, except Buttler getting tangled up in shiny things.
Leg 8
Gravity is a harsh mistress, and that bitch can go to hell. More grassy knolls at beer check. I spotted the Prudential tower and was miserable how far from Downtown we were.
Leg 9
Tickets told some Muggle we were running to raise money for the Westboro Baptist Church. I think there was a cool church somewhere. Everything else is suspect.
Leg 10
I got nothing. I was completely checked out.
Leg 11.
A vampire had killed a unicorn by the Prud leaving behind a huge pile of glitter. I knew if I got down and rolled in it, I would need a crane to get back up. I struggled to read directions that involved some classy store I've never shopped in. We entered the warm, delightful Pru and my body temporarily revived. First time in Boston hash history I haven’t been yelled at by a mall cop.
Beer check was somewhere, but I only know that we were skipping a leg, and my throbbing knee and I rejoiced.
Hash on Final Approach
I was just following any motion in front of me. I realized my stabbing knee pain was less if I actually ran versus walked. My brain snapped out of its funk when I smelled the stench of horse urine, and I knew we had to be close to our On In.
Wild Rover
Circle was blessedly short. Songs were sung. Lost pins were replaced. The drip in the ceiling became a steady stream of some liquid. Someone drank it to see if it was a leaky keg from upstairs, it was not. More leaks appeared in the ceiling. Circle wrapped up.
Bud Light turned to full bar briefly, I destroyed their Jameson supply, and went back to Bud Light when the organizers realized the depth of their mistake.
A short lived Strippy Cup was played and promptly ended by Ranger Dick’s long lost illegitimate brother. Steve Buscemi was on my speed dial. The ceiling sprung several more leaks. I thought about building an ark.
Swamp Whine wore my leather harness and danced. Jello disturbed us all with the unicorn head dance. More people got doused by the leaky ceiling.
On After
After hobbling a few blocks, grabbed a cab and went to DiscoDome for OnAfter. No one home.
Text messages revealed they had diverted to CPAs place. We took the bus to CPAs and found no signs of life. More text messages revealed party has switched back to DiscoDome.
Buttler and I somehow wound up stuck on the Commuter rail track with no way out and were called terrorists by Muggles on a bridge. Bags were thrown over barb wired fences and we made our escape by burrowing under a fence.
http://harlotstrash.blogspot.com/2014/11/adventures-on-unicorn-planet-harlots.html
FAT BOY (scribed by the lovely Bum F*cking Vagibond)
What: Fat Space Unicron
When: 11/9
Hares: Easy as 123, Wikipedophilia
Bag Car: Bring Out the Gimp
Pack: Krusty the Meat Miser, Spunk in the Trunk, Bloody Slip Inside (And Slide? I never know), Cums Alone, Ass Stache, The Buttler Hit It, Queer and Foamy Anus, Goat Throat, Yellow Dick Gnome, Orgasm Falmon, some visitors from New York, a virgin, DUI Done Right, Salty Mudflaps, that Just who is writing an article about us, Luva Lamp, E=I'm a Douche, Friar Fuck, Goes Down on Buoys, Vagibond
Late Cummers: Shart of Darkness, Cum Ear
Wiki asked me to trash the Fat Unicron, since he was haring and the other scribes couldn't be bothered to show up on time or show up at all. Trail started at Cambridge Brewing Company, where we quickly learned that the art of splitting checks was something our underaged server did not learn in middle school. When Spunk asked for a beermosa consisting of their lightest beer and OJ, the girl accused her of trying to "force her to make mixed drinks!" After words were exchanged, I'm pretty sure she quit her job right then and there, because we didn't see her again for the rest of brunch. Somehow they eventually took our money, and the CBC was rid of us.
Chalk Talk:
Mostly unremarkable, though Slippy was sort of in charge, which I guess is worth mentioning. After explaining to the lone virgin that running was discouraged and there was really no way for her to get lost on this trail, we were off.
Leg #1: somehow my legs are still working
Our slow pace was accompanied by tales of the day before and suggestions on how to remove glitter from various orifices. It didn't take us long to find the beer check under the Longfellow bridge next to a hobo's trophy case of participant awards. The hares informed us there was a lot of leftover beer from Space Unicron, so we tried our best to make a small dent in it.
Leg #2: this is for the dick checks you forgot on trail
We strolled by the river towards the Museum of Science, where the hares cleverly laid tit and dick checks every few feet in an attempt to slow us down. We blatantly disregarded them for the most part, though one cyclist might have gotten a glimpse of what is under Buttler's kilt. We spotted the hares in their neon pink hats sitting on benches surrounded by dog shit, which made drinking our beers very treacherous. The Just Journalism Student asked us some questions about hashing, arousing suspicion that he might be writing that article after all. At this point it was starting to get chilly, so we finished our (at this point, cold) beers and moved on.
Leg #3: why isn't this over yet?
Word got out that we were going to "that dog park in Charlestown," so it was pretty much a combination of zenning and following marks. We found a song check at a playground and tried to sing "Young Girls," but someone decided that wasn't appropriate for the kids. Eventually we made it to the on-in, where the likelihood of stepping in dog shit was even higher.
On-in: UGH park
We beat the bag car with the beer and food, so there was some standing around and grumbling while we waited, but we were rewarded with burritos and trail mix and far more beer than any of us cared to drink before circle even began. Cum Ear also showed up to return lost shit to people from the day before--she might have some lost hats still, if you're looking for yours.
The virgin was demented, the visitors sang us a song about Helen Keller, Wiki was accused of his previous Pearl Necklace Fatboy, anyone who was dumb enough to run over 13 miles the day before had to drink, anyone who was dumb enough not to had to drink, those who tripped on the blindfolded mile the day before were accused, and everyone got on their knees for some reason or another.
We swang low, and in an uncharacteristic turn of events, decided against using leftover beer money at an on-after location, but opted to go back to our respective glitter-filled beds instead.
Ragefully yours,
Vagibond
Announcements?
11/22-PT2H3-dudes, you know the drill
11/15-PooF Thanksgiving-Holden
12/6-B4H3 4th An*al Turducken Trail
12/20-Holiday Party
4/18/15-M*rathon!
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