Friday, April 14, 2017

Beaver Pre-Pre-Prelube

What: Beaver Marathon Prelube
Who: E=IMaDouch, Salty Mudflaps
Where: Alewife reservation
Who: Um, maybe the largest beaver pack ever?


Was at a weird amphitheatre under one of the most beautiful sunsets of the year a hundred yards or so down the Fitchburg bike path extension from Alewife. Quick note on getting there; rougly an hour before trial, Douche posted to the failbooks asking if anyone had chalk and could mark the trail to the start from the station; he had run out of flour marking trail from the road to the start, since so many people were driving...anyway...back to the prelube.

We were standing around in an ever growing circle as more and more visitors, and beavers, and boston hashers kept on showing up. There was a near constant stream of texts between people there and people not there asking if pack was away, or if people could send them beer check locations; but the answer was inevitably, nope we’re still here, still drinking.

A quick note on drinking, there were ample prelube beers supplied, mostly shitty, though a surprising selection of shitty beers, including many Mexican beers (all beavers are Mexicans, of course), PBR roulette, Gansett, Bud Heavy, Bud Light and allegedly some Coorslight too? The hares wanted to get us nice and lubricated for what was to come.


Douche went over all the marks we’d see on trail, it really was an unremarkable chalk-talk.

First Leg to the Wine:

Went around the pond to the island about 50 feet from the start. There was a mark that said “swim” with an arrow pointing to the island, but marks also lead around the pond - fear not, gentle reader, we’d get wet soon enough.

Wine and Jelly Pigs which have been Soaking in Rum for a Year Check:

There was a cryptic post by Douche a few weeks ago “how long can swedish fish type things soak in rum before they go bad?” The general consensus was forever, if the rum was strong enough. Not thinking anything of these comments, we ignored it and moved on to the next post...but then there was a thermos with puffy pig-like things and really strong (sugary) vodka being passed around. Naturally, we drank it. A few people tried to eat the pigs but they were dangerously alcoholic and very hard to chew and swallow. There was also a bag of wine for the more cultured among us. Having traveled all of 100ft, at it already being 8’clock and getting dark, we decided that perhaps we should go find trail and the hares shoed us of out the check.

The Part of the Trail which We Thought was Going to be the Shiggiest:

Leaving the check trail flirted with pavement before coming a check at a bend in the path. Everyone who came from Alewife knew that there was a false on the pavement a-cranium, so into the shiggy we dove. The area we traversed was, and I’m not an ecologist, lightly forested swamp? It’s tightly packed vegetation, but thin, prickly, and generally not fun to walk through, and that’s where trail went. Fellowship commented that it was probably easier to be in the back of pack when most of the shiggy had been tramped down by the people in front. I had no idea what he was talking about as I was merrily breaking all sticks, twigs, or anything else which tried to stand in my way, until, of course we got to the Alewife brook, with a true trail pointing into it, and another arrow on the other side. I had no idea how deep it would be, but, whatever, in I went, and pack - after seeing that I didn’t submerge “Wiki’s tall - lets see how deep it is on him” - followed after me. I was greated on the other side by some nasty thorns and did some bag scouting before running into the “turkeys” who avoided the shiggy standing at a song check. I led pack in a rousing rendition of “The Engineer Song” waiting for everyone to catch up. Trail continued in a “standard” fashion, under route 2, across the soccer fields, through the hobocamps and over the foot bridge and back to the offices in Alewife Linear Park. The FRBs had gone scouting a head and said they’d found an SN but no shots and were moving on. No Shots? Moving on? Blasphemy!

Jello Shots:

The shots were on an “island” that short people had to jump to but the taller members of pack were able to bound across easily enough, retrieve the bag of shots (assuming they were nips) and toss them back to the waiting pack. Unfortunately, as the title of this section indicates, the shots were actually jello shot and there was a moment of panic and near drinking frenzy when it was thought that the shots had spilled on the ground; but the jello containers were made for beavers and were able to take a bit of rough play. We move back away from the swamp and stood around eating all the jello shots until we decided it was dark, almost 8:30, and we still hadn’t hit the beer check, so on ward we went.

Trail, Oh, this is the Shiggy:

Trail ran along the path to the woods past the offices, and there was a hilariously obvious check going back to pavement, when trail was clearly going to go into the woods. In the woods we found a song check and sang about a bear who could probably be found in the woods. I, with foolishness equally that of the mocked hashers in the previous sentence, scouted along the trail through the woods. Ha! Trails! This is Beaver! Trail was laid into the reeds. Douche was standing around being useless and Salty took charge yelling “follow the path we trode, idiots!” So, again, Fellowship and I blazed the trail through the reeds. The reeds were about 10 feet tall, and rather thick. The bog water was freezing and just deep enough to submerge your entire shoe, but no deeper. I doubt the bog went on for more than 50 yards, but FRBing through those reeds made it feel ten times that. What greeted us on the other side? A embankment covered in throns we had to climb up, but of course! From there trail turned right and ran through the back of a development, across an on-ramp to Rt 2, and back into the woods for a casual stroll through the woods until there was a BN next to a hole in the fence. The BC was marked right in the middle of a construction site, and pack thirstily replenish the liquids lost to the shiggy, wondering what the construction workers would think of the the BC and foot prints all over their worksite.

Beer Check #1:

See the sentence above. There was beer, we drank it.

Trail Shitty Pavement Pounding Pt 1:

Leaving the construction site, trail looped through Belmont for maybe a half mile to a ever nice looking school with a playground and some soccer fields.

Beer Check #2:

Was there.

Trail Still More Pavement (Pt 2):

Continued through idyllic suburbia for agian, maybe a half mile before getting to ONIN behind the apartments at the end of the Fitchburg bike path.


This being a Beaver trail, and since all Beavers are Mexicans, there were homemade TAMALLES (by DUI Done Right) which were shoved into our mouths before circle started. Once all the Tammelles had been consumed, Douche wrangled us into some sort of circle. I’m gonna cop to two things; 1 I’ve realized that writing hash trashes hungover on a caffeine high is way more fun than sober and well hydrated 2; due to, or in relation to, the remark above, my memory, for some reason, got fuzzy at, during, or around circle. Here are some accusations I remember; Yoron, for bleeding on trail, the hares, for the shiggy, visitors, for being visitors, beaver first timers and beaver second timers, I dunno, I’m sure I butchered a song or two, chaos, drinking, you know, generally a good circle. I have go do some work now so I can leave on time and rage the beer mile tonight.


Beer Mile tonight, north point park, $5, 6:30, Pub crawl to follow
Marathon main event tomorrow; Kinsale Pub, Gov’t Center, 12:30 for registration and beer
Fat boy sunday: Tits in porter
I dunno, other things.

Thursday, April 13, 2017

Pink Moon Marathon Pre-lube

What: Pink Moon Trail
Where: Charlie’s Kitchen
Hares: Ugly Fuckingly, Anal Disco*
Bag car: Blowcone

Laurance of my Liabia, Yoron Weed, O’Boner Where art Ow?, Bring Out the Gimp, Chunderilli Chunderilli, Not Dead Yet, Clit Notes, Amilia Airfart, Just Pat, Anal Apologist, 2 Virgins, Queer and Foaming in my Anus, Mr. Bean, Fellowship of the Cockring, PoPo Peepshow, other’s I probably forgot.


Was at charlie's kitchen; Disco and I talked about conversation tones, other people drank.


Was held in a parking lot, the owner of which came by and asked what we were doing, and Spank Me, without warning, started leading us in stretches. This pleased the owner and he moved on. Marks were reviewed for the virgins and visitors, though your erstwhile RA (and humble scribe) forgot all the “interactive checks” (thought fear not, they were liberally used) and we took off.

Leg: “How many ways can we get there from here?”

The answer is, of course, a lot, and, as hashers, we weren’t so good at finding them. Trail ran around (though not through) the charles square hotel, however 5 inch penalty ran directly into, then got tangled in a wreath stand while scouting a false. There was the first of many song checks in a parking lot and trail continued towards, and eventually through the seminary school before depositing us, not at all predictably, at Longfellow Park. The only real question was “shots or beer?” and the answer was alcohol. It was green and fizzy and smelled slightly of aniese. For reasons which escape me now, I abstained, though by the looks on peoples faces it was of a standard shot check quality - that is, slightly above undrinkable.

From there trail flirted - that slut* - with sending us over (or maybe through) the river, and pack tried as hard as they could to get us free admission to Mount Auburn Hospital, or maybe that was just the pack running back and forth across the street. Either way there was a hash sitapead astride of the ambulance entrance. Luckily there were none of those coming as we sat and sang, and then took off looking for dark blue chalk, on brick side walks in the dark. They were totes easy to see. So easy. Like hi-vis on a sunny day easy. That might be a lie. Either way we continued down whatever that road is with our beer-dars going of like woah, until eventually found beer near and one of the hares in the park.

Beer check: Don’t get sick.

One of the hares got rather sick and baled on trail, so the remaining hare was nervous about getting snared ... more on that later .. most of the conversations focuses around the temperature of the beer, the lack of natural light, and the lack of sufficient supplementary illumination on the part of the pack. After giving the hare a very liberal 15 minutes, pack eventually chased after him.

Trail “He can’t be laying this alone”

...But he was. Also, he’s a bit of a racist, but more on that later. Though there were half the hares on the second leg, there were roughly twice the marks, and not all the checks were song checks. It was a bit death marchy, and pack was getting generally worried that we were straying quiet far into watertown, when we was a SN/SC/CB13. The shots - surprisingly good bourbon for a moon trail - were passed around as pack shuffled they way back the requested number of marks before finally turning north. I have to be honest now, as a scribe and as a hasher, I get lost every time I go near Fresh Pond - to me, it looks the same from all angles, so I was relieved that we were approaching it, but really couldn’t pin down our location any more than that. Luckily, I didn’t have to as we were quickly met by a BN and a BC by a bag car parked in the parking lot.

Beer check - Is the beer warm or cold?

One thrity rack was warm, the other cold, and no one could remember which one was which, and there was orange food. Blowncone tried to pawn off more hab, and seeing that it was getting late and trail was short, we quickly chased after the hare.

Trail “Where in the park are we going?”

Spoiler alert; the other side, by Paddy’s. However, to get there we had to run past a car dealership and a gas station, then behind a shopping center before getting to a check back that left some of pack standing in the middle of a crosswalk waiting for OnOn to be called. Apparently this behavior is outside the bounds of normal activity, but eventually we made it to the park. Then we ran across the park, past a soccer game to the OnIn.


Was interesting; we sang to the RA, Marbels, and reminded him how hard it had been to see marks, and suggested that next time perhaps he should have used more flour, or chalk. After that he called in the FRB/FBI who were Five Inch and someone else, and they drank, then we called in the DFL - OBWOW - and it was only half-way through “are you lonesome tonight” did we look around and figure out that Butler and Yoron were still on trail. Whatever, we kept singing. Next in were Moon backsliders, which was everyone except for Douche and I, though, in all honestly, it was probably smarter not to go to his frozen-ass trail, but, whatever, I digress. At this point there were two very confused people in circle; the virgins and they were called into be demented in the glorious return of the Dementress Extrodenaire, PoPo Peep Show. She got one of them to admit that the weirdest place she had ever had sex in Boston was her office, then copped to being Anal  Apologist (who she insisted on calling Anal Beads)’s boss. The other virgin has always wanted to hook up in the fens. Pack fell silent and looked around at this, not sure what to make of it. Was she being funny? Did she know what that meant? Anyway, we taught them how to down-downs, and accepted them - kinda - into our midsts. Around this time Butler and Yoron showed up and we made them drink as well. No one remembered that Moon used to be infamous for shot-gun down-downs, and no one remembered that we used to call border jumpers in...traditions, kidz, tranditions, with out them we are merely drunks! With them we are “unqiuely cultured drunks!” There’s a difference. Okay, I’ll get off my old-man soap box now. We met a whore in the park and dispersed into the night.

On - pink moon - On
-Laurance of my Labiaia

BEAVER TRAIL TONIGHT -> Alewife station on the red line, $15, bring cranium lamp and change of clothes. Good beer and good food at the onin.

CUMBRIDGE BEER MILE TOMORROW - North Point park - do NOT show up early and pre-game by the river; pregame at the offically sanctioned pre-lube Courtside, just a few blocks away.

Gather at 6:30HST, beer mile starts at 7PM SHARP.

Pub crawl will commenance shortly there after, in or around north station area.

Start is: Kinsale, Gov’t Center, Boston MA
Show up before noon for brunch
Registration and beer starts at 12:30
Hares away/opening circle at 1.

Start: Tavern In the Square, Porter

MONDAY: BEER CHECK @ Mile 20, get there aroun 11.
Also, Ball Buster starting @ 10, ending at the beer check.

May G have mercy on your Livers!

Wednesday, April 12, 2017

The Quadrennial JP Hash

What: The Quadrennial JP Hash
Where: JP? Specifically Cafe Luna, or something
Hares: Goat Throat, Goes Down on Bouys
Bag Car: Show Me the Penis
Bring Out the Gimp, Salty Mudflaps, DUI Done Right, Easy as 123, Shits and Ladders, Orgasm Falmon, Luva Lamp, E=ImaDouche, Not Dead Yet, Skethcy Ho, CEP, The Butler Hit It, Wikipedophilia, Friar Fuck, Lobster Cock (?? transplant from EDW), Virgin Someone, Krusty the Meatmiser, Blowbot, Fellowship of the Cockring...others I’m forgetting.


Was at a very nice bar. Everyone agreed that JP was a great place to live, probably, but was wicked far from work and friends...

Trail Part The First:

Chalk talk was lead by Krusty and we went over a bunch of marks, some of which we would see and others of which we would not. We explained most of them to the virgin, and tried to go over pack marks, though that wasn’t entirely helpful as most of the chalk left to us by the hares was of the dark and not easily visible type, as we had assumed that the hares had taken the brightly colored chalk for themselves. Side note; they hadn’t, but more on that later.

Trail ran straight through the not-quite-a-brewery complex and up a set of stairs. I had attempted racist behaviour earlier in the day and my legs were protesting more than, well, it’s hard to finish that joke without offending anyone, so just understand that they were protesting, and the stairs did not help matters. Wow, that was quite the tangent, anyway, there was a very cheerful family with a mother leading her children in chants of “keep running, the zombies are coming!” as we ran up the stairs. As DFL I was lemming pretty hard, so was saved when 90% of pack hit a pretty long YBF as trail actually righted, um, left, I think, and crossed over the train tracks into more central JP. There was a series of switchbacking turns leading us up hill and past a deliciously smelling Cuban restaurant, eventually to a song check in front of a church. Either my sobriety of 4 straight days of hashing confused me to the point of thinking that it was Thrusday yesterday (it wasn’t, it was Tuesday), so I tried to sing a Jesus saves verse about pharacies, and was properly mocked. Once all of pack (minus the walkers, fuck them), caught up trail countied through the courtyard of the chruch to what was a T/E split, but had been crossed out and replaced with S/S, then one of the S’s had been crossed out with another T. My vague directional awareness took hold of me and when I saw a downhill for the eagles and and uphill for turkeys, I decided to take the turkey, guessing that our short uphill would be better than whatever the eagles were going to have to do, and I was correct. The hill wasn’t very long and before we were running down hill towards the emerald neckalce, at which point pack began playing everyone’s favourite game “guess which beer check they’re using.” Our guesses and marks eventually lead us to a beer check ontop of a hill near a pond.

Beer Check #1: (IE, where are the walkers?)

Waiting for us at the beer check was warmer than air-temperature PBR, aggressively salted salt and vineger chips, water, and no walkers. The eagles showed up moments after the turkey’s cracked their beers, but by the time we had finished the walkers were still a no-show, so we had another round and kept waiting. Eventually they strolled in, drunk and giving 0 fucks, as walkers as known to do, and we promptly set off on the next leg of trail.

Trail Phase B:

Being well marked (actually the whole trail was) on the exit to the beer check, trail crossed a road then turned back into the emerald necklace park and then did a half a loop around Jamaca Pond before a Hash Sitapeed (the check was misspelled), by the boat house. Fellowship demurred saying that it was “above his thermal tolerance” or whatever that means, but the hash is challenge by choice so we sat on each other’s laps without him. Trail from there crossed the street and meandered through the more suburban part of JP past many helpful muggles - “They went that way!” before coming to a song check on center street, at which, in honor of the transplant from EDW, we sang “Days of the Week” to the confusion of the locals. We then ran down centre street for a few blocks attracting more comments “those people are weird” before turning left and heading for some more light hills near a church type thing. There was a check and stairs and a tit check, then a dick check, more stairs and shoots near on the green way. Shots were fireball, so pack gingerly sipped then shied away from and continued down the green way, with only slight alteration in course towards the Arboretum. We ran past a lady who, while walking a dog, exclaimed “You’re hashers!” “We are” we replied and she said that she’d known of us in the past, so we yelled the website and ran on towards a beer near by forest hills station and a quick sprint through light shiggy (apparently there was a path) to the ONIN.


Pizza, bags, and beer were delivered, devoured, drunk and discarded. Eventually afer the quiet of mastication had descended over pack Krusty stepped forward and lead us in circle. The Hares were called for laying a surprisingly good trail, and made to drink for trying to revive a hash. FRB (that’s me!) and FBI (easy) were called in and we were told we were number one, but people were flipping us off, so it was confused messaging. DFL(s) were called in next and that group numbered almost a dozen, and we sang to them as well. The virgin, looking very confused, was called in a Clit Notes demented her; she wasn’t good at math, likes corduroy powder, and would get off a bus of lesbians, she isn’t worthy, but we took her anyway as a just. Salty was called in for sowing about half a dozen happy coats, then everyone who had a happy coat sewed by her was called in and we all drank. There were more accusations, and I was a frequent target, but all in all it was a great night for drinking in the woods, and that’s what we did. With circle running out of steam (and beer), we swang low.

On - 4 more years - On

All marathon trails are on:

Moon trail tonight - Charlies Kitchen in Harvard Square, 6:30HST
Beaver trail tomorrow - Marks from Alewife, 6:30 HST
Friday Cumbridge H3 presents it’s 6.9th beer mile: North point park, 7pm HST, followed by Pub Crawl.
Start is Kinsale Pub, Government Center, 12:30.

Sunday: Pink Taco Fat Boy
Start is TiTs in PORTER

Monday: BEER CHECK at mile 20, and ball buster run starting at 10 in JFK park by Harvard square (ending at the beer check)

July - Invihash

Labor Day weekend - Boston Islands campout?

November - Sadie?

December - Anti-buffet?

Januarary - Robbie Burns?

Feburary - Moon away?

March - Mardi Gras?


Monday, April 10, 2017

A Magical Butter-Wiki Codeshare

What: A Magic Buttler Wiki Joint
Where: Mex Taco/Eddie C’s
Fellowship of the Cockring, Bring Out the Gimp, Show Me the Penis, Goes Down on Bouys, Certified Poop Accuntant, Dry Hose, O’Bon’r, Just Cylde, Anal Apologist, Motherload, Easy as 123, Orgaism Falmon, Sketchy Ho, Pop Cum Ear I’m Enfected, a virgin, others I probably forgot.

[Scribed by O’Bone’r]
[Edited by Wiki]

It’s Magical: A Buttler Wiki Joint Adventure
Oh was this Magical. Unicorns. Nice weather. But always be wary of a Wiki trail. This is a man that has his own mark for being lost. True to Wiki form start was confusing. First having to go ALL THE WAY TO MAVERICK! BLUE LINE! And even then once we got there we had to go ALL THE WAY ACROSS THE STREET to another bar because there were too many “families” in the first one. At the second bar, two of our valiant hashers were accosted by a local and were given his political views. Pre-lube was had, hares were gay, and we were off to chalk talk.
Chalk talk: ShowMe was the RA and she instructed us on a few new marks to be on the look out for. Some weird one that I can’t remember and a Map Check. The map check was met with a groan and so much complaining that most of pack wanted to walk away. Once the rioting settled, Buoys led the group in a warm-up of “Hi my name is Joe” and pack was away.
Pack ran around, found some marks, solved some checks, so typical hash stuff. I’d like to be more specific here but it’s Eastie and I have no idea where I was. There was supposed to be a check back up the side of the bikepath by miscommunication by the hares caused trail to split and be marked seperately from there to the Turkey/Eagle split. There was a lovely park by the water and we went through a pier where there was a turkey/ eagle split. Turkeys Forever. The eagles were treated to a mark, then a shots near, then another mark, then a shots really near, then another mark and a shots really very near, then, finially, at the end of the peir, shots. Pack seemed generally disgusted by the concocktion, but I quiet enjoy it; it was moxie and rum, though I will say it’s much better on the rocks...anyway... After the pier, we stumbled onto Beer Check #1
BC#1 was in a park! Swings were swung on and the beer was good. It was a lovely day. We hung around and were reunited with our walkers. The hares leisurely took off (and stole CPA and some pita bread) We watched them walk in the distance and then took off ourselves.
We headed in the direction of the airport and eventually came upon the Map Check. The maps were left for us by the hares and were 8 pages of color pictures and directions to make it through the airport to the C terminal Chapel. Noting the lack of spelling mistakes, I assumed that Buttler must have made the maps. Following the map into the parking garage we made our way through stairs, moving walkways, elevators, a fascinating look at mental illness (in the airport, really?) all the way to the Chapel. CPA was waiting for us with bread and wine.
Our map then directed us to take the FREE Silver line to South Station, switch to the Red to Davis. Thankfully we had everyone with us and began the long trek in a BUS on a beautiful day. We made it to the Red line inbound and a wild Luva appeared with shots! We drank a bunch of them and rage trained back to Davis. Super sercret guest hare Shart of Darkness laid trail from Davis to the beer check on the bike path. We eventually made it to an uneventful BC#2 and then back to Buttler’s house for On-In.
Circle: Down Downs were had to the hares. Wiki was called in for everything. Django drank all of our beer. Food was good.
Walkers trail: I heard it sucked and they had to Uber. There were two basic miscommunications, and questionable reading of txts.
That’s it! See you soon Sunday trails!

PooF "Returns" (A Boston marathon pre-lube trail)

What: PooF trail #eighty something
Where: A dirt road in a park in Rhode Island
Hare: O’Boner (#50?)
Bleeps (Founder), Nips (Founder), Counterfeit Dick (#6), The Butler Hit It (#9), Bring Out the Gimp (#12), Wikipedophilia (#42), Too Short To Tuck (#48?), Easy as 123, No Man on the Moon

Essentially walking trail:

With the long winter recess the 2pm sharp part of hares away as quietly ignored as the hare strolled off at a leisurely pace at or around 2:15, and we finished our start beers and walked after her a few minutes later. Trail followed the path along the stream until it got to a check, which Counterfeit and I decided to scout up the hill (hash runs uphill), though trail was called straight down the path. We paralleled the trail for a while, running through the underbrush, but still being outpaced by those walking on the trail so we give up the high land and rejoined pack for a check at the whichy-way, and, after scouting wrong again, rejoined them a second time as they stuck to the low ground along the river. We hadn’t started running yet, and were walking causally to a fork where the trail cross the longest actual hiking trail in rhode island - the north south trail - and we followed that to a check at a footbridge over a tributary stream to the main body of water we were running along. Having just hit our stride, the hare thought the bridge would be a good break and turn us finally uphill and upstream to a surprisingly close beer cheek.

Nothing of note happened at the beer check; I learned that it’s acceptable to pee near a river, but not in it? The morality of that judgement illuded me. Remembering that PooF has running beer checks we finished our beers and ran off into a thicket of rhodedendrons.

Running along a river and being scared:

After dodging through a rather thick thicket of rhodeys we emerged back on the main trail running along the river, and finally were able to get our legs churring and keep a respectable running pace. Well, it wasn’t really running, it was a combination of high stepping and leaping from boulder to boulder along the trail, all the while dodging over millions of little rivulets which crossed the trail every 10 yards or so. We had been doing this for a while when we go to a check that had a market false into a raging river and then a song check on a rock. Sensing that pack could use a break, Counterfiet launched into a song about the perils of being a jelly fish on a rock. It was an apt metaphor for something, but I really don’t care what. Trail from there continued on and eventually crossed the river on a bridge populated by local high schoolers who I think were out taking selfies? It was a confusing time for all involved. There was a check on the other side of the bridge that did not asset in lessening the confusion. The FRBs - Counterfiet, Easy, No Man, Butler and I, were sufficiently confused that we were running around it litteral half circles (because of the river) until the walkers caught up and pointed “Um, guys, there are marks right down there.” Sufficiently embarrassed we took off in the indicated direction until we got to a dirt road. I checked right and saw nothing, then checked left and, taking Easy and No Man with me, ran a very jog up a hill, then a right turn back into the woods to find easy looking quizikaly at a mark that was clearly some form of a check back 8. No one else had followed so we ran back and turned into the woods, not catching up with pack until we were almost at the second beer check. Oh, we ran past a pair of dudes out on a camp out weekend in the Rhode Island woods - they were cooking some form of meat and drinking non-shitty beers as we ran past.

Beer Check the Second:
It was a beer check; we drank.

A merciful trail down hill.

I know it sounds too good to be true, but the entire last leg of trail was down hill, either on switch-backing trails or straight through the woods. I was following the surprisingly lithe and limber form of Gimp bounding, heedless of his name, through the woods. There was a group hug that I ran past and one time I tried to jump off a rock with the support of a tree, but the tree snapped and in a very inelegant way, we - it and I - kind of fell haphazardly to the ground. Luckily no one saw us.  Trail eventually went back out to the road, and I started an open-legged sprint to the cars, but saw a check and veered hard back into the woods. I found no more marks, but I did run into Easy and No Man and the three of us walked back to the cars, essentially being DFLs.


Was held by the river. The hare was called in and drank for responding to a facebook post suggesting a restart of this quasi-retired kennel. That didn’t actually happen, but this is a post-fact world, and being scribe has some powers. She then sang a surprisingly good song which I liked but didn’t know. FRBs were called in - Counterfiet and Nips - and they drank, then Easy and No Man were called in for DFLing and Counterfiet came back for having gone to 60 (i think) of these trails. I don’t remember that many other accusations, though I tried to make some and ended up drinking for illegal accusations?

That was it.

On - one down, eight to go - On

-Wikipedophilia, #42