The Beaches Be Cray Hash with Blitz n’ Chitz or Chitz ‘n’ Blitz or Kibbles ‘n Bits(?) and Angry Crotch.
Who: Just Lena, Newly Just So-and-so (Preston?), Anal Apologist, Yellow Dick Gnome, Buttler, Luva Lamp, Bottom Wrangler, Just Dave(?), Sex: The Final Frontier, random muggle Beer Check Host.
Bar Car: Friar Fuck
Trail started at The Harp & Bard in Dorchester, where pack learned that c*cktails were actually FREE. We had a few and sang Free C*cktails for All the Hashers, while we waited for Hares to have a delayed gaying. An absence of virgins, we went through the chalk talk motions for the 2 2-timers before heading out to find trail.
Leg 1: “F*ck this, f*ck this…oooh look, free beer!”
In the knowledge that Buttler would be joining late, we diligently laid pack marks. I checked west along Stab ‘n Kill Ave, finding 2 and out, tried again and was lured around 2 corners to ON-ON, which proved to be the 2 from the earlier false. At long last a trail was located to the east. Several more checks were found, a hash sitapeed was apparently missed by Gnome and I whilst looking for the meager marks. Now, realizing that we would dealing with rationed chalk, I redoubled efforts and began running twice my usual distance from checks, finding nothing. I encountered Gnome and we offered to run each others’ falses as double checks. Finally, we ran back and pack had found trail.
By this point in time, I may have, in passing, muttered under my breath about the hares doing a chicken lay. And by “muttered under my breath”, I mean “shouting”, and by “in passing”, I mean repeatedly. I remarked on how f*cked Buttler would be, even with our pack marks.
A song check near the Stabin’ Kill T station met with “Jesus Can’t Go Hashing” for stragglers, but proved to be overkill. We ran past the T station, though unbeknownst to us, Buttler had appeared 15 minutes prior and was already half way to the Beer Check from there (thank you Strava). Tired, shagged, and fagged of looking for marks, we found our way to a song check where we told the lovely residents of McConnell Park about the night workers of Canal Street. We proceeded past some adorable Muggle lap dogs who feverishly pursued any running mammal that came past them, so it became necessary to stop and pet them. I caught pack at a pineapple-laced Malibu Shot Check on Malibu Beach.
We ran the wrong way on Stabin’ Kill Ave, where a muggle enquired of the nature of our activities. I quickly blurted that we were looking for beer. The muggle then had us wait, and emerged from his house with a cooler full of Bud Light for an impromptu Beer Check! We thanked the muggle profusely and invited him to join the shenanigans, but we seemed entirely more eager to give information about our cause than he seemed interested to know. We may have started bitching to the muggle about how sh*tty the hares were.
Happy for the generosity of a stranger, we emerged in good spirits and with free stuffed animals and headed to Stabin’ Kill Park, where electronic ravens told us the (real) Beer Check was. I located the hares, Buttler, and bag car, awaiting us happily. Hares informed me that I had missed the sunset. I informed them that they had missed laying marks. Following this, several rounds of similar abuse were rained upon the hares by others in pack until hares agreed they would sh*t flour like doughboys.
Leg2: Wondrous marks!
Emerging from the Beer Check, we found an abundantly clearly floured up trail. I was worried we’d goaded the hares into an utterly sarcastic trail, though my fears were assuaged upon finding a check. I ran the falses and we found ourselves along Pattens Cove, heading north on (van) Morrissey Boulevard where once again trail suddenly vanished. We backed up to last mark and noted that trail was alive and well, and lead to a second delicious Shot Check!
A straight shot down Morrissey (though Strava says Buttler tried to get hit by a car along the way) lead to a check at JFK T station, which was solved and turned to a Turkey/Eagle split. I then followed an abundantly clearly marked trail in a mad dash around 4 corners of a mad intersection between Columbia and Dot Ave before finding On-IN at Dot Tavern.
On-In
We told the hares they really should have used more flour and chalk. I was called in for my racism and the near virgin was called in to be re-demented because when you don’t have a virgin and pizza isn’t ready, you make do with what you have. Accusations flew, I don’t remember what for or what stuck, but pizza came and all agreed that the shi*ty hares had been good sports about being shi*tty hares and that all our pain and suffering was worth it if it stopped Buttler from laying every other trail.
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