Zig Zag Hash #(something) Trash

Zig Zag Hash Trash -
March Zig Zag - Willy Wonka rules

Hare: E = I'm a Douche

Beer bike: Clits and chips and chips and clits

Pack: Me, The Buttler Hit it, Mr Bean, Just brad, Just Ian, Just Cydney. This was the first time I ever actually ran a zig zag trail, as I have hared all the others.

Prelube: Pack congregated at Sligo Pub, a little hole in the wall that some of you may have experienced. We drank beers and wondered who else was cumming tonight, and it turned out to just be us. Douche left at 9:30 to do a thing and pack eventually wandered off after him to do their thing.

First leg: It turns out a pack of 6 moves a lot slower than what we are used to seeing at Zig Zag, and we slowly worked our way through Somerville, solving checks. Just Brad took a digger on the ice (for which I would later drink), a random hasher who didn't know Boston had a hash identified himself but refused to join us, Chits and Clips pedaled indefatigably and we all just perservered until we got to the beer check.

First BC: As we basked in the glow of our reasonably cold Natty Ice in some park by some railroad tracks in Somerville, Just Cydney (or should I say Violet Beauregard) gave in to the temptation of being warm and going to sleep. "It's willy wonka rules," I joked, not knowing the precience of those very words.

Second Leg: About 5 minutes in, Mr. Bean (Augustus Gloop) fell into the proverbial chocolate river and went off to see a man about a horse or see a horse about a girl or something like that. How do you like them apples?

Up the hills, down the hills we ran, as Douche watched us sipping ciders. We were even slower and midnight came fast. Our valiant beer biker realised that she had to leave or risk being stranded in Magoun Square, so she got on a bus. I've decided she is the Veruca Salt of the story because of her selfish desire to go home at a reasonable hour. I hopped on the beer bike and pedaled away as she hunted for the 89 bus stop, her silhouette receding in the distance until she was but a speck on the horizon.

Second BC: In a park somewhere. Buttler, Douche, Just Brad, Just Ian and me.

Third Leg: We proceded to the on-in, Buttler's house... Almost all of us. Just Brad (Mike Teevee) bailed about 2 blocks away. It was 1am, and apparently some people like sleeping more than drinking. There's no accounting for taste.

On-in: What I expected to be a really short circle ended up being pretty fun. We sang songs, complained to the hare about his shitty trail, and did honor downdowns for the fallen soldiers. I did the math about how many hours I would get to sleep before my kids woke me up and headed back to my car.

Announcements: Trail the next day somewhere, Boston Marathon 4/13, Zig Zag marathon 4/6

If you're still reading, I am looking for a hare for 4/6. If you are interested please message me.

Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem

Sweagle presents Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem

Hare: Swedish Eagle

Bag car: Shart of Darkness

Bag car car: Massage a Trois

Pack: TinderDick, Angry Crotch, Mudslut, Choke and Stroke (Chicago), Bring Out Your Gimp, Blondie McFucksalot, Yellow Dick Gnome, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Cuntcussion, Clit Notes, Sex: The Final Frontier, Crooner Screwer and Fuck of the Irish (couple proximally from RI), Just Sarah, 5 Inch Penalty, Luva Lamp, Just Matt, Marbleous Asshole

Prelube

We started at Vagina Pizzeria in Wellington. I dismounted from my incredibly smelly Orange Line steed and was about to complain to myself about how I never find any damned thing in these generic artificial attempts at neighborhoods built over recovered industrial space when I spotted a Shart, tracking her to native drinking environment. Pack arrived, hare finally left after 3 and yet we waited. Bag Car was here, but Bag Car CAR, belonging to Massage a Trois, was not here. It seems she had been occupied giving herself chemical burns with an Apple watch, thus losing track of time.

Leg1: Through many parking lots and the school district that I work in, we followed a Sweagle trail - laid sparsely but findable for the fastest 69% of pack, while losing the other 31%. A Song Check after a middle school caused us to pause and take note of our fallen comrades, whom Fellowship then returned to locate.

Once we cross the Mystic River, I recognized where we were, though I was arrested by a Tit Check. A record 7 Harriettes came, but all passed me by (story of my life) and 5 Inch and I stopped to consider the probability that 7 Harriettes - with 14 mammaries between them - would all eschew the check*. Muddy's house was Beer Check 1 and we were greeted by hot chocolate, Mallort, and choices to roofie ourselves. The trailing 31% of pack managed to consolidate and eventually found their way to us.

Leg 2: We proceeded around the Tufts Alum Field, and Sweagle found every single stair in Tufts and took us up them. At the top of one set, Fellowship waited in mirth, making us all certain that a Check Back awaited us, but it proved pure trolldom. After about 4.20 miles exactly:

Gimp: I wonder what the chances are this ends at Buttler's.

Just Matt: High.

We found our way to Buttler's, held lengthy accusations in which we all took turns** stalling until pizza and wings came. We accused Bag Car Car of being her usual hot mess, the visitors performed a skit(?) for us, we all drank a social for losing TinderDick again, Shits 'N Ladders arrived just in time to be a Sweat Test Failure, Cuntcussion announced some kind of Big April Event, involving Fireball and Smirnoff Ice. We swung low and got a piece.

* Pint of lager, I realized our calculations were moot, as such probabilities are not independent

** Just kidding, accusations were a truly indefatigable Blondie marathon.

ON - REGO FOR MARATH - ON

Upc*ming dates:

Wednesday: MisMan meeting

Saturday: Zigzag H3 (Douche)

Sunday: Daylight Ragings Time (Hoes and Cougar Whisperer), bag car needed

Following Saturday: March Ballbuster (Sweagle)

April 13: Marathon Main Event