Thursday, April 25, 2019

hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB

What: Hash Backwards Trash
Where: Zero Washington Dog Park
Who: Shits and Ladders
Pack: Right, a lot of justs, a just who was named Full Frontal Fireball, a virgin, Sex the Final Frontier, PoPo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Organsm Falmon, Dribbles, Bring Out the Gimp, Wikipedophilia, Testicular Mechanics, Foreskin Abortion, Bottom Wrangler, Quarter Mile Queer, Dry Hose, a just from holden (well, rutland, but I’ll take it), other’s I’m forgetting.
Chalk talk:
The marks being blue and well trodden were slightly hard to see, and since we were all eating pizza (suprisingly good?), we weren’t paying much attention. There were no flour marks, though the majority of trail would be laid in flour. We did introductions in a record amount of time, as a very drunk Wrangler spon around in the middle and told us to “Yell out our names” when he pointed to us. The virgin was very confused, but we ran off anyway.
Trail goes up, because of course it does:
Trail turned left out of the start, and we were immediately deprived of some of the best urban shiggy and abandoned train cars in boston. We ran around the back of a retire complex then crossed Washington street when we saw and sign which cruelly promised that a T station might be there soon.. We ran up a short road, crossed a green bridge, then got to a 5 way intersection and a song check. Unfortunately the motorists had their windows up so they couldn’t hear us saranade them with the gang bang song. We crossed the intersection almost directly and ran pretty much straight up the backside of whatever-hill-has-that-tower-on-it-in-Somerville to our first beer check. There was some pleasant musical accompanyment for the FRBs, but by the time pack got there the muscianians had dispersed.
Beer check sans music:
The beer was dropped off and the musicians left. We spent time enjoying the views of our fair city and wondering where trail would go from there. We were promised an indoor or outdoor onin, depending on weather. I had my suspicions, which were wrong, and caused some bad zenning in the future.
Trail goes down:
Apparently Somerville is fixing stairs and doesn’t want people running on grass? Anyway, we had to run around the tower to get back down to Union square, and a check that was actually solved relatively easily, given the roads in the area. We ran over the bridge past CEPs old place, and Testicular tried really hard to pull a Butler by darting out in front of a car. Everyone saw the car stop and then ran around it too. This very much confused the driver and he tried to yell at us, but we were running for beer! There was a group hug a bit down from CEPs and I am getting confused as to how we got there without cross a major street, but I’m assuming somehow we did?  We then had a nice jaunt through deep Cambridge and it’s warren of not-quiet logically connecting streets until we ended up at the backside of the Kendal area. There were no marks down the train tracks because apparently those tracks are becoming more and more active? Trail ran through the bio-tech building neighborhood to and we were finially rewarded with a beer near a dog park/playground thing off Binary street.
Beer check in the dark:
Despite the lengthening days, it was getting dark and we were getting kinda cold. I found out that one of our just was from Rutland and that sadly he was more well versed in the Holden bar scene than I am. In my defense I actively avoid the Holden bar scene like the bubaunic fucking plauge. Cool story.  With the darkness encrouching on our rage, we hastily finished our beers and took off in search of trail.
Trail smart or stupid? Everyone’s stupid.
Trail ran straight for a few blocks to a smart/stupid check. Gimp somehow found trail and ran almost straight to the end. I thought I knew better than to follow a Gimp sprinting off into the unknown, so instead I followed Sex. I have regrets in my life. We scouted a block and found trail and then verily happily ran trail, despite marks being slightly hard to find, for a few blocks. We heard On-On calls in the distance and were vauguely heading towards them. Then there was a check dozen people coming from one way and a dozen people coming from another and we kinda just looked at eachother all stupid like until I decided that maybe following Sex wasn’t a good idea, so I followed falmon and we eventually found our back to the joining arrows of the smart/stupid – but still no sign of Gimp. A few blocks later we were running past the court house and our beerdars were flashing red alart. A quick mob-run across Cambridge street greeted us with a Beer Near and OnIn at Courtside.
Circle got started quickly with the Ras accusing the hare of an S-H-I-T-T-Y trail, and the hare singing a short dity about our sisters. We then brought in our virgin who was close to guessing what eight something squared was and had a very ineresting interpartation of a pig orgasming. She’s now a just, and I promise to be good a remember justs this summer! #scribegoals Sensing that pack was already drunk and that there was a story which just needed to be told, the RAs accused Just Lindsey of being a just. As she knelt before us we heard tale of her drinking too much fireball at marathon, going home, leaving her door open (who amoung us hasn’t done that?). Her roomate then came home, thought someone had broken in and called the cops who founded our earstwhile just contentenidtly passed out on her bed. At another trail, this time in Oregon, she went down on a fellow hasher after she though trail was over. When she came up for air, she discovered that they had not finished trail, and were in fact, in circle. Based partially off these relaltively true events, just Lidnsey will be known as Full Frontal Fireball from now on. That out of the way, we moved onto accusations. Backsliders were called in, I think, though somehow I missed out? There was an accusation of a group back massage and Testicular face planting running down a hill. Since we were at Courtside there were pitchers and shitty pizza flowing generously and the RAs, admiting that they could no longer control themselves or circle, swung low. Oh yeah, there were announcements – beaver trail in Billerica Sunday, in which we might burn down Gimps house? I’m unsure. Summer campout season is upon us, so you know, get your tent and rage?

On – Rage – On

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