Birthday Trash: Cuntcussion edition

Prelube - Naco Taco:
We ate tacos, tortas, chips & dip, and drank beer and margaritas in ritual preparation for the first Sunday trail of the year, and to celebrate Cuntcussion's birthday.
Hares: Cuntcussion, Swedish Eagle
Bagcar: Blondie McFucksalot
Pack: Bottom Wrangler, Shart of Darkness, Orgasm Famine, Rainbow Fuckin Bright, No Man on the Moon, Friar Fuck, Just Katie, 50 Shades of Glaze, Mudlsut, a virgin (Mudslut's cousin), Mange my Vagina, Testicular Mechanics, Clit Notes, Shits & Ladders
Chalk talk:
Bottom Wrangler administered chalk talk in mostly standard English, for the benefit of the virgin. A notable point was Mange informing Wrangler that "there are no dick checks on Taco trail". We corrected Mange that she was, in fact, at a BH3 trail.

Leg1:
We meandered east and north. Twice the treacherous hares marked possible trail onto live train tracks, and twice I cautiously examined the potential route while remaining vigilant for loose trains out looking for hasher blood, only to hear trail called in another direction. This leg featured a shot check at Donnelly Field. A big red jug that looked like coolant for use in a car. I'm told it tasted slightly less like that. Pack would work on this for the rest of trail.

BC1: Gold Star Mothers Park:
We sat around a picnic table during beer check, while a man did yoga close by.

Leg 2:
Again possible trail was encountered at live train tracks. This time I saw a blob of flower, and stopped for five to ten minutes to investigate, as an attentive hasher does. This, of course, caused most of pack to get ahead of me as they proceeded on the actual trail. I may have waylaid several members of pack here in my search for trail - sorry guys. The rear echelon of pack finally got moving. We didn't find the actual trail for a little, instead zenning parallel to it, then catching it again a few hundred meters later. Eventually we found ourselves back amongst the rest of pack, as we headed North into Somerville and then past Somerville Ave. It was correctly surmised that trail would go uphill to one of our favorite parks.

BC2: Prospect Hill Park:
Great views on a beautiful day during our beer check atop the tower. From our high vantage point, we observed the hares heading north as they went gay.

Leg 3:
We tracked the hares in hot pursuit, though for Famine and I the trail soon turned cold, as we proceeded to zen in a wrong, and then even wronger direction, before finally circling back to the last check. We followed pack marks across a very busy four lanes of road (route 28) without a crosswalk, later learning that the hares had been spotted from across the highway, and then snared by some of pack. Others, who were not lucky enough to get in on the action, apparently ran a long YBF, which Cuntcussion and Sweagle had needed to lay hapahazardly. The hares had been unaware of the 'closed' status of Washington Street in Somerville as it passes under the train tracks, until they marked trail up to it.

On in - (adjacent to) New Washington Dog Park, East Somerville:

There were people and dogs in the dog park, so we ate pizza and circled across the street in a nice grassy area. A tall hedge provided a visual barrier from an apartment building whose residents might disapprove of our shenanigans. In addition to the pizza, Cuntcussion supplied us with home-made cookies (espresso chocolate chip!). Not to be outdone, Blondie countered the hare's offering with one of her own; a shot that contained clear liquor, a raw egg, and hot sauce. Circle watched Cuntcussion's face as she went through shock, denial, anger, depression, and finally, acceptance, all during the birthday shot's creation, before downing it. The Virgin was called in, and Mange, now almost a full hundred percent certain what kennel she was hashing with, demented him, in true Mange fashion. We had several additions to circle, including Goat & assorted company, and the virgin's girlfriend, whose phone number he had written on the back of his hand before trail, for safety reasons. Accusations were eventually called (same haircuts, people who didn't know what day of the week it was, etc.), announcements made, we swung low, and headed out.

On-on, 

-Shits