AGM Fatboy Trash

What: Fatboy Hash Trash

Where: State Street Provisions

Who: Shart of Darnkess and Chunderilli Chunderilli

Bag car: The Butler Hit It

Pack:

Wiki, Gimp, Quarter Mile, Shits, Oboner, Sweagal, Falmon, Cuntcussion

Start:

Getting to the bar right after it opened – after almost being run over by two yahoos in a GTI – the nice hostest didn’t sit me as far away from everyone else as possible, but I think the brunch date sharing the booth with me didn’t enjoy my unicorn hat gernal hashy vibe. I ordered a cocktail and waited for others to arrive.

About a half hour later Butler and Gimp showed up after having run from his car because it was parked so far away. This become relivant later. We ate more food, drank more booze and waited for others to join us. Oboner and Chunerilli strolled in and took the seats which had been recently vacated by the brunch date. They informed us that they just came from dim sum and were too full to eat any more, but ordered bacon and bisciuts anyway. Well, they tried to order bacon and biscuits but the bar was out of bacon. The waitresses was very apologectic.

Shart and Falmon joined us after having polished off a bottle of procesco – it’s always a good idea to have a few lying around – after Falmon had awoken Shart with an “I have a bad idea which you’re probably going to like” offer at the Krusty and Goatless Krusty Goat. They had pancakes and beer. The breakfast of champions.

Later on – well after the 1pm HST start – Quarter Mile and Do Me joined us after supporting and participating in, respectfully,  racist events earlier in the morning.

Full of seafood, pancakes, and alcohol we began to grumble about maybe getting on with this trail. Butler informed us that he, um, wasn’t parked anywhere close. He was parked in front of the TD Gradern – about a mile and a half away and in the opposite direction of the “heavily scouted trail.” Resisting – or not taking our plantive calls to move the bag car to us.  The hares, showing their ability as GMs to addapt to unplanned situations and drama in pack – decided that trail would just be a walk to Butlers car.

Trail – Part 1:

Continuing in the vein of addaptability, the hares did request that we go to the aquirium and sarende the seals with one of YHSs favourite songs. In order to accomidate that simple request, and to overcome the obsterance of the bag car, the RA – Quarter Mile – decided to try a novel technique of a “roving chalk talk” in which he drew chalk talk interspersed with the haring marks leading to the seals. Good luck to anyone who tried to join us late. We got to the seals, sang to them, then observed one who seemed to love swimming upside down, one who was sleeping on the floor, one who was sleeping with it’s head above water and one who swimming in place in front of the water jet.

Trail looped back from the Aquiraium ground the bar – which incidentally shared a block with a parking garage – and crossed the green way. We meandered around Quincy Market – with a false going to the Hong Kong – but stopped for an impromptu cookie check, which might have been the best idea of the GMs young reign. Trail wound through some alleys where Shits found a hat which he wore until we told him it was probably covered in vomit, bed bugs, and the dregs of human society. We walked past Haymarket and had a lively discussion that the establishment which branded itsef “the greatest bar” was actually “the douchiest” bar complete with three levels of Choise Your Own Douche. Our ability to consevrse with each other was being streched as thin as owe brunch-boze was wearing out and we were coming dangerously close to being sober when, at long last, we spied bag/beer car.

BC 1 – On a sidewalk outside a bar showing football.

There was a nice family – it looked like mother and daughters – who were simultalinously watching the Bills game, but also laughing at the band of neirdowells who had inexpeciblably started singing and drinking on the sidewalk outside their bar. One beer later, the hares huddled with bag car then told everyone to grab a road soda or two – as there would be no bag car at the next beer check.

Trail Part – 2: Sometimes closed doors are actually open.

After we loaded up on beers and chips for the road we strode off towards what was definetly not an-everyone-knew-where-we-were-going-check in the north end by the skating rink. To get there, though, first was had to cross Causeway St. Pack was mostly seperated by a light with the hares and I on one side, and pack on the other. To pass the time, I thought I’d sing myself a song. I started in with “In the hills of West Virginia lived a girl named Nacy Brown, you’ve never seen her equal in the country on in town…” I paused for dramatic affect and to see if anyone would join me. Instead, a woman who was enjoying a causal Sunday nap on the sidewalk yelled, in the very gravely voice one someone who has spent more than a few fall days napping on sidewalks, “Oh, shut the fuck up!” Which caused pack to explode in laughter and exclaim that they wish they had recorded the entire episode.

 Trail then went through the garden, but as we were exiting another man – who I assumed also shared a the experience of spending more than his fare share of days napping under the early November sun, but every easily could have been a T or Garden employee tried to tell Shits, the hares and I that the doors which we were about to exit through were closed. We are hashers so we ignored him. The rest of pack – being order muppets – dudifuly followed his advice.

We all rejoined in the park over the big dig tunnel and all stood agast at the vision which was before us, on the other side of the street; a man, wearing a Patriots jersey under a flying squirrel onsie was strolling carelessly down the street. We quickly confirmed that this was butler, and that a. he wasn’t walking to, or from, or anywhere near bag car, and that he wasn’t walking in any way towards, or in the direction of the food, which he was tasked with picking up as we strolled the the beer check. Knowing better than to question, or corner, a buttler in the wild, we decided to ignore the strange apparition and continue with out merry juant.

Not much worth of retelling happened between the buttler sighting and the beer check.

Beer Check 2 – The great marathon hooides with beer coosies in them don’t prevent spilling.

                Deciding not to follow the tradition of “just one beer check” which the outgoing GMs tried to start Saturday, this trail had two beer checks. When we got to the second one – ugh, that’s a horrible transition after a post-edit, but I’m leaving it because I want the dig -  I removed my beer from the marathon hoodie pocket – those were such great give-aways weren’t they? Who ever was marathon chair that year really had their shit together. I wonder what’s in store this year… - anyway; I think I’ve broken all rules of punctuation on that rant – and noticed it was rather empty and I had to go to the bathroom.

I went to the corner of the park and Gimp yelled at me for “Pissing on/in the direction of the Conssitution.” When I returned I delivered the sick nasty burn “It’s funny you still think the Consitition matters!” No one laughed. Instead they were staring at me. It would appear as though the kangaroo pouch on the hoodie, while great at hiding and keeping beer cold, is not so good as keeping it from making it look like you peed yourself, but like in a very weird way in which the pee sprays up? Luckily it was cold and windy and we decided we should head to on in. Before we left, Shart decided to moon the youth hockey game and change out of her totally-going-to-run-today-running shorts into some jeans she probably stole from Disco.

Trail Part 3 – We Walk Across A Bridge

                We walked across the bridge to Charlestown. I workshopped a way in which I could tell the “spilling beer on myself story” in the context of a job interview, complete with interview questions, keyword phrases, light humor and formal laguage construction. I’d hire me. You should too. Also hire Shart. She wants new job. She’s good a shitty herself and running. She can solidify your bottom line.

Circle:

                We tried to move it to a sunny part of the park, but the birdge, the trajectory of the moon and tides made us circle on a path. At least we didn’t get in the way of the nice family taking wedding/engagement photots. I’m not entirely sure why, but very quickly circled turned on the RAs says “Does anyone else have any aquisations for wiki?” Somehow, that’s not how I invisioned my RA-emiratius career starting. It got cold, we swang low.

On – #IfYouDidntAlmostPeeYourselfItWasntAGoodTrail – On

-Wiki

ANNOUNCEMENTS:

FRIDAY 11/8: MOOM AGM – New Visisages! New Places! Same Rage! Take the 70 or the 71 out to watertown! Start is 6:30HST, bring cranium covers, and a love of “shiggly falling from the sky!”

SUNDAY 11/10: NO NUTS NOVEMBER – Join Just Elia as she hares a trail in celebration, condemnation, memorial, or whatever of NUTS! Start is “Camberville”. She needs a co-hare and a no-nut car!

(reply to this email/post if you want to volunteer and I’ll forward it to her)

FUTURE:

Ball Buster 11/16 – Start is in the Davis area, hared by Shits.
Sadie Hawkins 11/23 - LADIES! LADIES! LADIES – GET YOUR PINS FROM UDDER AND PIN YOUR BURRITO!!

Black out Friday 11/29 – Will Wiki get his sh*t together for a day which might actually be dangerous? Stay tuned!

ANTI-BUFFER: http://running4.beer/

…you’ve read 4 pages. Go back to work.

I’ve been at work 3 hours and this is all I’ve done.

Don’t be like me.

Rage.