Butler Fall Trail Series Presents: "Winter's Not Here, Yeeeeet"

What: Buttler Fall Series presents “Winter’s Not Here, Yet”

Who: Buttler

Bag car: Angry Crotch

Pack: Shits and Ladders, Dribbles, Testicular Mechanics, Sex: The Final Frontier, Full Frontal Fireball, Quarter Mile Queer, Chips ‘N Clitz, A Vagina Name Martinique, Virgin Maria, I Come from a Clam Down Under, Sketchy Ho, DeflateDate, Just Olive, Turd in the Beaver (RI)

Leg 1:

Trail began conventionally enough, no risks taken, a few of us milling about at Regina in Station Landing. Hare told all to bring ID on trail and a “couple bucks” in case they wanted to upgrade their drink. Hare also told Hash Cash to bring the Cash on trail, but this only about 69% registered with Hash Cash and HC promptly forgot.

And even though the forecast had been for no snow and weather apps continued to show that it was not snowing, wet cold moist things were alighting upon us that might have been called "snow". Full Frontal Fireball and Quarter Mile Queer co-RA-ed through the former’s FIRST TIME. It was awkward, no one knew where their hands should go, we all fumbled for the wrong motion at the wrong time, and we DEFINITELY finished before she did. And with that, we ran off.

Trail was found on Station Landing before encountering a parking garage. Fireball confidently stayed behind, figuring the trail would go up the garage and back down and out. Imagine our surprise when it led back to the Wellington Station and through the infinite skyway with a View Check at its center. Trail was straightforward, leading around the parking lot, though your humble Scribe went for not 1, but 2 falses under bridge crossings. A check was humorously marked in front of an impassable fence gate. I told Testi-Mechs that Buttler wouldn’t dare and we debated whether we should climb this fence before finding our hare just around one more bend of the brush, not 30 feet away.

Leg 2: Ante Upp-ed

As we drank our leftover hash beer, which included a nice spread of Bud Light, Yuengling, and Natural Light, Butter left, after giving instructions for how to read any maps that he might leave on trail, and we speculated where we might go, given that we were within sight of Encore. Sketchy revealed that she had READ the final trail announcement (well the one that went to BH3 planning), which has used the verb “gamble” three times in 3 sentences.

Trail could only follow the lovely perambulating path and the promised maps were found just before we entered Encore private property, which the hare was evidently unwilling to deface with chalk. We looked at the maps for about 10 seconds before condemning them as worthless, before actually orienting ourselves and using them, finding our way into the lush opulence that can only be funded by exploiting the dopamine fiends incapable of statistical analysis. Smug in our accepted knowledge that OUR addictions were completely unprofitable, we warmed our hands by the gas heaters. The doorman, seeing a pack of scrappy disheveled people in stained sweaty running clothes covered in dog, gave us a hearty welcome, inviting us in. Buttler was found at the center bar with a cocktail and told us to order, while we drank in the bright lights, radiant colors, and people who managed to dress even more casual than us.

Leg 3: Always Run on the Wrong Side of 99

Getting out of Encore proved as challenging a task as it was intended to be. Twice, we somehow wound up on the wrong floor before finding our way out and emerging on route 99, back to Boston. Emerging from a check, about 80% of pack didn’t know when to Hold ‘Em and when to Fold ‘Em and wound up on the wrong side of the highway, with options to traverse said highway only becoming higher and higher stakes gambles, as we traversed the Mystic River. Your Humble Scribe finally saw a break in traffic, ran across the highway, and jumped the median, leaving the other 69% of pack trapped. Buttler waited for us with Bag Car at Ryan Playground, informing us we had found Beer Check 3.

Leg 4:

We headed out from the Bag Car, hare in sight for the 50ft Fat Boy he laid to the shelter of the ON-IN, Testi Mechs snaring him on the way. Mallort was spotted. Homebaked mac ‘n cheese was presented.

Circle:

Social drinks for anyone who couldn’t escape the casino, for anyone who made out with Just Olive (we all did, even while being accused of it), backsliders were called in, and Sketchy vaguely recalled the proper procedure for abuse upon our Virgin Mary, who somehow was not a stranger to Mallort. It was revealed that the virgin le gustaria ver pornografia con tus padres and could not identify an aptly placed dollar bill. We didn’t find the virgin acceptable, but we took her anyway. Given that the Virgin actually lived in Munich, AVNM flirted with whether we should introduce her to Krusty.

ON - future hotel hash? - ON

-Set, etc