What: A Day in the Raging Time
Where: Tavern at the End of the World
Who:
Hare: Dry Hose
Bag car: Cherry Poppin Paddy
Pack: Wikipedophilia, the Butler Hit It, Shart of Darkness,
No Man of the Moon, PoPo Peepshow, Willy Wonka the the Holden Factory, Orgasmn
Falmon, Fellowship of the Cockring, Dime Bag Derell, Qatar Mile Queer, Holy
Dumpster Fire, Full Front Fireball, Dribbles, Bottom Wrangler, Hare Club,
Others I am Forgetting.
Start: I was very worried I would be late so instead of
taking the 86 I took an uber, which happened to not be a valid worry because
even though this was day light raging time, packs habitual tardiness was not
remidied. Pack was standing around the bar discussing, I think, ski trips, winter
hiking, premiership games, and various other topics. I was transfixed by the broadcast
of a Red Sox game which had all the hallmarks of a live broadcast, but the Red
Sox were listed as the home and I was trying to really hard to figure out if I had
blacked out the entire month of March? How were they playing baseball at Fenway?
Why is everyone dressed in summer clothes when it’s maybe 50? It was only when
I started typing this story on a not at all hungover Monday morning that I
realized spring training was a thing and I was probably watching a broadcast
from Florida. That there were crowds still in the stands also served as an indication
that this story took place back in March, not in April.
Chalk talk:
Qutar Mile was the most sober. He didn’t mess up chalk talk
at all. It was fast, efficent, there was no waste. It was perfect. People, in
fact, were surprised at how much information was communicated and pack
commented that QMQ must have a natural inclination for it.
Leg the First- Definetly not cajun:
This leg was definetly not cajun but that didn’t stop YHS from
doing some truly horrible scouting. I ran up towards sullivan from the start,
thinking we’d go under the train tracks, or all the old rail lines for some
ubran shiggy since trail was marked in undyed white flour. It did not. Trail ran
along Washington street until the bridge was decidedly out. Thinking now that trail
would wind towards what I will be refering to as Powder House Hill, I scoted
roughly in that direction. I should note that I wasn’t scouting or zennig by
following marks I was just running blindly roughly trying to keep pace with pack
out of the periphary of my vision. We did meet up for a check past some very
confused youths playing basketball, who were generally confused and perplexed
by what these group of adults was doing on a beautiful Sunday afternoon. After
rejoining pack near the mid-century church where Coonass used to live, we
spotted a shot check off to the side of the road and shart and sex ran off to
not find trail*
*Note: shart found trail, sex didn’t. We watched him run in
circles as we drank something which the hare tried to make look as piss like as
possible. We believe it was vodka and pineapple. We all took a sip then decided
descression was the better part of valour and ran off to follow shart, with sex
eventually catching up. We have left the parenthetical note and are back in the
main naration. We reached a check at the base of the stairs with Shart and No
Man coming back to say there was nothing up there. Hare club was coming back
along the far side of the street but Dime Bag called on at the next block. Pack
scouted up hill because we’re idiots, and basically dispersed at that point. We
had stayed pretty close together up until. I scouted up hill, didn’t find any marks,
and looped around the back of Union Square, though the farmers market and to
the Dunkins’ on the otherside where I again saw Dime Bag standing on a check. I
scouted straight on he took left, but I called check near the used car dealership
near where the former abode of a man who can’t eat cats. Falmon and Goat
rejoined me and we scouted pretty much straight until we found the beer check/bag
car unloading at lincoln park.
Beer check Brass Band:
The hare, shitty liar that he is, was able to arrange a brass
marching band for the beer check. The wind blew a potatao chip off my tounge,
but other than that it was unremarkable. The walkers eventually showed up, having
picked up a butler, at the far side fo the park and walked through the
assembling marching band on their journey to the beers. We sipped our beers in
the warm sunshine while the band warmed up. Dry Hose did not announce that in
honor of the brass band, that the upcoming leg of trail would be a cajun. Qatar
mile told us he did anyway. We set off looking for more beer and less brass
band with the conflicting information.
Leg The Second – This Isn’t Cajun, is it?
Coonass defended the honor of his people and Hare Club laughed
at the legacy which he and J-Mo created; “You have dozens of ideas of the years,
but you can never control which ones stick!” We ran around the band through the
park and then towards professor row and the fancy houses behind the harvard divinity
school. I got lost bad zenning a few times, but, compared to the first and last
legs, actually did a pretty good job. In the age of #Covid-19 “HS” was a “hand
santizer” check where we praticed singing “two versuses” of a song while miming
washing our hands. Shart and Dribbles ran off to find a portapotty which had
both toilett paper and hand wash. Shart and I remarked our elation at the
direction trail had taken and continued scoting past the elementray school in
which I have yet to vote for a winning candidate, to a beer check where there
was an election on going about favourite apple types. No Man voted for Granny
Smith, and Fellowship opened a Doritos bag upside down either because his foot
elevator doesn’t work, or he’s a garbage human.
Beer check voting both:
Read the last sentence of the preceeding paragraph as though
it belongs here. Dry Hose asked us to give him more time than usual since he
had rolled his ankle on the deep urban shiggy – ie, parks – on the cajun leg
and would be walking the rest of the way. Quarter Mile announced that he had
finished the entire shot check bottle and was no longer able to perform logic.
Leg On Which I Never Saw a Mark because I Am an Amazing Scouter:
After drinking all the beer and water in the cooler, we
dashed off in search of more beer under the brilliant daylight. I led sex
through some bad scouting through a park with no exists, and meet back up with
pack by the intersection of Mass Ave and shepard streets. I did not see pack
again until I caught up with them by the elementrary school on the edge of
Danhey park. But how can that be, you cry! That’s, like a gap of almost two
miles? Well, dear reader, the answer is bad scouting, combined with worse scouting,
no sense of direction and a not insignificant amount of prideful stuburness.
Eventually I saw a Falmon running away in the distance, and after verifing I
wasn’t in Ethopia – that’s like a really bad 30 year old Falmon joke which I left
in after the explitory edit - I dashed after her into Danhey Park where I lost
sight of her and shart but saw a Coonass and a Dripples disapearing over the horizon.
Crossing a baseball field I saw the hares, and some small amount of pack
milling about waiting for bag car to show up. Eventually bag car arrived, bags
and pizzas were unloaded and we walked to the top of a very windy hill to eat
pizzas in the windy shade.
ONIN:
Eating chicken and onion pizzas in the windy shade while Qatar
tried valiently to weigh down all the empty boxes progressed well until the
pizzas were mostly eaten, and the hare told use that we were going to circle not
in the sunny clear nex to the hill, but the shady marsh back at the bottom of
it, so we picked up our bags and trugged back down hill. That was one sentence
which switched both tense and voice, but the ability to join it to the explitory
– conditional – clause to make a truly grammatically offensive sentence is, at
present, beyond the skill of YHS.
CIRCLE:
Quarter Mile, determined to not fuck up circle, started
quickly by brining the hare in. After a short version of and the hares, we went
around circle to get comments on trail, which quickly devolved into people
yelling “you should’ve used more flour and chalk” to the RA, not the hare. Sensing
that he was losing control, QMQ sang the hare out of circle, then called in the
FRBs – hare club and dribbles and sand them “go speed racer.” He dismissed them
as shart yelled that we were supposed to sing “down, down, down” at the end of
each song. QMQ then called the FRBs in, and quickly realized his mistake. We
sang the FRBs again, then called in the DFLs, probably butler and no man, but I
think I was pulled in too? Back sliders were called in, but they had no real
good excuses as to why they missed the Best Hash Ever Last Weekend Because It
Went Through Milton. Speaking of Amazing Real Places, Wonka was called in for
having a Gang Bang in Holden. Circle was quickly devlolving as the RA had no control
except that which we gave him, and that wasn’t much. Shart accused the hare of
the sunshine, and we sang him a song which doesn’t matter. I was called in, I think,
for wearing a kilt, I’m unsure. Eventually the bag car and the hare had enough
of our tomfollery and quietly left their own trail even though the sun hadn’t
set and we hadn’t even thought about swinging low! A few minutes later Falmon
and goat ran back to watertown before the sunset, and westward movement was
prohibited. A few minutes later a group of people – Knuckles deep and Popo - left
circle to pet a dog, and didn’t return. Eventually it was QMQ, Dry Hose – who left
according this naration in the last sentence, so I’ll just assume I meant to write
“Bottom Wrangler” and move on – Your Humble Naraton, Holy Dumpster Fire, Shart,
Coonass, Popo Cocking and Massage a Trio. The RA had long since lost control of
circle as I have simialary lost control of this narative. At one point Plus two
did a “Tag In” to RA for a bit, but
quickly realized his mistake and quietly retreated as QMQ reemerged from the
reeds. With the nobel goal of trying to end of our merrymaking in hell, I
counted that there were five beers remaining and took a knee in the mud to volunteer
to shotgun them all to end circle. QMQ wasn’t about to let me out rage him, so
he dropped to a knee as well. I lack the literay talent to describe what
happened when we tried to shotgun those beers. It was crazy, choatic, insane,
wet, and amazing. Butt Stuff took a video and No Man quietly ran home to hide
her shame at what she had witnessed. Out of beers and consumed by our own metaphorical
shadows we swang low and headed to Punters to wash way our shame with their “high-end
fireball.”
On – AST for life – On
-Wiki et all
ANNOUNCEMENTS:
3/13: Recruitment beer mile!! Do you have friends you want
to bring to the hash, but think that the choas described here in might scare them
off? Do you think beer miles are a more sane way to welcome people into our
flock? Bring them to the recruitment beer mile! 7pm, Danahey Park, Cambridge!!
Details on the website, facebook, etc, etc.
Marathon update: 3/18 is the last day that we “honor” hash
crash requests, 3/21 is the last day to register and get a garunteed gimme, look
for a “marathon planning meeting” before 3/31. Wiki will not be under quarintine.
3/27: March Moom!
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