King’s Cup Trail
Hares: Silence of the Skin Flute, Testicular Mechanics
Pack: Bring Out the Gimp, Chunderelli Chunderelli, Clit Notes, Comes Like Clockwork, Cuntcussion, Edward Sissyhands, Extra Terresticle, Full Frontal Fireball, Goat Throat, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Godfrey, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Quarter Mile Queer, Sex the Final Frontier, Sketchy Ho, Snatchchat, The Buttler Hit it, Virgin Louis
Pre-lube: Conway Park
Shot Check: Abandoned lot next to Bailey Park
Beer Check 1: Albion Playground
Beer Check 2: Somerville Junction Park
On-in: Behind Veterans Memorial Rink
When we get old and tell our grandchildren stories of past trails, this one will stand out not for the theme, nor for the glorious late spring weather, nor for the brief visit by our friends in the SPD, but for the excessive laying of falses. Mother f*cking falses. We’re not talking one and outs or two and outs, we’re talking four, five, six marks in a row coming from the check followed by that dastardly evil YBF. I recall one check in particular where one direction had five marks followed by three horizontal lines, another direction had five marks followed by an F, and a third direction had five marks followed by a YBF. And this happened again, and again, and again. You couldn’t assume you were on-on until you found the next check. When the pack yelled RU, I was sure to turn around and give the on-on in air quotes, because even after three marks, you just weren’t totally sure. Sissyhands figured he’d just walk the trail because it took so long to solve each check, and that strategy worked pretty well for him. Gimp’s tracker had an even 3.69 miles, though Testicular said he was at 6 and change. In actuality, trail was probably in the five mile range.
As for that theme, it was an excuse to create a couple of new checks. The J in a circle was not a joke check, but a jack check, where someone named a category and everyone had to shout out something in that category. The Q in a circle was not a QAnon symbol, but a queen check, where everyone was supposed to ask a question of another hasher. The 9 in a circle was a bust a rhyme check. Creative additions, though most were forgotten by the second beer check.
On the trail itself, after climbing up and down the Somerville hills and having a God-awful nip at the shot check, I saw the shiny beacon that was the Somerville Wine & Spirits store. Two miles in and still beer-less, that package store called out to me like the Sirens to Odysseus and I stopped in to grab a four-pack that I shared with Sissyhands, Sketchy, and the Virgin.
In circle, pack commented that they weren’t f*cked enough. Virgin Louis, brought by Snatchchat, had to drink what I think was a Russian Irish Car Bomb, or something. It was his punishment for winning (losing?) King’s Cup. His ski slope description is backwoods, he’d get off on the bus full of lesbians, and he likes to think he’s good at math. No Man and Cuntcussion were co-FBIs, Chuderelli was FRB, and Buttler was DFL. Testicular drank for having a birthday, and Buttler, Gimp, and I drank for being conceived in May. Testicular also drank for his fourth hash analversary, and Cuntcussion joined him for celebrating her third year hashing. People drank for thinking the bag car key was lost, the hares drank for labeling the BN with a 5/19 to indicate the day (we were close to crossing over a past trail’s marks), and Silence drank for leaving his bag unattended. I was accused of using technology to record my scribe notes, as well as for my not all heroes wear capes moment of the mid-trail beer run. Then the cops showed up and told us it would be best for everyone if we wrapped it up (no babies!), so we whispered announcements and went home.
As for those announcements, there’s a ball-less dog ballbuster coming up, a finish the beer ballbuster, a Moon trail on Saturday, and Beantown Mywhorial and Independence Day trails. Mark your calendars, take the COVID rules survey, and be good to each other.
Till next time, on-on!
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