Experience is a far superior tool for hashers than athleticism or desire. There were two solid examples of this.
1. The Mechanical Bull, despite not dirtying himself with the creek bed in San Luis, managed to lead real trail. Myself, Finger My Rat Hole, Just Allen, Python, among others, were fast on the hunt, only to leave the confines of the creek to find numerous "--------> Bull" markers. He definitely taught us youngsters a lesson.
2. Despite their proclivity to drink instead of run, a group of more experienced hashers (mostly SoB) managed to not only beat us to the second beer check, but also snare the hare. How they managed this second feat has kept me up nights. I mean what kind of witchery did they employ to know that the trail was coming back to them, take some time off, watch the rest of us wankers run while they drink vodka and red bulls, and catch the bastard anyway!! Truly I stand in awe of your omniscience.
This revelation I may have been able to deduce myself before dressing up in a red dress: That although women seem to enjoy whistling and screaming cat calls at a group of grown men in dresses, frat boys do not. Because I was a FRB along with much of the group noted above, we were the first to come upon the Frat house. While their women smiled and waved, they gave scowling glances and attempted snide remarks. Phrases like, "are you gay?" and "how queer you are!" rained from their porch. Poor saps, obviously, they had never felt the rapier whit of hashers, and a few quick barbs had us drinking their beer from their women! Mua ha ha! Oh what merriment we did bring to the women of those god forsaken, self made slaves of the Frat House. (I particularly enjoyed the record pace that their attempted jabs fell off, as more and more and more wankers in red showed up in voicestrous support of our cause.)
I also learned that before I wear a dress that short again, I should go tanning. Pasty white thighs like mine have been outlawed in 5 counties.
Even wankers from Lompoc can run a good YBF. We had been getting close, thanks to the Mechanical Bull, and we arrived at Bull's bar raring to go. Because the barkeep would not pour until everyone else arrived, I bought a round instead, hoping to leave early and catch them. In time everyone showed up anyway, and as we turned to order our pre-bought beers we came only to find from the beautiful bartender in her clear and slightly condescending voice that alas, We'd All Been Fucked, (Though not by her, which for Searching for Seamen was a real shame,) and her's was not a real beer check.
Catching the hare is defenitely worth it, even if Mossy Patch chides you for wanting it.
Bar owners need only to be distracted while people they know nothing about finish pitcher after pitcher. Super Ass Crotch did an admirable job fending off repeated efforts by Downtown Brew to check our ID's (which of course we had none,) while we finished the pitchers he had purchased for us. How he managed this despite what is typically a very hard nosed ID policy in San Luis is impressive. Kudos for that Ass-Crotch.
No Kudos for Searching for Semen for being caught. (Though after he had stolen the shirt from Mr. Chihuahua's Wild Ride back, he returned it to its rightful owner after much chiding by me.) What a sucker.
Got Milf can't live up to his own hashit, and reportedly asked the other member of the ambigously gay duo, Mr. Chihuahua's Wild Ride (who to his credit, said no) to "carry the weight for me, its too heavy." Tisk Tisk Tisk. Then he passes it on to me, and all of you wankers let it happen! I have never been more proud to see something so absurdly base and mean to a Hasher, even if it was me. You are all Wankers. (Here I have to say sorry for cussing everyone out for sticking me with the Hashit, I only meant my numerous outcries of "Fuck You" to, well most of you. Bastards.)
To add personal injury to insult, I owe Matzo a good one. The virgin I invited, Just Aaron (big dude, blue hair, cool sun glasses) wore new shoes. Now you have to understand I lived with this guy for two years, during which time he bought one new pair of shoes... and then wore them to the hash. So yes, I drank sock filtered beer from San Luis creek trodden shoes. And you all loved it so. I'll let you know when the doctors release me from the ICU.
Blow-Ho is an awesome woman, and can wank around with hash songs with the best of them.
Seriously, the rousing chorus we had at the end of the evening was simply awesome. All of the hashers that participated were in top form, and it was a pleasure to see. Thanks for showing up and contributing.
Max Load is not only sexy in a parasol, but is also a theif. He took the signed SLO Hash logo in true form. What we will have to do to get it back is up for him to say.
Panama jack-Off takes way too many pictures, (most of which seem to be of scantily clad men.) I suppose thatit must be because his memory is fading, and piecing an evening back togethre is his only hope.
Matzo looks fantastic in shimmering fabric. But he seems to have a problem making anyone cum. And his breasts are a joke.
Cow Fluffers were not. And in light of our repeated "Body Part, Body Part, OOO AHHH" anthems, only her and a non hasher, Liz the beer tender, were giving enough to share of themselves so....freely.
Slug-ho, dressed all in red and porcelain, is definitely the King of Queers.
Python is an unlicky man, and the only skirt he got into that night was his dog's.
Just Alyse was dubbed Gag-Order, and for those of you who do not know the origin of the name: She once told me that she was trying to put a gag on herself so she didn't say anything stupid enough that would be deserving of a name. Ahhhh the Irony. Just bask in it Gag-Order, it only gets better from here. And we do appreciate it that you take it like a champ...
Though I am seldom Long, I have been here. I leave the rest of the trash up to your meager wits and comments.
May all the hash go in Peace.
Thanks for cumming everyone. This was my most enjoyable hash yet. It took all of you to pull it off, and we are grateful for your presence, even if you are a bunch of wankers.
Until we Cum Again.
Fred Ass-Tear
