Hash Trash: EWH3 #541: Combat Veterans’ Hash, Van Dorn Street
EWH3 #541 – Combat Veterans’ Hash, Van Dorn Street
Hares: Little Red Ride Me Good, Double Ohhhh Positive, Porn to Fail, Eat Your Vegetables, JAG Queen
Brew Crew: Brokeback Mama, Red Vag of Courage
Virgins: Just: Marshall, Esti, Daniel, Robbie, Hugo, Tina, Roxanne, John, Saul, Steph, and Jim
Visitors: Kilt Lifter, Curtis Flush, Nadia Cum ‘n’ Eat Me, Foreign Sex Change, Taco’s Camel Toe
Ononon: Nick’s Country Bar
After being booted from the original starting point by a security guard in a Hyundai, the pack circled up in a parking lot far, far away from the Metro and almost immediately plunged into some shiggy that led to a creek. Before reaching the creek, some wanker stepped on a hornets’ nest, unleashing the fury of a thousand angry, stinging insects. Hornets on trail, really? This is not ‘Nam. There are rules. I myself got stung 5 times. And then, to top it off, a thunderstorm came in, creating flash flood conditions. We trudged on through the creek, then into a tunnel under the Beltway, but there was no light at the end of it, only a crawl space. Finally, at the end of the crawl space, we saw daylight. The pack came out in a space between several tunnels and had to climb a rope to get out. We then waded through what was supposed to be a creek, but looked more like a chest-deep fjord thanks to the storm.
The hares swept the back of the pack straight into beer check, because trail had washed out in the rain and one of the tunnels we were supposed to go through was completely flooded. My relief at the sight of sweet, sweet beer was tempered when a few minutes after getting into beer check, when my lips started going numb and my whole face swelled up until I looked like I could be on the front page of www.enoughwiththecollagenalready.com. And that, my friends, is how I learned that I am allergic to wasp and hornet stings. The FRBs were still out trying to find trail, though word came in that some of them had gone straight to the on-on-on. The hares swept the pack that was at the beer check there, while Designer Bush was kind enough to drive me to Giant so I could buy some Benadryl. Turtle Dick drove his truck around the area and swept the remaining runners in to the parking lot behind the on-on-on.
Before we could circle up, the owner asked us to come in and pay for beer instead of drinking it for free, and the taps in Plan B went wonky. The pack went into the bar, drank beer, sang karaoke, and those who weren’t too wounded from trail tried to get laid.
For the love of god, avoid stinging insects,
Tits for Tots