Hash Trash– EWH3 #870: The National Weatherperson’s (and their Effing Snow) Day Trail

Craptain’s Log, Stardate 2.5.15.

I’ve never trusted groundhogs, and I never will. It seems to me our system of entrusting climatology to rodents is questionable at best. Our mission took us across a frozen Capitol Hill sector on a dark, unforgiving night. How on earth can we establish a peace treaty with Punxsutawney under conditions this cruel?



Where: Union Station
Weather: Completely Miserable
Hares: Free Little Willy, Head Injury, Infidellatio, 7 Lay Her
Virgins: Just Jeff, Just Zachary

Visitors: Breaking Bad in Bed (Aloha Hash House Harriers), Uber Bitch (Aloha H3)

On-After: Driftwood Kitchen


Holy shitballz it was cold. Hashing in weather like this is highly illogical. Here’s some stuff that happened:


  • In honor of the highly respected profession of meteorology, the hares laid a series of checks that required complete wild-ass guessing in order to solve.


  • Our Hawaiian visitors were violated for being friends with, and worse yet, listening to Zero Shart Thirty. How do you say, “next time, just ignore him,” in Hawaiian?


  • As RA, Kindergarten Cock was violated for the awful weather and for proudly announcing that he “really couldn’t get anything off” at this point.


  • Speaking of getting off, Tuck Tuck Deuce was struggling with Fifty Shades of Yellow, which is apparently S&M at various stages of dehydration.


  • Unsurprisingly, the not-so-street-savvy Infidellatio struggled to read a map, and


  • The handful of men in shorts were violated for offering the hypothermic harriettes refreshing dicksicles.


Oh, yeah, and this scribe ate some serious shit and bled everywhere on trail. Shout out to the blue bandana tourniquet from Hungry Hungry Homo and Taco Rim Job for making me both a Blood and a Crip at the same time.


‘Twas too cold for a naming, so on this special occasion we ran off to the bar. Live long and prosper, Wankers.



Red, White, and Poo