The Sixteenth of April, Two Thousand Fifteen. Approximately seven o’clock in the evening.

 

Dearest Clara,

Though the fighting has ceased, I sincerely hope you’ll oblige yet another of my tales. Our numbers were strong, but still no match for the assembled hordes of tourists and an unrelenting assault from pollen. Worse still, we faced the threat of education.

‘Twas a trail 150 years in the making, and Bad Dog and his company of hares: The Lying, The Bitch, and The Whoredrobe, Ginger Snatch, La Gingeracha, and Lickthyologist, were bound and determined to make us read. On this fine evening, the marchers mimicked the escape of John Wilkes Booth following an incident that serves to demonstrate why we should never engage in the arts. We advanced steadily across a correctly categorized A-Z trail from Metro Center to Eastern Market in pursuit of the hares, terminating in a disputed snare on the banks of the Anacostia, before retiring to karaoke among the merry men at Banana Café.

 Among our ranks on this historic eve were virgins: Just Carroll, Just Juan, Just Lee, Just Louis, Just Baraq, Just Liam, Just Matt, and the fair Just Paige. Further still, we were graced by visitors: I Like Your Boobs, Just Robin, and Gnome Nuts, in addition to transplants: Drug Em and Plug Em, and Anal Rose.

 Along the way, we witnessed a series of violations, which I shall document accordingly:

  • Texas Hold Him inquired if pollen smells of semen to me as well. I replied that, while I did not find that to be true, I appreciate his efforts in investigative journalism.
  • I Like Your Boobs was alarmed by the rise of hash cash from his previous adventures in the District. An older gentleman, it seems Mr. Boobs was recalling the price of this original trail in 1865.
  • Just Baraq was both attired in jorts for his first hash and unfortunately for the events of this week, named for a sitting president.
  • Not to be outmatched by Mr. Booth’s escape on horseback, our General Fail Her Poon mounted Capital Bikeshare to complete his journey.
  • Bumspringa and others escaped a bit too far, as they sought refuge among the hosers at the Canadian embassy. And finally,
  • In keeping with historical accuracy, it seems a woman (The Lying, The Bitch, and The Whoredrobe) was the main conspirator this week, but a man (Bad Dog) claimed the credit and took the fall.

And finally, we promoted a young soldier in our most solemn occasion of a NAMING!!

Just Andrew hails from the northern reaches of Philadelphia, though was educated nearby at the University of Maryland. Though he once failed to insert upon a female against a sink in his dormitory bathroom, he reported a “fairly standard” virginity loss at the tender age of nineteen and conquest of at least one large British woman. Impressively, Just Andrew has achieved the rank of 150 in the world as a fake female healer in World of Warcraft. It seems his secret weapon in this feat is his very slow metabolism, as Just Andrew produces a bowel movement only every two to three days. A few suggestions were advanced: Neville Chamberpot; World of Wow, Crap!; Humpty Blumpkin; In Her Magisty’s Secret Cervix, but because he’s a peaceful lad and a lover not a fake fighter, henceforth Just Andrew shall be known as: Make Love, Not Warcraft!

Until next time, my dearest,

On- more educational than a trip to Cracker Barrel –On

–Red, White, and Poo