August 20, 2015. 7:00 pm
- Hares: Slumcock Anywhere, General’s Farm Animal, Can’t Find P*ssy in a Haystack, WifeGuard, Dial F
- Virgins: Just Brandaly, Just Duke, Just Bryan, Just Danial, Just Dan, Just Meghann, Just Sara, Just Nate
- Visitors: Screws on First, Das Charizo, In the Bush, Fucktard
- On-After: The Exchange
Remarks of an EHW3 Scribe
on the Occasion of the 2015 Blue Dress Trail
As prepared for delivery
7:15 pm. Dupont Circle.
My fellow wankers,
This afternoon in this room, from this chair, I testified before the Office of Independent Counsel and the grand jury.
I answered their questions truthfully, including questions about my private life, questions no American citizen would ever want to answer.
Still, I must take complete responsibility for all my actions, both public and private. And that is why I am speaking to you tonight.
Indeed, I did encourage men to don dresses and spray each other with frosting. It was weird, and it was wet, but I cannot say that it was wrong.
Yes, I admit, I enjoyed it. There, I said it.
I admired the way the deep V necklines accentuated their chest hair. I delighted even more once the rain made their chest hair glisten. I waited with anticipation for the wind to gently lift the hems of their garments, rejoicing in every additional inch of man leg that would become visible.
While I didn’t intend to exclude the harriettes from my lurid gazes, they looked lovely as always, whereas the men, for once, were particularly on display.
And the frosting. The sweet, gooey frosting. Warmed by the late August sun and with an oddly intoxicating aroma, it was an unexpected pleasure. Sure, I was initially annoyed by the sticky drips along my garments, but I later realized I could save them, talk about them on the phone to my weird friends, and possibly take down a presidency.
Or, at the very least, I could invite the nation into a very public conversation about frosting.
And so, while not apologizing, I offer that now it is time to move on.
And so tonight, I ask you to turn away from the spectacle of the blue dresses, repair the fabric of our hash’s discourse, and to return our attention to all the challenges and all the promise of the next century’s worth of trails.
Thank you for watching. And good night.
Whew. What a weird chapter in this hash’s history. I’m glad that’s behind us, at least for another year.
And, of course, I wasn’t the only one who sinned.
- Moose Knuckles channeled tonight’s honoree, as he eagerly went down on trail
- Dildo Shaggins engaged in the nation’s housing policy, since there once was a girl from Nantucket, who tripped over a homeless guy’s bucket
- The Hares sought diplomatic immunity for nearly killing Jew-Cock-A, for making a Jew run in front of a mosque in a sleeveless dress
- Just Mark emphasized our educational crises by asking “what’s the significance of the cigars?” and finally,
- The Hares took political inspiration from the wrong Clinton, because their trail was more mysterious than Hillary’s emails.
There was no naming because we were at risk of being impeached from our White House alley, so we scampered off to find more kickballing interns at The Exchange.
On- Sorry I’m Not Sorry -On
Red, White, and Poo