EWH3 Trash #1060 – The Glory Days [Again!] Trail! – Thursday, March 29th – Navy Yard -Ballpark Metro

When: Thursday March 29h, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!

Where: Navy Yard -Ballpark Metro

Hares: GeriatricMandering, Vaginal Countdown, Blow Me Closer Tiny Dancer, Special Head Kid, Amerigo Vesploogi, and Split Her Bare

Virgins: Just Nakiea, Just Griffin, Just Allie, Just Zach, and Just Matt

Visitors: Six Pigs In A Blanket, London Bitches Going Down

On After: Big Stick

Like any therapeutic support group (and that’s what we are, right?), E-dub thinks it’s important to cum together, re-hash our most traumatizing years, and marinate our damaged cranium contents with psychotropic concoctions.

Beer didn’t make high school fun, but it makes circle less triggering, and that’s the important thing.


Most likely to star in a reality TV show: (Real Housewives of Anacostia) Cum Locker

Tumble Cry was heavily nominated but no one could decide if To Catch a Predator fit the “reality show” genre.

Most likely to show up stoned to home room: Cum Dumpling. And don’t ask that wanker to share either. Rude.

Most likely to show up in answer to Maybe It’s Gaybelline‘s drunken booty call: Don’t Ask Don’t Smell. We hadn’t seen him in a while, but apparently Gaybelline knows exactly what buttons to push to tempt him out.

Most likely to take a ride from a stranger: L’Chymen, who was spotted hopping onto the back of a random biker’s motorcycle on the way to circle.

And in the only commendation for the evening: Most likely to take a stand against alcohol abuse:  Shitty Porn Story, who dove on a downed and leaking beer can like she was trying to live deep and suck all the marrow out of life. (For the children: That is a poetical reference featured in the classic coming-of-age movie Dead Poets Society. For the olds: That movie will be 30 next year. For everyone: RIP Robin Williams)


Some of us in the hash are old enough to have been to, considered, or pointedly avoided high school reunions. But if we’d gone to one without the intention of reconnecting with our old flame and possibly assassinating her dad (Gross Pointe Blank, class of 1997), we probably would have recognized a few folks…

The one who was chubby in high school but came back svelte and with an implausibly amazing rack? Definitely Kindergarten Cock. We got him at revenge-bod stage. Stay tuned for dad bod at the 20 year.

The one picking a fight with a history teacher over a poorly written test question in sophomore European history? Our own Geriatric Mandering, who now has a curated list of primary sources to support her drunken complaint.

The one who shows up to the reunion in all her Harvard gear? A Midsemester Night’s Cream. She says the maroon compliments the indebted-but-overeducated hue of her eyes. She’s so right.


And echoing the hazing rituals from days of yore, we were blessed with a NAMING:

Just Alan is from Albuquerque and in our fair city to complete his masters at Georgetown. The most important thing about his high school experience was cheerleading, which unfortunately did not afford him any insight into women as he arrived at the point of losing his virginity with no knowledge of how anything worked. Shitty sex ed! It’s not just for the Deep South anymore!

As an adult living at home with his mom, his persistent confusion about women led him to believe that riding a motorcycle into oncoming traffic would allow him to make the connections he so desperately desired. Two broken femurs and some other miscellaneous fractures later, his newly-met but very literal crush was breaking down his mom’s backdoor screaming the angelic and froody phrase “DON’T PANIC” to Just Alan’s startled mother. Backdoors and maternal units made another appearance in his stories involving a wacky misadventure where Ma and her date caught our hero being pegged in the living room. The dangers of living at home.

Just Alan proudly identified himself as the office manwhore at the bank where he worked. After fucking (“not dating, just fucking”) his way through his female coworkers, he became predictably obsessed with that one chick who had heard about his game and was having none of it. In true romcom and rapey-stalker fashion, he wouldn’t take no for an answer and badgered the poor woman into dates and an eventual legally binding relationship.

Outside of his Stockholm syndrome marriage, he would like us to know that he is vasectomized, would give a blowjob for an IPA, and was caught disposing of soiled boxers after he’d shat himself at a black tie event.

The nominations were drunken and bawdy, many better than he deserved, but despite a runner-up of “99 Fractures In A Ditch Ain’t Fun” (Rosetta Bone), the pack took into account his mom’s kitchen backdoor fiasco and the unexpectedly exhibitionist pegging event and dubbed him Panic! With The Crisco. Cum Peg Me is the proud papa, celebrating his second boychild. Mazel tov!

On – On
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