When: 6:45 PM Thursday, December 27th, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!

Where: Columbia Heights Metro follow marks to Columbia Heights Civic Plaza to start!

Hares: Atari 6900… and literally no one else?

Virgins: Just Calvin, Just Dave
Visitors: I Like Your Boobs, Getting Nailed… and some foreigners who literally no one could understand. Also it was cold and the phone wasn’t doing great.

Apparently our hash is a huge destination for the overseas wankers in town for the holidays. I assume that cumming along with us was some sort of anthropological experiment or last effort to really nuke their livers before a dry January.


Immediately after being introduced, Getting Nailed tried to start Jesus Can’t Go Hashing.

Sit down, bro, we do not like you enough for a 20 min musical interlude.

General’s Farm Animal insisted he wasn’t compensating for anything, and the ridiculous size of his flask was purely related to his alcoholism.

Finally, The Cumburglar galloped into circle and regaled us with disturbingly re-enacted tale of something involving a horse? Or a whore? Or a houri? Or a sexy horse? Unclear, but there were sound effects.

We needed to be super quiet, and that wasn’t working, so we called it a stealth run on circle and headed over to Town Tavern to get rowdy.


On – swift and silent…ish – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday December 20th, 2018.

Where: Cleveland Park

Hares: Tuck Tuck Deuce, Red Vag of Courage, Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock, Sorest Rump, and PIO

Visitor: Just Benjamin
Long time no see: More Men and Moose Knuckles!!!

Have you drunk so much that all of the Christmas movies are blending into some sort of unholy jingling amalgamation? Did you end up with a mental image of a bearded misanthrope who would terrorize children and wear funny hats? Perfect, because this trail was all about Tuck, our very own Krotchety Kringle.

The weather was a miserable, cold, Krampus-piss night, and it got everyone in the mood to shout at toddlers and Humbug aggressively.


We started with a bunch of commendations! One went to General Tso’s Dicken! Deetz was complaining about General Tso’s pussy keeping him up allllll night (noice!). Deetz, however, was violated for being inadequate at soothing the insatiable beast.

As beer check was by McDonald’s, there were commendation for everyone who paused to shove something hot in their greedy cockholes!

Sphincter Shy was violated because someone finally managed to make that “not within 60 yards of a school” stick. Congrats on completing your last final, now leave the children be.

Stain Gretzky ran into a pole and then – after complaining – had a bunch of bushes coming at her. Meanwhile, Throbbin’s implement got some sort of splooge all over her. Let’s just say that it’s the wettest she’s been in a while.

And just to confuse everyone, we said something nice to the hares for strategically placing a tit check by some bare-breasted statuary. There is a bust joke in here that I’m too lazy to reach for.

And with no naming and a continuous frigid drizzle, we hied our sodden forms off to Guapo’s for restorative elixirs.

On – so much you can never unsee – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 12/13
Where:  U st, yellow/green
Hares:  Shitty Porn Story
Virgins:  Just Audrey, Just Brian, Just Victor, Just Kevin
Visitors:  long time no see em: pooples mountain majesty
On-After:  don’t know where it was supposed to be since the hares left, so we all went to Satellite Room where the pizza flowed and shots were a plenty

It was a night of dirty booty jokes, searching the depths to bury our treasures and ultimately the shortest second half of a trail in history. Luckily the construction site approved our permits to party and let us be most of the night.


Clitoral damage for not inviting me to the dirty jerking in may

Jiggly tits, for their Golden Dubloon booty shorts that kept the pirates squarely focused on dat booty

Basement boy toy, #SquadHoles and Just Brian who got booty grabbed by the random lady on the walker trail

Hares because there was no No glitter herpes on runner trail so it must be Lying dormant

Hares for bringing Failed shot check on walker trail

Hares blue the trail By using blue powder on the pirate trail, because we can’t see blue on the Sea

Seriously tho, the hares, if anyone would like to hare a trail please sign up!

Eiffel plow her for having his virgin Just Audrey pay his hash cash

Atari 6900 for boasting about his license to carry wood

Clitoral damage for yelling dirty dicks and herpes in front of Howard hospital, as if they didn’t have enough of those already.

Our RA Poon-apple Juice Because What does a Dyslexic hashing Pirate Say?

A: RRRRRRA! It was a bad joke then, and it’s a bad joke now, get over it!

And finally we should all be violated because to cap off the night we ruined some freshly poured concrete but none of us had the frame of mind to draw a dick in it…

On – arrrgghhh – on,



After we kicked #SquadHoles out, your lovely scribe turned RA was joined by Colliteral Damage for a very solemn occasion…

The Naming of Just David

Just David is the prolific author of a Burn Book, filled with Yelp reviews of men he’s banged. On a scale of 1-5, there are no fives. The closest entry is a 4 – his 8th grade science teacher, who had him so hot and bothered that he had sex in the PE locker room. That man got a 2. His Daddy Gay File isn’t what you think and the meanest thing he’s ever done is something you wouldn’t understand. Just David likes college porn and hot dogs up the ass. It’s his love for strange dick and Regina George that led L’Chymen to name him..

On – Is beer a carb? – On

When: Thursday, October 25th, 2018.
Where: Shaw/Howard University Metro
Hares: Special Head Kid, Seizure’s Phallus, Issues and Tissues, Trickle Down Sexonomics, Poonapple Juice, and Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me

Virgins: Justs David, Austin, Melissa, Wendel, and JC

Visitors: Village Tool, I Like to Swallow, Cocktistic, Jugs Juicy, Dribbles Before He Shoots, and It’s Not Cum It’s Ranch

It’s the Graffiti Trail! Where we all get a chance to start the night in virginal white and then defile each other in progressively colorful and crudely drawn ways! It is a chance for the artistic and the visual punners to thrive!

One fifth, two fifth, red fifth, blue fifth. You're welcome. ~BMCTD

It is, let us be real, a chance to touch other humans because we are social creatures and some of us don’t get enough of that.

Also, drawing boobies! WOOOOOO!


  • Eiffel Plow Her was commended for his wine bag waggling. He managed to baptize several wankers with his sticky juices.


  • Cum Dumpling was found in the street aspiring to be a traffic cop. On the plus side it was the first time we’d seen him in the street without looking lost.



  • Seamen on a Pew was commended for being a super old wanker. As in Y2K old. He and the rest of his ancient cohort told tales of riding pterodactyls to opening circle and paying for hash cash with dotcom stock options.


  • Zombie was overheard complaining about having too many motorcycles. If anyone would like to offer themselves as a ride-able substitute with significant horsepower, maybe we can do something about her carbon footprint. 


And then we fucked off to Satellite Room without naming anyone!


On – Only pedants and Italians say ‘graffito’ – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday, November 22, 2018
Where: Rosslyn Metro Station
Hares: Please Step Away from the Whores, Purple Peter Eater, Areola Boreales, and some more?
Virgins: Just Sara, Just Huckleberry, Just Cupcake, Just Andrew, Just Laura, Just Jan
Visitors: Mistress Cycle, Big Fat Gay Wedding, Robocock
No See’ums: For Sale or Rent, Vagina (I think I wrote that one down wrong), Fire In the Hole

I haven’t spent Thanksgiving with blood relatives since I was “too young to drink.”

Regardless, I really did feel at home this year.

Please Step Away From the Whores was the uncle who brings wild turkey to dinner then passes out in front of the TV.

Colliteral Damage was the aunt who would rather raise dogs than children.

Little Red Ride Me Good, like my mother, got so drunk she couldn’t even be bothered to stand up to greet the guests.

Mourning Wood was that cousin who couldn’t get a date in high school, but took advantage of cuffing season to finally put a ring on it.

Throbbin’ Hood was the picky nephew who won’t eat turkey and makes his mom stop at McDonald’s on the way over.

Bipolar Bear and L’Chymen were the red headed step-children.

And then there’s me… just trying to get drunk and forget it all.

It wasn’t quite time for dinner, so we rallied for a second course and a very solemn occasion…

The Naming(s) of Just Gracie and Just Charlie

This dynamic duo splits custody of Colliteral Damage and her pussy.

Just Charlie is embarrassed by the time he tried to hump his sister and had to ask C. Damage for advice. He’s scared of everything, including Legos. This DARE dropout once took treats from a strange and paid the price in naps.

Just Gracie once skull fucked a puppy. She’s a guard dog with no bite, who would definitely attack Sully, but couldn’t take on a ten pound cat. This dancing queen loves wearing her pink tutu and once saved her family from a balloon.

It was time for dessert, so we let Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock have the dishonor of naming the two more confused hashers on that particular parking deck…

Sufficiently un-sober for an actual feast, we parted ways to eat, drink, and get (cranberry) sauced.

On – in it for the leftovers – On
Poon-apple Juice


When: Thursday, November 8, 2018
Where: Smithsonian Metro
Hares: Atari 6900, Whoregon Trail, Sphincter Shy, Poon-apple Juice, Camo Sutra
Virgins: Just Ethan (He was Southern), Just Cole, Just Cody, Just (honestly, I didn’t catch this chick’s name, I was too distracted by Just Ethan’s accent), Just Ryan, Just Josh, Just Jay
Visitors: Missile Anus, In The Shitter, Two Fingers

On a cold November evening, we met to celebrate the true reason for the season: Whoregon Trail and Atari 6900! I mean, veterans too, but let’s be real. After hares away, we sang a few rousing rounds of the button song, while noting Texas Hold Him’s yellow hat, which he was very proud of. Notably lacking was the presence of his sidekick, bicurious George.

Suddenly, the pack was on-out. Your noble scribe took the helm of walker’s trail, leading the charge on a path that was somehow straighter than Schrodinger’s Cock. Across sidewalks and… more sidewalks we trekked. The trail seemed so hopeless that Tragic Carpet Ride expressed his desire to eat a dead human. Not one to be burned twice, I kept my distance.

Meanwhile, on the other trail…

Over hill and through valley, across sidewalk and.. probably also more sidewalk, the pack traversed downtown DC. Doing her part to service men, Jiggly Tits jiggled those tits at the Marines on trail.

God bless American, indeed.

The biggest mistake an alpha hare can make is leaving the pack in charge of their own shot check. Carrying a mere two gallons of a non-descript liquid, we approached The Spirit of Justice, which it turns out is just a big fountain. Shots were had, photos were taken (all by our official EWH3 Hash Flash), and we were on our way. Finally, in the close distance, the pack appeared, having arrived at beer check quite some time before us. I proffered a beer and stumbled upon Dial F popping bottles like cherries.

The pack must have confused the sound of the cork with a shotgun because they were off before my second drink. On the way out, Assmaster 2000 revealed his true form as he found a spot on the swing set so he could lure little girls to have a seat. Like a late autumn Santa, he was just looking for his ho’s.

The second half of trail passed without incident, although Sally the Jizzhound channeled his inner Virginia driver by leaving his blinker on for two miles. I arrived at end only to see Quid Pro Blow dumping chips into his box of donuts. Now, that’s a threesome I can get behind.

In my excitement, I reached into my dry bag to find it not-so-dry. I frantically pulled out to discover a small portion of a wine bottle embedded in. my. hand. Stain Gretzky sprung into action with a first aid kit, proving that not all heroes wear fatigues.

Thanks to this medical emergency, I blocked out the happenings, cumming to only for a very solemn occasion…

The Naming Of Just Lady

Just Lady is an adorable make-out whore. This panty-licker has had the unfortunate luck of living with Sally the Jizzhound for over three years – and no, she’s not the jizzhound. Just Lady likes to hump the bunny (I wish that were an innuendo) and has only pooped on the couch once. Thanks to Rosetta Bone, Just Lady shall henceforth be known as…

But wait, there’s more!

Letting him know his true place, second to a dog, we invited Just Chad into the circle, too!

The Naming of Just Chad

Just Chad definitely doesn’t have a beard. This born and bred Maryland boy loves blind people and the flags they fly. He doesn’t watch porn with dicks in it, leading him to believe he has a big dick. Oh, sweet naivety.  Just Chad is a late bloomer who doesn’t masturbate alone and lost his virginity on a church alter. He doesn’t talk dirty – what a shame – but likes hitting it from the Baaaa-ck. His fetish for powerful women helped him somehow woo an entire female rugby squad, leading to Rosetta Bone’s sloppy seconds of a name…

With glass in my finger and darkness in my soul, we marched to Trusty’s and tbh I can’t tell you a damn thing that happened there except Fireball shots.

On – 69 trails and counting – On
Poon-apple Juice

Dear Gispert, haven’t I written like four spooooky trashes already this year?

I mean, I get it. Halloween is a hasher’s dream. Costumes, glitter, boobs, beer – what more could you want? But don’t you think we’re overdoing it just a little bit?

Eh, fuck it. Give the people what they want.

When: Thursday, Novembe 1st, 2018
Where: Foggy Bottom/GWU (Blue, Orange, Silver Line)
Hares: Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock, Maybe It’s Gaybelline, Cheech and Done, All Flash No Drive, Texas Hold Him, and You Sucked My Battledick
Virgins: Just Stefan, Just Sarang, Just Kelsie, Just Nejla, Just Victoria, Just Kiosha, Just Nate
Visitors: Drill In My Box, Dick On The Table

If you give a hare a beer, he’s going to ask for a glass of Twinkle Juice
When you give him the Twinkle Juice, he’ll probably ask you “Oh No Why?!”
When he’s finished, he’ll ask you for a napkin.
Then he’ll want to look in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t have any chalk on his face.

When he looks in the mirror, he might notice his pubes need a trim.
So he’ll probably ask for a pair of scissors.
When he’s finished giving himself a trim, he’ll want a broom to sweep it up.
He’ll start sweeping.
He might get carried away and sweep every room in the house,
But he sure as hell won’t sweep the trail!

When he’s done, he’ll probably be drunk af
You’ll have to fix up your couch for him with some blankets and a puke bucket.
He’ll crawl in, make himself comfortable, and dry heave a few times.
He’ll probably ask you to log into Porn Hub.
So you’ll play for him from one of your favorite videos, and he’ll ask to see some nuggets
When he watches those nuggets, he’ll get so excited he’ll burst.
He’ll feel invincible in the afterglow, which will remind that nothing can harm him.

So.. he’ll ask for a shot of Twinkle Juice
And chance are if he asks you for a glass of Twinkle Juice,
He’s going to want a beer to go with it.

See what you’ve done? No one is happy about having read this. Don’t ever make me write another spooky trash again.


Turn the Meat Around had his panties in a bunch because someone else managed to find shorter shorts than him.

What’s a Boner ate his first marshmallow. Even so, it’s not the first time he’s has something white and sticky in his mouth. And honestly, it won’t be the last.

Lube Bottom Me literally painted his crown with curry. Hey boo, if you’re gonna look like a snack, you might as well smell like one, too.

Fish and Tits was accused of alcohol abuse, brought on by a fit of rage.

Just Emily brought candy but no drugs. Really, what’s the point?

Sally the Jizzhound betrayed his feminist roots by forgoing the taco costume.

Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me dressed as the resident Mormon of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, prompting us to ask…

Won’t you blow my neighbor?

As we celebrated Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock’s 400th r*n, the opportunity for a very spooooky occasion presented itself – then promptly ghosted us like my last four Tinder dates.

So we all rode off on our broomsticks to Recessions. Where y’all know this mouse made some damn good choices.

On – I did it all for the cookie – On
Poon-apple Juice

When: Thursday October 18th, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!
Where: Huntington Metro Kiss and Ride 

World peace, or peace on Earth, is the concept of an ideal state of happiness, freedom and peace within and among all people and nations on earth. Different cultures, religions, philosophies and organizations have varying concepts on how such a state would cum about. We here at the hash believe the path to peace requires a BAC of at least .08. On October 18, we gathered in our pursuit of world peace… through beer.

The night began way out in Huntington. As the pack arrived and began to sign in, Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack and Baa Ram Him passed out patches. As a millenial, I really appreciate a good participation trophy, and as such took two.

Circle began with the introduction of our sacrificial la- I mean, virgins. Just Britt, Just Kerry, Just Katie, and Just Alex looked on in abject horror at the sight which was unfolding in front of their very eyes: Cum Dumpling attempting to find his own taint.

Our visitor, Phantom, introduced himself and no one paid attention.

The hares, Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack and General Tso’s Dicken, lured us into a false sense of security by assuring us that they had indeed found the key to world peace: beer!

Within the first minute of trail, General Tso’s Dicken broke the tip. I know she prefers them circumcised, but that generally isn’t considered a DIY procedure. After that rocky start, the pack was off, over the rivers and through the woods. Or at least I assume. I was on walker’s trail, which took us on a rousing tour of the suburban streets of Huntington. Luckily, we were able to scout out the houses that were most likely to hand out full size Snickers by listening to which ones Just Chad was busy bitching about. He claims that he could do better, but we all know those spider webs he shoots are just a metaphor.

The pack finally tricked their treats on up to beer check, where Uno Dos Tres Lipgloss was kind enough to grab me one of the most worldly beers we’ve had at the hash in ages: Bud Light Orange.

Angry and sober, I reached into the beer bin myself. Over-enthusiastically, I pulled out and realized..

I had been iced by
The Hares.

Sadder than a freshman without a bid on Homecumming (that one was a stretch, but believe me), we started off on the second half of trail, where we learned that, after an unfortunate homecumming incident of his own, Atari 6900 is no longer allowed to talk to teenage girls. You’ll be glad to hear, later that weekend, he compensated by attending a Halloween party populated solely by scantily clad women barely old enough to drink.

Just when I thought that the beer selection had killed the concept of world peace almost as badly as millennials killed the diamond industry, we were invited to join in celebrating the 500th run of Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack with




If it burns that much going down, you should probably call your local clinic.

Thankfully, our brew crew, Quid Pro Blow and Agent Orgy were there to put out the fire with PBR for your noble scribe (and Uno Dos Tres Leches).

Ostensibly, we held a circle with virgins, domestic German beer, and a traditional Australian Hakka. The Fireball in me sang some karaoke, and we all forgot Uno Dos Tres Liftoff’s name again.

With noone to name and no sense of shame, the pack set off on the third leg of trail to Pilar’s Restaurant.

On – World Peace? Why not world whole? – On

When: Thursday, June 28, 2018
Where: Cleveland Park. Hares: Dwarfus interruptus, split her bare, leaning tower of please yah, (Haystack? IDK)
Virgins\Visitors\Long time no see-ums: I have literally no idea, blame the RA!
Brew crew: mourning wood and quid pro blow

Who doesn’t love when mommy comes to visit? Well too bad you ungrateful bastards, it’s tradition! White House made you, and if this trail was any example, White House can undo you too. For instance, when one of the hares, *cough* Dwarfus *cough* decides to do a cute scavenger hunt on trail, but doesn’t share the map with the rest of the hares laying trail. You know it’s gonna be a good trail to walk when you get to prelube and find half the hares drinking their depression away.

Anyhow, the rest of violations:

[x] “I’m not rideable”: said by Sir Lanclitte, to Blow me closer, stupidly not realising he would in fact be ridden around end circle later for having said this.
[x] Blow me closer: wants to fill Sonny up and take control, and honestly who can blame her.
[x] Gaybelline, jumped in the fountain of youth sans kilt, is a real (little) boy!

[x] Fakers dozen: got so hot on trail, she decided she wanted someone to get her wet too.
[x] Tuck tuck: unusually cranky, even for him.
[x] The fitness Bros just Cody and Just Tucker: always cum first when there’s a hill
[x] Commendation for mourning wood – for chilling the drink I bought at start
[x] Night stalker – stalking runners trail at tit checks
[x] Blow me closer – asked for deet, was directed to Deetz Nutz and his roll on applicator

[x]  Goat – wet his pants on trail, calm down sir
[x] Have you blown my stapler: shouting get off my lawn as beer check ended, to our edub children, we actually have an artists representation of the events.


Just imagine him more Mexican, and less pasty.
[x] Gaybelline: gave tips to just Christy… About getting named
[x] Cafe O-laid – doesn’t care if she’s on correctly, just if she “gets there”
[x] The hares – no checks at the Czech embassy, must think they’re too good for puns. They aren’t.
[x] Shitty porn story -Asking “anyone go down?” at a check on a hill. Being the selfish lovers we are, nobody had.
[x] Cafe O-laid: I’d rather risk cars than poison ivy, not very safe. [x] (Some of) the hares, commended for saving trail
[x] Quid pro blow and mourning wood – got blown in the same hot tub at spa world. Should probably also book another double date to get some antibiotics.
[x] Lick-hymen – found a doggy bag of poop, was convinced it was a trinket, what a shitty trail


On-better late than pregnant-on

Sir Lancelittle


Remember those cool chapter books where the authors were too lazy to decide which way the story should go so they left it up to a bunch of nine year olds to choose for themselves? Yeah, this trail was kind of like that, except both stories ended in with cum in your hair and regret in your soul. Wait, was that just me? Didn’t think so.

When: Thursday, October 4, 2018
Where: Tenleytown Metro (Red Line) or Courthouse Metro Station (Orange Line)
Hares: Colliteral Damage, CockWhisperer, Wookin Pa Nub, Hell’s Anal, Tomb Raper, and Can’t Find Pussy in a Haystack
More Hares: All Flash No Drive, Blows a Tranny, Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me, Special Head Kid, Mambo # Hives, Fire in the Hole
Virgins: Just Eric
Visitors: Plasti-flab, Rotten Whore, Dead Head, Tanned Peaches, Dead Woody, Semen On The Pew, Undercover Jerker, 49 Hands, S&M Man, Little Thunder Clap, Muff Master
Long Time No See ‘Ems: For Sale or Rent

Since y’all have already made your bed and thus have to lie in it so to speak, let me help you choose another adventure. I present: EWH3’s Official Hare of the Dog Guide*. These day (or week) after solutions have been scientifically proven to reduce the effects of your Thursday – and Friday and Saturday and Sunday) night**.

*Disclaimer: Nothing I ever write is “official.” You should take every word with a rim of salt (and a lime).
** probably.
  1. Bloody Mary
    The quintessential morning-after drink, a Bloody Mary can haunt away even the most stubborn of hangovers.
  2. Oral Rehydration Therapy
    Google gettin’ all fancy. Drink water.
  3. Mimosas
    The proper ratio is 9.8 parts champagne, .1 parts OJ, .1 parts despair.
  4. Pedialyte
    The rich man’s Gatorade, Pedialyte is gentler on the stomach and doesn’t taste like clown farts. Pro-tip: Freeze up some Pedialyte pops for summer time ragers. (Note to Miles D. White: please forward any sponsorship offers to [email protected]).
  5. Beer
    Every hasher’s favorite beverage. A crisp beer – preferably combined with a shower – will wash your cares away.
    Image result for shower beer
  6. Saline Drip
    Everyone has that one friend who just barely passed the Ethics course of their nursing program.

6.9 Orgasm
Literally nothing is made worse by cumming.


The Hares started strong, walking us past a fire station. Sorry to say, but even DC’s finest can’t stop that burning in your crotch.

Agent Orgy was overheard exclaiming “All I want is to Heimlich someone!” I have it on good authority that she got those thrusts just right.

At start, Schrodinger’s Cock offered his tongue to every single hasher in attendance. Not a single one took him up on the offer.

Image result for tongue funny cat

Wank Like An Egyptian came on a scooter, marking the first and last time someone found a scooter sexy.

Meanwhile, on ballbuster, Tuck Tuck Duece complained, as is his wont. What was the problem this time? Too much beer. Baa Ram Him was also living the #TuckLife, complaining about the abundance of alcohol at shot check. To his credit, he swallowed anyway.

Speaking of complaints, to make up for his blatant mug shaming, Deetz Nuts owes Mambo # Hives a shiny new EWH3 sticker (you can buy one Here!).

The Other Hares were violated for celebrating Halloween early and literally sucking the blood out of every one dumb enough to venture out on that trail.

Maybe It’s Gaybelline shared his personal record for fucking twice in one hour – with a 58 minute nap in between.

Senior Sodomizing Slut blew his load in an unsuspecting harriette’s ear without warning. I guess you could say she didn’t hear him cumming.

As we geared up for a weekend of debauchery, there was no room for a naming. Rather, we celebrated a hasher who stood before us on the anal-versary of his special night (no, no, the other one) in the very same place as his own naming. I don’t know what he said that night, but I do have some guesses.

Shetland Blow Me – a saga in three acts

Maybe he was a cowboy, or maybe he just fucked one.
He might have blown a many men or just a metric suck ton.

He could like wearing saddles, or maybe spurs or boots
He could, like a horse, have the very worst of toots

Whatever brought him to us and whoever his biggest foe be.
We love him dearly, this sad fuck, whose name is Shetland Blow Me.

There are tales of brave hashers who ventured on, to Guapos. Some say they are still drinking those giant margaritas to this day. The rest of us went home to get our final hour of sleep before embarking on another journey that we will surely regret.

On – We Don’t Deserve To Wear White – On
Your adorable ring bear, Poon-apple Juice
and de-flower girl, Mambo # Hives