When: Thursday, August 16
Where: L’Enfant Plaza – Maryland Ave/7th Street exit – follow marks to start in Hancock Park!

On this joyous occasion, the Hares provided marital advice:
Red Vag of Courage “Listen to her.”
Hungry Hungry Homo “Make sure the table runners match the cumberbunds.”
Red, White, and Poo “Continue being cheap.”
Sphincter Shy “Conceive!”
Deathly Swallows “Let her take it.”

(I can only assume she meant “take the last nug”)

Virgins: Just Ansel, Just Kevin, Just Kerry, Just Alex, Just Shelly (Kelly? Unclear..), Just Melanie, Just Lucy, Just Tenzen

Visitors: None. You don’t invite strangers to your wedding.

Ok, first off I want to note that no one involved in last night’s festivities had ANY right to be wearing a white dress.

Wait, what’s that? The color white is not symbolic of virginity? Rather, the color blue was connected to the concepts of purity, a la the Virgin Mary? Well, then I stand corrected.

At least there were plenty of similarly clad individuals to confuse the evil wedding spirits. And, you guessed it, they did some stupid and confusing shit.

Red Vag of Courage was hit by a car on her way to trail and still showed up to alpha. Wait, isn’t it the bride and groom who are supposed to go down?

Bipolar Bear couldn’t tell the difference between roofies and penicillin.

Mourning Wood was so horny that he called every bar by name, as long as that name was Rhino-related.

Despite Brew Crewing, Schrodinger’s Cock dressed for his photo shoot at Anthropologie.

Just Ansel and Just Kevin tried to keep it tight with sit-ups, forgetting that it’s actually kegles that they should’ve been doing.

Just because the Hares shared their personal advice doesn’t mean they didn’t hide more well-wishes for the happy couple throughout the trail. Luckily, I was there to translate.

The Hares took us past the Titanic Memorial. Translation: May your marriage never sink.
They walked us past a dentist. Translation: May all your blowjobs be toothy.

Walkers had to put forth twice as much effort as the r*nners. Translation: May you always shoulder the weight of the world equally.
And finally, May your marriage be as long as that trail. And waaayyyy longer than Twinkle’s dick.

First cums love, the cums marriage, then cums…


The Naming of Just Kyle

Once upon a time, The Hyperpoop awoke his roommate, Just Kyle, from his peaceful mid-workday slumber to make him cum to the hash. This amateur porn addiciando likes it natural, but is averse to bushes. He “used to” like animated hentai (as opposed to what other kind of hentai…?), but then he turned 13. This little engine that couldn’t has let down numerous women, whether they request it to be harder, fist-ier, or just somewhere outside of the bedroom for once. While I’m personally intrigued by his band camp days as an oboe player, he’s much more interested in fucking sheep. For reasons that I (and he) can’t quite put a finger on, Dr. Too Little swooped in to save the day, naming him…

With two new Mr.’s and one new Mrs. in tow, we walked the long aisle to Mission, where tequila reminded us all of why we filed for that divorce.


On – always the bridesmaid – On

Poon-apple Juice

When: Thursday August 9th, 2018.

Where: Woodley Park/Adams Morgan (Red Line)

Hares: Schrodinger’s Cock, Poon-apple Juice, Son What the Fuck?, General Tso’s Dicken, and GeriatricMandering

Virgins: Justs Pierre and Kelly
Visitors: Œdipussy, Dewalt Thunder Pussy, Sex Ray, Anal Vinyasa

Schrodinger’s Cock can see adulthood from his apartment and celebrated by treating us all to his idea of a good time: an unpleasant itching sensation and pretending to be someone else for attention. To be fair, some of those costumes were pretty darn good. There were Battledicks and He*ad Injuries and Gaybellines and at least two SchroCos. There were kitten-shirt-sporting Tragics. Some folks swapped identities. And – totally unbiased – a magnificent representation of Blow Me Closer Tiny Dancer.  Anyway, congrats to SchroCo for not dying young.

We ended things in Town Tavern and circle was brief and bibulous with birthday beverages!


Mambo Number Hives wanted everyone to know that she “took the turkey split and solved it just fine”. Ok. 5 points to Ravenclaw. You need to know that the typo I had was Ravenclam. And I like that better. Ravenclam it is.  You are now Mambo of the House Ravenclam.

Atari 6900 showed off his inimitable style by barrel-rolling down a veritable mountain. It is unknown if he wailed anything romantic as he did so.


But the most important information… Wait Wait is one of DC’s most eligible bachelors.  This is not a joke. This is beyond humor. This has passed through joke and gone into some strange land beyond. I leave you with this fact. The pic is a link. You are not ready.

On – Undiscovered cuntry – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday July 26th, 2018
Where: Dupont Circle. Go to the middle of the Circle and look for exposed midriffs.
Hares: Stain Gretzky, Slothy Seconds, Groundhog Lay, Donald Dick, Cheech & Dong, and Rail Mary
Virgins: Justs Ian, Ryan
Visitors and long time no see ums: Agent Orgy, Abominable Blowman, Areola 51, Little Thunderclap, German Dungeon Porn, Groundhog Lay

There is a famous economics principle known as the hemline index which states that higher stock prices correlate to higher hemlines. In these uncertain times, the appropriate response to a trade war and massive wealth gaps is obviously… crop tops. All of the crop tops. Enough crop tops to ward off an apocalyptic collapse. If we have not yet devolved into a barter economy  as you read this, you are welcome. 


The poor dear Maybe It’s Gaybelline set the bar comfortingly low by failing at the down down song. In front of the virgins. While mostly sober.  I do not know if the depth of shade in my opprobrium is sufficiently clear, but y’all, I bothered to type “opprobrium.” Bless. His. Heart.


Donald Dick showed up in a corn shirt. No, not Korn, the aggressive soundtrack of my comparatively tame youth, but corn, the grain whose major redeeming qualities are subsidies and horror movies tortillas and fermentability. We are fortunate it did not display beans or squash, as it turns out the gentleman in question profoundly misunderstood the concept of “crop top.”

The Cumburglar was encouraged by the admiration of a dirty old muggle and is rejoicing to have found his demographic. It’s not teen girls. Several of those pointed and laughed. Haters gonna hate, Cumby, don’t you let them dim your shine.

Atari 6900 brought out pizza, ate it on trail, didn’t share it, and ran off. He was righteously violated in absentia for a malicious dine and dash.

To cap off the ill-advised shenanigannery, Slut Machine and (shocking) Gaybelline were overheard discussing a found tampon and the use of this item to rectally administer tequila to the aforementioned dick-waving wonderboy. 1) The title of this specific bad decision is a Tequila Moonrise, and 2) I’m pretty sure that tampon was legitimately scared that things were about to take a dark turn.

On a positive note, L’Chymen was commended for trading crop-tops with the surly scribe. Defying all reason, physics, and the hopes of an entire pack, the shirt managed to contain L’Chymen‘s …tracts of land.

There was no naming, and we happily fucked off to Recessions!

On – Midriffs and Merriment – On,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 6:45pm Thursday, August 2, 2018
Where: Rosslyn (Blue/Orange/Silver Lines)
Hares: Pay As You Go, Special Head Kid, Seizure’s Phallus, You Sucked My Battledick, Yes We Camry
Virgins: Just Sherry, Just Gwen, Just Mike, Just Althea, Just Patricia, Just Mike (again)

Dear lord, not this same name shit again…

Visitors: I Can’t Believe It’s Not Lubricant
Transplants: Uppercunt

In 1900, an American civil engineer (John Watkins) predicted that, by the year 2000, the letters C, X, and Q would no longer be used. He thought they were “ompletely unneessary and etranious.” Eh, he might have a point on the Q though.

In 1905, Popular Mechanics predicted that the “Electronic Handshake” would allow a physician to examine a patient in another city. 

In 1949, they predicted that computers of the future may weigh “only” 1.5 tons.

In 1955, Alex Lewt (president of a vacuum company) predicted nuclear powered vacuum cleaners in every household. Instead, we have Roombas. With cats.

In 1966, Fred Freeman created artwork illustrating the year 1999 – complete with climate control domes, flying boats (so, planes?), and rocket belts.

In 1995, Robert Metcalfe (co-inventor of Ethernet) predicted that the internet would collapse in 1996.

In July, the Hares predicted we would celebrate their shitty trail in end circle. We.. yea, we didn’t do that.


First off, some commendations:

Congrats to Lance-a-Little because, for the first time ever, a woman told him he was being too loud.

L’Chymen was commended for graduating. From grand theft pussy to grand theft auto. To be fair, she needed a car for transportation, since she couldn’t figure out how to install her handlebars.

Commendations to everyone who survived WH4 campout last week. And then a swift violation because you learned nothing and showed up to the hash this week anyway.

The Hares clearly knew their trail was shitty, as evidenced by the fact that they let us know where end was before we even started. Talk about premature.

Tony Panda tried to be a good host this week, welcumming a harriet from a town famous for their local beer scene. When asked to provide libations of the local sort, he procured… Yeungling?

Schrodinger’s Cock saw a cute little bunny and started chasing that hare. I would be a little meaner about it, but it’s a nice departure from his track record of chasing away pussy.

Our new transplant Baa Ram Him was fiending for a beer on trail, so he reached right on in to his neighbor’s knapsack. This just illustrates what we all know: When things get desperate, go for the back.

Speaking of going for the back, Mourning Wood, when faced with a field full of mud, bravely braced himself and… ate shit

Is that literal or figurative?

Cheyanne attempted to pay our lovely hash cash with Sacajawea coins. Folks, despite the easy access slots, we DO NOT accept coins.

Violations didn’t stop at the end of trail. Oh no…

Once at the bar, Lube Bottom Me channeled his inner Casper when he met the man he ghosted on Grindr.

A mysterious wanker played Cinderella to Mourning Wood’s prince charming, as he circled the bar attempting to find the owner of a lost tech shirt.

With no circle, no specials, and no real sense of purpose, we stumbled around the Continental for a while before parting ways and legs.


On – the future is now – On
Poon-apple Juice

When: 6:45pm Thursday, July 12, 2018

Where: Fort Totten (Red & Green lines)

Hares: Cheech and Dong, GeriatricMandering, General Tso Dicken, A Midsemester’s Night Cream, and Tuck Tuck Deuce

Virgins: Justs Andy, Sam, Miranda, Justin, Christie, Josh, Kevin

Visitors: Jigglytits, Either Way

Oh, the poor hares stewing in bitter resentment for having the flicker of their birthday candles outshone by Christmas lights, menorah candles, Yule logs, pyromaniac uncles, New Year’s fireworks, and general consumerist holiday bullshit.

Every year. And every year, they wished on those underappreciated candles for a moment to feel special. Loved. Uplifted.

They got pack of unruly wankers sporting sweat-drenched holiday attire instead.


While we usually start off with experienced hasher antics, at least two Justs were brought into the circle for… feedback. Winning for favorite Virgin was Just Justin who brought us all sweets for the snack table. As an orally fixated group that enjoys taking candy from strangers, we let him know that we’d follow him to a windowless white van any night given Thursday. On the other hand, Just Alex needed to be reminded more than once that we point with our elbows. Repeated unwelcome fingering, my dude, we don’t put up with that; this isn’t a church.

Pooples Mountain Majesty regaled us with the tale of how he made some new friends on the rainbow police squad during his adventures at the DC Eagle. What nefarious crime was he the victim of? Someone grabbed his sac. On the plus side there’s video! This looks to be the beginning of a lucrative career in the CCTV porn niche, and we couldn’t be prouder.

Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me got a little carried away with his safety equipment and was found with a condom on his shoe. On the one hand (foot?), gosh, when you work up to using those where they’re designed to go, it will blow your mind. On the other hand, I’m not here to kink-shame. Pro-tip: be real sure to spell your kink correctly when you search: it’s pOdophilia, mmkay?

We commended the transplant Jigglytits for attempting to scoop up some trail treasure while running through the streets of northeast. They started off their DC hashing career by being rejected by a stranger! Welcum to the family, JT!

Osama bin Hashing noted, while in a cemetery, that he’d had sex in one once. When asked if his partner was alive, he could not answer. Here’s a hint, buddy, if you need a Ouija board for your consent check, you have made several terrible life decisions and are likely to be eaten by a grue.

Throbbin Hood and Just Andy were caught drinking bizarre concoctions and improved on them by crossing the streams, trading fluids, and touching dicks. Well done, gentlemen!

Finally, the Hares were righteously violated for their traumatizing shot check. Bile-colored and tasting of mint and self-loathing. It induced flashbacks to that time after the intervention when the only thing you could find to drink was an unholy amalgamation of Scope mouthwash and NyQuil.


And after all of that, we had a Naming!

Just Brittany is from small town in Wisconsin, and Bipolar Bear made her cum. They worked the Hill together. Our intrepid lass has a degree in economics and then, for shits and giggles, law. During her youth, at the moment of first coital adventure, the gentleman in question bailed out last minute shouting, “Jesus won’t forgive me!” She can get quite rowdy in her sexual adventures, and has ended up with both strained ribs and bruises all over from being pinned to various surfaces. Lucky for her, she has a mom who is very kind and understanding and says things like, “Looks like you got fucked up against a wall like this! [action pose] And this! [action pose] And probably a little like that! [action pose]”
Just Brittany nearly swore off sex forever due to being scarred by dramatic maternal reenactment of her sex life, but she managed to allay those qualms with heavy drinking and hooking up with bartenders at their bars.

Due to the religious fervor in her early sexcapades and the motherly recognition of her sexual stigmata, she was anti-christened Rail Mary by the cheeky Midsemester Night’s Cream!

On-Happy birthday, fuck you – on,

Blow Me Closer, Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday, July 19, 2018

Where: Pentagon City (Blue/Yellow Line)

Hares: Roll Over Bitch, Kooter Kunte, You Can’t Handle The Poop, Tragic Carpet Ride

Virgins: Just Luke, Just Emily, Just Bob, Just Chad, Just Catherine, Just Emily

Visitors: Missile Anus, Nyakkdaaw, Kitty Litter, Trailer Swift (but like, the other one..), There were also some confused PUDJAM hashers

Throughout history, there have been many odd couples linked only by a name.

Mark Wahlberg & Mark Walberg

Michelle Williams & Michelle Williams

Howard Stern & Howard Stern

Jean Simmons & Gene Simmons

Brian Wilson & Brian Wilson

Adam Scott & Adam Scott

Trailer Swift & Trailer Swift

Girls, this is just a friendly reminder that if you share a name, it’s technically masturbation.

Now that we’ve all got some interesting fantasies running through our brains…


Please Step Away From The Whores is used to getting called by the wrong name. Rarely is it daddy.

Tragic Carpet Ride was excited to have a plethora of palms near his junk.

Cum Brew Lay’s balls were passed over for Pokeballs.

Atari 6900 is vehemently opposed to receiving a Blow’N’Go from a stranger, while Midsemester Night’s Cream is happy to let Cheech and Dong tongue her balls.

There were more violations, but I was drunk and we had a very solemn duty to perform…


Just Tamara is not a mean person and has, like, no ragrets. She didn’t want to go to college a virgin, so she had post-prom sex in a giant-ass truck. After a few years of quarantine at Johns Hopkins, she took her super luxurious pussy to Starbucks to give blowjobs to greasy European models. The plot of her own personal porn has taken her to a Costa Rican Hooters, a funhouse mirror hall, the bathroom of a public pool, and a coffee farm.

After an exciting boob-off in which Rosetta Bone’s champion proved victorious, Just Tamara shall henceforth and forevermore be known as…

Caffeinated and chaffed, we moved on to Freddie’s Beach Bar for karaoke and fried pickles (I know that sounds like a euphemism but I actually ate fried pickles at Freddie’s. I didn’t have a “pickle” in my mouth for at least another five hours).

On – wishing to be the friction in your jeans jorts – On
Poon-apple Juice



When: 6:45pm Thursday, July 5, 2018
Where: Minnesota Ave Metro (Orange line)
Hares: Special Head Kid, Pooples Mountain Majesty, Sargasm, What’s a Boner?, PSA, Pay As You Go
Virgins: None
Visitors: Cuntjungle, It’s Not Cum It’s Ranch, Suppository Depository, Floppy Attachment, Pasta In My Pants




Eagle (n.)

1. Eagle is the common name for many large birds of prey of the family Accipitridae. Most of the 60 species of eagle are from Eurasia and Africa. Outside this area, just 14 species can be found—2 in North America, 9 in Central and South America, and 3 in Australia.

2. The Eagles are an American rock band formed in Los Angeles in 1971. The founding members were Glenn Frey (guitars, vocals), Don Henley (drums, vocals), Bernie Leadon(guitars, vocals) and Randy Meisner (bass guitar, vocals). With five number-one singles, six Grammy Awards, five American Music Awards, and six number-one albums, the Eagles were one of the most successful musical acts of the 1970s.

3. The Philadelphia Eagles are a professional American football franchise based in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. The Eagles compete in the National Football League (NFL) as a member club of the league’s National Football Conference (NFC) East division. They are the defending Super Bowl champions, having won Super Bowl LII; their first Super Bowl in franchise history.

4.When a girl gives handjobs to two men, one in each hand, whilst giving oral to another. The combined movement of the three activities gives the impression of an eagle squawking and flapping it’s wings.

This is the freedom that we fought the #secondcivilwar for.


Son What the Fuck? was spotted wearing race-ist attire, but isn’t that the foundation upon which this country was founded?

L’Chymen tried to steal a bike, failing to realize that there were plenty of other people to ride home tonight.

The Hares are still mourning our break-up with Great Britain in much the same way I dealt with my last break-up: beer, literally r*nning away from my problems, regrettable life choices, and lack of personal grooming. Hopefully, they remember to get tested when this is all over.

Many in the pack attempted to violate our RA, but Colliteral Damage was really just trying to keep us warm to prevent another Cold War.

The battle was lost, but there was a war to be won, so we flew on over to DC Eagle to drop trou and watch gay porn, like real patriots.

On- land of the free titties -On

Poon-apple Juice

When: 6:45 PM Thursday June 21st, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!
Where: Tenleytown Metro (Red Line)
Hares: Head Injury, Cheech & Dong, Please Step Away from the Whores, Quid Pro Blow, Vaginal Countdown, and Just Tamara.
Virgins: Justs Carl, Eugene, Jewel, Rick, Lauren, Mitchell
Visitors: Uniform Pussy Service, Betty Cocker

If we hashers have offended,
Drink and sip, ’til all is mended,
As you have all stumbl’d here,
Your scribe will jest to earn her beer.

It was a magical, fantastical, literary, heathenous Midsummer evening! Marking the longest day of the year with revelry is a time-honored practice that we either appropriated and collectively shat upon or upheld in modern style, take your pick.
The ceremonies were initiated by the traditionally incomprehensible ravings of an excitable old man: Dude, That Guy handed out various Tour duh Hash vestments and sacred relics without much explanation but with much ballyhoo. The Mismanagement of Hangover Hash, who elected him to this duty, was duly exhorted to take note of the lessons of WIE Weekend, where everyone learned #neverdude.

The Hares did a suspiciously good job of providing sylvan glades, glowing pixies, teeny bunnies, and even deer. They came crashing back to full hash form by failing to provide a whimsical sprite, Puck, and instead cursed us with the irascible gnome, Tuck. Meanwhile, Traylor Swift practiced her Disney princess/creepy woodsman routine by stalking the local wildlife. It is unclear whether she was trying to befriend them, taking over L’Chymen‘s schtick as resident coercive-snuggler-of-unwilling-fauna, or if she planned to cut out a heart and present it to a narcissistic sorceress queen. Wow. That got a little dark… umm… nevermind… Lolz Deer Near!

And the final pagan rite of the evening was the solemn occasion of…

A Naming:

Just Keegan reported that Mr. Cycle, HIS SISTER, made him cum.
While he was born in DC, he moved around a lot and was in the Air Force, leaving as a second lieutenant. He lost his virginity in Peachtree City, Georgia in something like an interactive book club on The Joy of Sex. He can’t count, so he claimed his ideal Disney threesome was Snow White and the Seven Dwarves for a nice rope bondage orgy. After some thought, he revealed that the number of salads he’d tossed was 4, and he claims to have done the nasty on the grass of a major quad at Georgia Tech. His least favorite drug experience was acid, but his favorite sobering experience was recovering from acid by waking up on his girlfriend’s tits. However, the moment that cried out for a Name was his sorrowful tale of attending a funeral in middle school and being blessed by the mischievous Boner Fairy with a raging and unkillable hard-on. And as we are not ones to thwart the will of the Boner Fairy, we welcum this young wanker as Mourning Wood, so named by Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory.

On – Blessed Boner Be – On,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 6:45 PM Thursday May 31st, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!
Where: Waterfront Metro – follow marks to start!
Hares: Poon-apple Juice, Special Head Kid, L’Chymen, Poops I Did It Again, The Cumburglar
Virgin: Just Alex
Visitor: Shock My Monkey

Actual footage from trail.


Look, we’re just lucky no one drowned. We called it quits at beer check, drank away our sorrows, and decided to take our namings two by two, male and female each according to their kind.

Just Mike was brought by PSA, a fellow employee of our fine Metro.

He works in quality assurance and confirms that safety checks are, in fact, as much of a myth as we’d suspected. Look, if you weren’t there I’m just going to have to lay it out for you. The dude looks like this:

And lo, he was named What If God Drove Metrobus by Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock.


By the time Just Joanna knelt for her naming, everyone – including her – was prrrreeeettty sloshed. Any incoherence is being blamed on our collective near-drowning. This lovely lass was brought to our fair hash by the sneaky Cheech and Dong, who neglected to give her any sort of warning about the kind of nonsense she was getting into. Speaking of getting into things, she is on record claiming that she loves all of her orifices equally. Her employment is a bit vague… something about social work or consulting and or possibly being a cam girl, and, yanno, we’ve all been there in this gig economy. It turns out she’s a scrapper and might have been an underground cage fighter and/or wrestling pornstar at some point. Inquiries about her early sexual experiences led to the tale of her youth in a North Carolina trailer, being walked in on by the mother of the lucky young man she was riding like a county fair pony. In recognition of her… umm… Southern charm, friendly nature, and down (mobile) homey-ness, she was named Traylor Swift. Props to The Cumburglar for his extremely bouncy bundle of joy.

On – Wet and Wild – On,
BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 6:45 PM Thursday May 24th, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!
Where: Rosslyn Metro (Dark Star Park) – follow marks to start!
Hares: GeriatricMandering, Head Injury, Colliteral Damage, Quid Pro Blow, and Happy Poo Year
Virgins: Justs Jones, Kara, Blake, Camille, and Nick

It was a beautiful evening in to wander around Virginia and then come back safely to our hideout under the bridge like the trolls we are.

The pack chose a variety of adventures, from silly hats to onesies to “motherfucking science, bitches!”

Meanwhile, our fair city decided to put on a show of being DC af: end circle was accessorized by a hip hop video shoot, a charmingly fresh set of porta-potties, and some swanky old white folks clutching their pearls while leaving the yacht club. Oh DC. Never change.

Despite the lovely weather provided by our all-powerful RA Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me, adventures on trail did include some notable shenanigans.


Backsnatch took Uno Dos Tres on a long cut that was far more perilous than what she’d signed up for. You can’t do that, dude. Hashers are gullible and will follow strange people into compromising situations. It’s practically our best quality.

Dressed cozily as the Cat in the Hat, Atari 6900 was absolutely the hottest pussy on trail. That hat did need to be stuffed and fluffed to stay up, but it lasted long enough that we were concerned he would hit the four hour mark and need to consult a physician.

The Hares vere admonished that a puke check was not discussed in chalk talk.

Perennial FRBs Free Little Willy and Sphincter Shy muffed a fishook check and managed to scatter and confuse the entire pack. Y’all if you’re gonna go around back, you need to use your words and let people know your plan to get behind them. Otherwise things might go fuckin awry.

It turns out that You Can’t Handle the Poop earns his hash cash modeling for Capital Bikeshare, as his wholesome and friendly visage was spotted beaming down at passers-by from their advertising campaign. It is disconcerting for the scribe to use the word “wholesome” and we are intending to send a sternly worded letter to address this affront to hash standards.

Overheard at the hash, Stain Gretsky would like it to be known that she is “into all things double stuffed.” Note: Stain was the sobe GM. This was not a drunken admission. Ladies and gentlefolk, our fearless leader.

Deetz Nuts, dressed in a magnificent unicorn outfit, was identified by a muggle who delighted their child by exclaiming, “Look honey, it’s a brony!” You were turned in by your fellow wanks. Friendship is tragic.

Tuck Tuck Deuce got the pack lost at every check, but shame on Free Little Willy, who was the one complaining… Willy, you know better than to follow him around. When an old man gets lost you call in a silver alert, you don’t assume he knows where he’s going.

And taking advantage of our adventurous theme, The Cumburglar shared a fantasy resulted in an open call to any ladies interested in having a scruffy dude eat McNuggets off their naked body. Because he is a gentleman, he will even buy the nuggets.

And to cap off this glorious evening, we had a Naming:

Just Becky was brought to our fair hash by Wank Like An Egyptian.

She’s from Colorado and knows things about architecture. Her sexual patronus is a dolphin, and she once vomited on an entire frat.  Her sexy Disney pantheon includes Aladdin, Gambit, and Han Solo. The dear lass has something of a high-drama relationship with cars, however. One of her more memorable sexual exploits was being caught fucking in a car by a curious Smokey Bear (that’s sneaky code for National Park Ranger). In a probably-not-sexual endeavor, she was also smashed flat by a car which… induced the kind of traumatic brain injury that leads to hanging around with Wank and coming to a hash of mentally unstable reprobates. Due to her cinematic breadth of vehicular experience, she was dubbed Fury Load by her proud papa, You Can’t Handle The Poop. Nobody let her drive Scrotal, mmmkay?

On – Witness Me! – On,

BMC Tiny Dancer