You cross the street towards a large group milling on the sidewalk by a white van. A car honks at you, and a cyclist swerves around you, but your mind is focused squarely on the van and the beer inside. You reach the sidewalk, wave hi to someone, and go over to the van.
Someone guides you over to a group gathered in a circle staring at marks on the ground. There's flour, letters, and a few satanic looking symbols for good measure. Someone is standing in front rambling on, but you can't get a grasp of what they are saying. Maybe more beer will help. Someone pats you on the shoulder. "Don't worry, no one knows what they're talking about. We'll get you to the drink checks anyway."
The night goes on, and someone hands you a thimble full of beer.
No thanks, you say, I'll have the
Oh shit. Your poor cranium.
You ignore everything the hares say and start running trail. You immediately get stumped by the first check, and given that you can still see Who's Your Daddy at the opposite corner, you know you're all screwed. Udder Moron and Pubic Perm have disappeared down one alleyway, so you go in the opposite direction-- miraculously, there's flour that you manage to follow all the way to the next check.
You pause, and then pick a direction.
Twerxes Like Xerxes laughs at you as she leaps onto him and they sprint away. Some women have all the luck, but you for one know that scabies can be transmitted pretty easily. You head towards the beer check.
"Back off, dude, I was first to reply to the ad. Only $440 a month, what a steal!"
Cockamole crosses her arms. You barely noticed her at first, but her imposing figure is looming large from the shadows now. "Payment is due up front." She says, hand out expectantly.
"Guys, wait," you stammer out. "That mattress is covered in Crabs!"
Crabs lifts his head up. "I'm just doing what she told me."
He peels himself off of Drunkin Honuts, who still has her eyes firmly shut. She is murmuring something.
"Look, whatever she needs to do." Masterbaster pipes up from beside her on the ground.
"Be the GM. Absorb the GM. Let the GM rush through you like a babbling brook. Let the crabs crawl over you like the tide. I am the GM."
"I mean, she's doing a really great job," Masterbaster continued. "I don't want to interrupt."
"I know, I know, but it's already all over Facebook," Zippercised took her by the arm. "Everyone's going to find out eventually."
"I didn't mean for this to happen..."
"Neither did I! Do you think I wanted this? I was just fine before... before..."
"Before I knew you had really good taste in pants."
"And before I knew what a high quality bra felt like." Zippercised looked down. "Ok, we'll trade. One last time." He turned and disappeared behind some shrubbery. "No peeking!"
Wow, this is going to be a great trail. Like the best that you've ever set, and you've set some good ones. With Grassy Ass by your side (not to mention on the back of your bike), everyone is sure to be happy. You've even scored a great deal at the bar.
But now it's time to see the pack off-- it's really odd that no one's paying attention, because this stuff is pretty important this time around! No matter, they'll probably figure it out. The hash is a super smart bunch after all.
How odd, that they didn't drink all the beer at the beer check! They must be thirsting for a good run, then, that they would leave so soon. Maybe these plants will enjoy the beer instead! No need to be mad, millimeter Peter! It's good for the environment!
Now it is getting a bit late, but no one should be that worried. It's Thanksgiving week! Surely no one has to go in to work tomorrow. And even if they do, their bosses will probably be pretty understanding. And oops! Too bad I spilled that beer, but there's plenty more where that came from in the keg! And all the orange food is fantastic. Grassy did a great job on the salsa, and everyone is enjoying their fill of pie and whipped cream. Some of the girls were even giggling when they ran off into the shadows with it! How funny.
What a nice night. What nice people. Let's just all enjoy circle now together.
Seriously, is circle over yet? It took like five millenia to go through everyone who had managed to find their way back to the hash. We saw Disney Tits during Bay to Breakers, for crying out loud, I mean what's the point... oh... oh... she's... boobies. OK.
But anyway, what brought everyone out for this number? I guess Just Robbed is excused for his addiction to Grass...y Ass, but surely Ska Skank and Rhythm Method know better by now. Unlike My Little Porno and Gondolerrhea, they can't claim that their dog made them come... or can they?
So fine, we'll drink to them and to Cunniwingus as well. Happy fucking birthday. Why couldn't all of you be like Short Cut and find a quick way out of here.
Just someone tell me how to get to the bucking far. The fucking car. No the other. The ... you know.
Sleazy Like Sunday Whoring takes your arm. You're mumbling just as incoherently as Drunkin Honuts. She guides you gently, convinces you to buy shiggy socks and a vessel, and points in the distance. This way, she says with a wry smile.
What are you still doing here? Go home now.