Courtesy of: Grope Jelly, Extra Virgin Gherkin Jerkin’, and Just Kori
TRAIL
Albuquerque’s finest railheads (who said head? Don’t start) and also some hashers, boarded the Railrunner to visit the state capital for a hash in the biting wind, bitter cold, and…temperate sunshine? Why this endeavor would not be something to be merely survived, but more so, enjoyed! An ample-sized pack collected at the NM 599 station. Chalk talk was laid but not described as the hares were still waiting on the trust beermeister E-Whore who couldn’t be late because he was in town by 11 in the morning but whoops he went to the station at REI instead. Hey, somebody’s got to try on all the Patagonia panties. Happily, the beer arrived and marks were explained to eager virgins and wise visitors. While the hares split for a…live lay? wow…Half Pipe warmed everybody up w/the Button Factory song. He knows lots of songs, the jury’s still out on holding a consistent rhythm however. Some people march to the beat of their own drum, he marches to the beat of a didgeridoo in the cement mixer.
Under a bluebird sky and loosed from the start at last, the pack worked together, because they had to, to find marks of carpenter’s chalk among the dirt and snow. The chalk led them to a dusty arroyo and thence to a liquor check. Vessels were produced to pour some Bechrovka, which is celebrated in Czechia and around the world for being Definitely Not As Bad As Malört. Marks led the pack further up the streambed to a construction site where the hares’ truck in the plainest of views was missed by absolutely everyone. Gherkin was so gung-ho on not being snared that he dove behind a silt fence to evade detection. Here the hounds turtled and enjoyed Santa Fe Bougie-Certified mulled wine. The hares also provided infinitely recyclable aluminum vessels which seem like a fucking great, but somehow incredibly obvious, invention. No snacks available but one of the Justs (forgive me) brought spicy crackers, which would be a great name too.
Once the DFLs were corralled, the hashers found themselves tracing a ditch en route to another bridge culvert, a cridge? a brulvert? Both sound like anglophile euphemisms for gonads. Here the hares provided a few beers and whiskeyed hot chocolate. This didn’t happen on trail and it didn’t come up in circle and I don’t know where else to put it but: Just Brandi taught her sister Bone Breath the fine arts of fellatio. Now THAT’s some older sistering! Then – trail got fucked up. From a check hashers went back and forth over and over looking for marks. Sometimes flagging, sometimes carpenter’s chalk, sometimes sidewalk chalk. True trail was eventually found uphill (naturally) leading to some barbed wire where (I think) Man Candy lost part of his pants and a little bit of blood.
Now the end was in sight! A final half mile yielded The Promised Land, aka Santa Fe Brewing Company where the hashers had access to the goods at the employee rate, courtesy of Camel Hoe. Huzzah! Folks trickled in and grabbed their Adobe Igloos or State Pen Porters until Bone Breath convened circle at the most appropriate of locations: within the brew works itself!
CIRCLE
The hares drank for their shit trail. It was actually quite nice. Almost anything is quite nice after last week’s experiment in extreme linearity. Next the virgins were introduced. Just Mijaa puppy did trail in McRimjob’s backpack, which was damn cute and frankly oughta be a panty dropper. Also present were Just Derek, Just Brandi, Just Eli and Just Sarah. If dicks were airplanes, what airport would her mouth be? O’Hare, as she likes the Big O! She just may enjoy this hashing business. During the down down demonstration, I’d Eat That, Period succumbed again to his dreaded chronic drinker’s elbow. Thoughts and prayers, don’t let it happen to you or your loved ones. FRB Barefoot, FBI Goldicocks, and DFL Period found out they weren’t #5. Tip of the Assberg bestowed the Huya upon E-Whore for his dalliances at the start. Usual business was rounded out w/the autowankers who will not be named b/c if you weren’t on trail, are you really a hasher?
Accusations began w/recognizing the bleeders wherein the highlight, and we are not making this up, was Just Cami pulling a mask from her vagina. You can’t make this stuff up, folks. Grope Jelly and her swollen cheeks were honored for haring two days after getting wisdom teeth out. At last it was time to learn of the many adventures of Just Kori. She considers herself ethnically Mormon, is a PA, worked briefly as in piñata, and was the makeout queen at a recent hash event in El Paso. Sent away, the circle winnowed down possible names, eventually abandoning In Tongue Bate Me, Lengua Loco, and Flask Me Anything. Finally she was given the moniker, to call herself from Santa Fe to San Jose, from New Mexico to Neptune, as Deep in the Throat of Tex-Mex. And then you clap four times. Cuntratulations! Then it was time to swing low and GTFO.
ON AFTER
Conveniently, the place to hang out was on the same grounds as circle. Drinks flowed, blood was spilled, and tacos were consumed ravenously. At this point, folks were able to depart at their leisure taking whatever preferred means of transportation to displace their bodies from the brewery to their home or brothel of choice. For those folks taking the train, that meant gently keeping an eye on the clock, to take a triumphant stroll a mere 1,000 yards to the southwest back to the very place they had been only hours before. This meant traversing familiar terrain and even possessing the miracles of the global positioning system and the smartest of phones for navigation assistance. It was a rudimentary task, simple even, so easy even a Texan could do it. It would be a cakewalk.
But it was dark! Me droogies, your ‘umble narrator was possessed by a demon who made him an absolute shit navigator. We made a wrong turn, or rather didn’t turn, and overshot the parking lot. Eventually a very large and fast train was spotted in the distance and stopping not very near enough to our wayward band of Hashers Who Weren’t That Cold Yet. Some good old fashioned teamwork got us off the frontage road and back to the train station just in time to wait two hours for the next one. So, what do you do to kill the time and beat the shivers? Post-circle circle is a good start. Drink remaining beers, that helps. Try to call your wife and realize your phone is dead. Strip down and sprint naked across the bridge, flaunting your skin at the northbound conductor. Look for a henway. Realize you could have gotten on the northbound train that would eventually turn around where it would be warm. You know, smart and fun things.
At last the southbound locomotive arrived and all were ferried back to town in safety and comfort, to rest and relax and prepare for next hash. On On!
ANNOUNCEMENTS
· Next hash courtesy of Hobocop
· The Pro Bowl is lame
THIS WEEK IN HASHTORY
· 2019 – Barefoot finally loses virginity
· 2010 – Founding of Aruba H3
· 6000 BCE – Flour invented in ancient Kurdistan