You know that dream where you wake up in the forest wearing only your underwear and being chased by approximately 70 other equally awkwardly clad people?

This hash was like that…but with beer.

We began our journey down the Erie canal, only to realize fairly early on that we were going the wrong way. (Back check 69 is probably not in the urban dictionary, but it could be.)

So, we ran the other way, past our initial departure point an on to a clearing on the other side.

And then we drank some beer.

And then we retraced our steps again, revisited the starting markers again, but tricky hares were at work and the revised trail pointed in another direction. So…we ran that way.

And then we drank some beer.

The second beer near was a structural test load of the occupant capacity of a not too scenic overlook. It passed, surprisingly.

At this point we realize that Virgin Just Max might have gotten lost in all the revearsals, but somehow he shows up at the end.

And the end is near. A jaunty little run brings us back to the beginning again where virgins are taunted, accusations are made, and underwear are judged. Pink Taco for the win.

Two new names were also bestowed: “Genital Manager” (formerly known as Just Pete)and “Cums Sparingly” (formerly known as Just Bill).

The moral of this story…
Some people (Slip) seem to have superfluous amounts of animal print underwear which they (she) are fine sharing with both men and animals.

Respectfully submitted,
Just Amber