SOH4’s 88th trail was the Red Dress Hangover Hash. Saturday’s RDR debauchery provided plenty of inspiration for the theme, yet surprisingly very few came dressed—even with the promise of prizes. Slip wore her husband’s red dress (how often does a girl get to do that?) and Pocket Full of Lube pinned some aspirin packets to his shirt. Mostly everyone just looked like they were still hungover.
The hares were Snidely , Just Lyle, and Just Crystal. It was a return for Snidely to an area he had previously set an infamous trail—like shigtastic and long ass, and something about train tracks…?
It was ridiculously hot and humid at the start of trail. Chalk talk was held and there were no virgins that I can recall, but Flour City’s Virginator was visiting. Marks were the usual array of “WTF is that?” and some random splotches. Captain transferred the Shovel of Shame to Bushy for his pitch fork wielding at the previous trail. That would later prove to be an unwise choice, as one might imagine.
Half-minds had been warned about a shiggy trail and to bring a change of clothes, but it wasn’t sufficient warning! It was wet. Did I mention it was wet? And BTW, it was wet. I mean wet….like shin deep (thigh if you’re UC and ankle if you’re Vagiant) and went on and on and on. And wet too. Do I stutter? It was wet.
No, it was not a dry trail.
After awhile as half minds slogged on, they became immune to the stench of the mucky water and stopped thinking about the things lurking below the surface. And what is the appropriate thing to do in the middle of a long, wet slog through putrid water? Why a clothing swap, of course. So while amidst the swampy woods clothing came off and was exchanged.
Mercifully the trail did not enter the railroad tracks—although that might have been dry— and just squished along. Meanwhile Bushy discovered the fun that could be had with a shovel—oh the trees that could be knocked over and the rocks that could be hit. Safety was not just third, it was more like 33rd. Miraculously no one was actually injured.
The two beers nears and a shot stop—appropriately some wicked spicy Bloody Mary’s—helped to cure the ailments of the half-minds and make them forget their hot, wet, smelly selves. At least for the moment. There may have been some dry sections of trail, but I barely remember them. The overall impression of trail was, in a word: wet. Sweet relief would come at the On-in at Beginnings II where there was a hose for washing off. Grateful hashers lined up to hose of the muck and slime and cool off before putting on dry clothes.
And then circle began. Hares were given the appropriate love and respect for the delightful trail. And by delightful, I mean shitty and by love and respect, I mean down-downs. And did I mention that it was a wet trail? Yup, in case you didn’t hear, it was a wet trail. W.E.T.
And now maybe my memory fails me—maybe there was a virgin…I actually don’t know. (Write the stupid rehashes sooner, Fakey, and this wouldn’t happen!). If there was, we appropriately serenaded them and guided them through the welcoming ritual. And then a host of other accusations and down-downs were doled out—blood, peeing, come latelys, hash crashes, yada yada. Down-downs were done and lnow ips were wet. And then the subject of a naming came up.
Just Theresa, often affectionately known as Baby Slip, had not managed to avoid the final circle like usual. So it was declared that this rare opportunity would not be wasted. She was grilled by the hash and asked an assortment of probing questions and sent off to wonder about her fate while the hash discussed and deliberated. It was actually a very heated discussion with some very good choices being tossed about. But when all was said and done, Just Theresa was no more and Shits & Spits was welcummed to the hash.
Then the hash went in peace to hopefully get a piece. The On-after was at Beginnings II where wings and beverage were enjoyed and new hangovers were created.
Came with a Fake Name