The ChooChoo H3 kennel gathered once again for a little running and a lot of BEER, the #69 +14^th time to be exact. This particular hash had no theme or clever name because we didn’t bother to think of one. Sloppy Seconds and hare du jour Party up the Back welcomed the hounds into their blessedly air-conditioned home with a cooler full of surprisingly good BEER (courtesy of Ghost Rider, what a saint).

The GM circled up the hounds for chalk talk and asked the hare to explain himself. First comment was “you may want bug spray”, which turned out to be prophetic. Second comment was there would be shiggy. Lots of shiggy. The marks were simple by C3H3 standards, so without further ado the GM gave his blessing with the standard pleas to avoid snakes, police, dogs, etc etc, and the hash was ON ON!

F’n B and Cranky Old Bastard led the way into the shiggy, following a mark to the left – the only mark in sight. The pack followed single-file-ish through ivy and over logs, and Fuzzy Balls made quite the progress considering the shiggy was taller than his favorite pair of balls. As they thrust deeper, however, there was one small detail in the way: there hadn’t been any marks since that first one. With F’n B bitching “I taught him better than this”, the pack assumed he was not a very good teacher and the hare had done a shit job. Cum Analyst knows bush though and was certain where the happy trail was going, so onward they marched.

As the pack whacked that bush, they heard Bone Star’s plaintive cry, “I’m covered in beeeeees!!!” Immediately the hounds rushed to his aid but not exactly to where he was because he was covered in bees. They made the difficult decision to abandon trail forthwith.

They hopped a retaining wall and dashed through someone’s back yard. Poor Cut It Short, taking up the rear, was nabbed by said someone and verbally accosted, and the entire pack was shamed on the neighborhood Facebook page. (Mental note: specify no bees or angry neighbors when blessing the hare.)

Upon their escape from the shiggy and the bees and the neighbor, the pack found marks on the road. “Aha!” they said, “Those marks are the end of the trail going back to the house. We shall pretend we haven’t seen them and go to where we would have emerged from the shiggy.” So they went, where they sniffed out trail and carried on.

The trail was a good one, with checks and mildly sneaky marks in which the hounds found much pleasure. Cries of R U? and ON ON! echoed through the neighborhood. A slight hiccup arose, however, when they came across an arrow for TRUE TRAIL. Normally that’s a good thing, but in this case the arrow was pointing the way in which they had cum. Whelp, the whelps were on trail but going the wrong way. They had a difficult decision to make: reverse course and follow the trail to DOWN DOWN or reverse engineer the hare’s fuckup. They chose reverse engineering and kept going against the TRUE TRAIL arrows.

Despite the afternoon sun beating down on them, the hounds did a pretty good job staying on trail until the hare swooped up behind them. By some psychic vision that may have been a call from Bone Star, Party up the Back had sensed the wayward hounds and came to their rescue with BEER. There was a chorus of bitching and rejoicing and glugging as the hounds plopped on the curb with a cold one. The hare whined that they fucked up by missing the first check, but the hounds didn’t care, even a backwards trail had led them to BEER.

As they drained the last drops, the pack had to make yet another decision: be purists and keep going backwards on trail, go straight back to DOWN DOWN, or take the scenic route that was probably on trail anyway. All this decision making was making them a bit fuzzy in the head, or maybe it was because they were drinking the good BEER. F’n B saw a fourth option and announced, “I’m hitching a ride with Party up the Back, because…uh…Cranky Old Bastard is hot.”

The rest of the pack opted for the scenic route which actually did stay on the backwards trail, so they didn’t feel like complete cheats when they stumbled into DOWN DOWN. They were greeted with a cookout and the good BEER. However, apparently Party up the Back didn’t understand that “blackened” is a seasoning and not a crust of carcinogens. The wings were a tad crunchy but had a nice smoky flavor.

While the wings burned, the GM called everyone to circle up. First was vote on trail – and although everyone had enjoyed it, the vote was NO FUCKING TRAIL because, well, there was no fucking trail. The hare hung his head and admitted that the check in the shiggy was no longer there, and his failure led the hounds astray right out the gate. The shame! All other hare charges paled in comparison.

Trail charges and random charges were all a jumble. Cum Analyst and Cut It Short had to drink their punishment for being first in and last in. Timothy Leery faced a charge of being incredibly unremarkable. Half the point of hashing – the other half being BEER, and the other half being running – is doing stupid shit to give the scribe content for her hash trash, at which he failed. Bone Star was charged for the gun show – it’s not really a charge, but the wife beater shirt that showed off his bee stings stood out so fuck him. Finally, Patsy was called up for INTERRUPTUS because a paycheck is more important to him than cumming to the hash. All these mangy mutts had to drink it down down down.

Now let’s get all up in our BUSINESS:
— Chicken Wing’s broken wing prevented her from joining this hash, so it will be necessary to have an EMERGENCY HASH before she leaves. The when and where will be communicated at the last minute so pay attention.
— Next hash is a FULL MOON HASH! The second Saturday of August just happens to coincide with the Sturgeon moon. Hares Crimson Dyke Junior and Cum Analyst will lay a 7pm trail in St. Elmo. The day also coincides with Dead Elvis Week, so there will be a bonus candlelight vigil.
— ChooChoo’s going off the rails – with next winter’s trail races in mind, we’ll be running the Raccoon Mountain trails on Sundays, followed by BEER / mimosas / buttery nipples / regular nipples / what have you. Email moremittenz@gmail.com for details.

At last the GM called for the hash to go in peace to get a piece and closed the circle. Yet as the hounds enjoyed the ON AFTER, Party up the Back’s cohabitant Just John and his AHABs Just Odin and Just Willow arrived. It seemed only fair that the guy who actually lived there be welcomed to the hash, so the circle was briefly reopened to welcome our latest VIRGIN. Fuck you, Just John! The circle re-closed, the hounds drank the last of the BEER, and the hash concluded with bellies full of guacamole and well-charred poultry.

Covered in Bees: Bone Star
Neighborhood Prowler: Cut It Short
Late to the Party: Just John, Just Odin, and Just Willow