Run #529, February 1, 1997

HASH SHIT! HASH SHIT! Echoed off the Oglethorpe dorms and into the adjacent woods as looks of bitter resignation replaced the blissful doe-eyed countenances of the various hares. Stripped bare by the gale force of accusation, whipped in the ass by their wrung-out souls, they choked down the requisite down-downs, made all the more unpalatable by the addition of tears pouring off their cheeks. Why all the fucking fuss, you ask?

An absolutely stellar first of February greeted all but the most cynical at the start of this weeks hash, dogs and girl humans and boy humans milling about expectantly, only sporadically testing the public decency laws. It was learned that we would soon rid ourselves of the meddlesome Shiggy Pits, and that we might, sooner rather than later, let out our breath in a collective gasp and let the fresh SP free air coast into our lungs like a soothing balm. The commemorative t-shirts were soon sold out --- the scribe was left to petulantly stare at those better off than he, and plot his revenge. Big daddy's gonna put the hurtin' on. And so on...

Hares Bubbles, Ru Pole, and By The Hour offered some brief foreshadowing of the hash shit which loomed ahead, mentioning multiple quiet zones while the pack adjusted their underwear. Then we hit the bricks.

Checked immediately around a square fenced-off region, the two pseudopodia of the pack soon remerged, briefly traversed some woods, and flowed into an apartment complex. Flour winked out about this time, and a select few, including Niplets, Go Blow, Minnie Brew, were fooled by some joint compound artfully splattered on a brick wall. Finally, TailGunner found true trail into a ravine and up the other side, back to the main road through the area and across to a residential zone.

Nobody bought the check at the corner of a dam in front off some-odd lake, it was just too obvious, what with the guy sitting at the park bench pointing the way. We soon hit the first of the quiet zones along the lake, but the tranquillity was soon shattered by the angry cries of Defashit as he was caught in one of the short circuits which appeared on this twisting trail. The pack finally found its way out to a CB4, up a quick hill to a trivia/beer stop, and the pack displayed its mastery of at least one of these (hint: we're stupid).

The forlorn hounds wound their way into another residential area, where they encountered the second of the trail's short circuits, and a bitter hag, with her imprisoned pet in the car, informed Dr. Doo-Doo and Crotch Rocket that we ought to tell everyone not to run out in the road. Consider yourselves warned. Back along a road overlooking the lake, up some killer hills, and through some woods to Oglethorpe and the second beer stop. Then on through the campus, coeds frozen in their tracks at the sight of Tired Dick and Fergie Dick hoofing by, engine blocks strapped to their backs and armadillos in their trousers. The hounds finally, beyond all hope, burst from the woods, and ran behind a frat for the on-in after what had to be, like, 8 or 9 miles, seriously...


Spread Eagle (car hashing), Back Seat Box (private party), Dan Marshall (virgin), Erin Curtis (virgin), Fergie Dick (armadillo in his trousers), Tired Dick (see aformentioned Dick), Mike Rachita (virgin), Carolyn Rachita (virgin), Mike Brodney (virgin), Russ Hill (virgin), Public Screw (why not?), Julie Ripley (thought CB ment "cross bridge"), Put A Cock In It (REALLY thought CB ment "cross bridge"), Cumcierge (passing of the hash shit (ouch)), Adam Geller (virgin), Cums Collect (private party), Chip Kohlweiler (5x no Doesn't Add Up), Crotch Rocket (car hashing), Wise Cracker (private party), Skippy Dick (DFL), Shiggy Pits (jettisoning), Lost Cause (private party), Bubbles (hare->hash shit), Ru Pole (hare->hash shit), By the Hour (hare->hash shit).

By the hour later forgave us for bestowing the hash shit and invited us to her very enjoyable graduation party. A spirit of joy and frivolity embraced us all. Then Cums Collect took off his jacket...

Scribe: Niplets