Being Hash Cash, I dutifully showed up at 2:38 pm to a massive crowd
(thanks Sleazy for filling in), only to see it grow to 62 hounds before
it was all over with.
The hare gave us one special instruction, saying that we'd be following flour and, in the appropriate places, little yellow dot stickers. Well, how convenient.
After two dots were placed over Ding Dong's nipples (does that mean that DD is always true trail, or was that just for protection as not to irritate a sensitive area), we were off. On-On to much confusion and mayhem. At Piedmont, the trail grew cold ... no flour to be seen anywhere. Ohhh, that's right, we're supposed to look for little yellow dots too.
So, little fucking yellow dots (my affectionate term for them) we found and followed on the side streets off Piedmont, until we found no more. Oh, dopey us, we're on flour again ... Breaststroke's eagle eye caught sight of trail again, and off we strode towards downtown.
>From there, it gets messy. Pack mentality definitely took over, as hounds followed hounds without sight of flour and/or little fucking yellow dots. Alls I dismember is running through the Peachtree Center mall, through the Merchandise Mart, and finally on-out near Centennial Olympic Park. Ahh, redemption ... the fountains were on, the kiddies were playing, and a few of us hashing faithful ran through the fountains, knocking down the kiddies on the way. ("Big bullies!")
Next stop ... Omni Station ... please move to the center of the train and away from the doors. OK, so the trail didn't go through CNN Center, MARTA, or the Omni as most of the pack found out (or the Dome, as I found out), but instead, through the parking deck to a 20 foot drop to the railroad tracks. And considering only 3 out 62 plummeted to their deaths, I think we fared pretty well. At this point, the pack was stretched out a bit, and I know that I was definitely taking it up the rear, I mean, bringing up the rear.
Onward, upward, outward, backwards through Underground, following (you guessed it) little fucking yellow dots ... thank the chalk gods for all those wonderful arrows that got me through the maze that is downtown Atlanta.
The rest is just a big blur ... Georgia State, Grady Hospital, little
fucking yellow dots, asphalt, the blazing sun, aborigines, Auntie Emm ...
finally, another lonesome hasher ahead. No, wait, just a bag lady,
picking up cigarette packs off the street. I drew nearer. My
delirium grew more intense. It looked like MC Hasher. Now that
was a good sign ... my hallucinations put me in the company of DFLMC.
Anyhooo, MC (figment or no figment) and I trodded our way back across I-75/85, up the on-ramp from Presidential Parkway, through McGill Park, past SciTrek and finally on-in at Bedford Pine Park ... you know, one friggin block from the start. I grumbled and stumbled my way to the beer, and all was good again, little fucking yellow dots a distant memory.
Down-downs commenced with the following infarctions: Hired Snatch and Uh Huh Baby laying claim as the true DFLs; Dave Plate, Bill Barrington and Rob Benfield starring as the virgins; Back Seat Box and Minnie Brew featured as the king and queen of Hedon; Cheetah, Outa Tuna, Fahrvergnugen, and Newtered marking their return as too-long-betweens; Leave It To Cleavage debuting as a PH3 visitor; and Coffee Bean remarkably unscathed as the hare.
The skies then decided to open and dump mass quantities of oxygen atoms, each bonded with two hydrogen atoms, and the pack scattered back to their cars. The On-On was at Jock 'n Jills, and the On-On-On-On continued at the Euclid Avenue Yacht Club, where we all got tanked.
Now go away.
Scribe: Rat's Assss
Hey, don't you listen ... I said, GO AWAY.
PH3 Trash PH3 Trash PH3 Trash PH3 Trash PH3 Trash PH3 Trash PH3 Trash