The cans on strings:
Many and sundry hashers, including the freshly glued Butt-Nutt and Breastroke
Minnie Brew & Back Seat Box
So then, in the joyful spirit of the blissful occasion of two, oh, letís just call them luminaries, of the hashing community coming together in velcroesque unison, in the name of their personal Higher Powers and the Commonwealth of Georgia, newly siamese and bound by their suffocating, scratch that their heady, cloyingly verdant and safely engulfing mutual attraction, et. c., we as hashers gathered, on this, the 26th day of July, in the 1997th year since Christ Bit The Hog, to mooch off aformentioned Newly Betrothedís good fortune and drink beer. Oh, and run, too. For quite a haul, as it turned out. And in the blazing sun and heart stopping humidity, even.
We the single and the long-married-and-jaded waited in Decatur Highís shoe-meltingy hot parking lot when the honored duo, Breaststroke and Butt-nutt, arrived in a serious bad-ass of a stretch limo. Still glowing (the B & G, not the limo) and whatnot from the (by all accounts) beautiful ceremony the morning prior, Breaststroke wore a veil and Butt-Nutt a bowtie, but were otherwise donning we-mean-business hash-approved clothing. Meanwhile, Minnie Brew and Back Seat Box, in a none-too-subtle nod towards their impending doom, scatch that probable extended entanglement (love-wise), offered some brief instructions to the uninitiated and fired their retros and booked-ass off towards the football stadium.5 minutes later, we followed suit.
Quickly running into a tricky flour situation, my group headed out to Commerce Ave., not on flour in the least, when trail was found to the right, heading through an outdour hallway at the school. We crossed McDonough and wound our way through downtown Decatur, vectoring in on the inevitable Decatur Cemetery. At this point I stupidly bought a check that I knew only led to a morass of kudzu, so the rest of the pack continued towards the back of deadsville and I chugged along trying to catch up to the walkers.
We jumped a fence, and shot out a sidewalk to Glendale Ave. Trail went into the creek bed at this point, but the whiniest pussy imaginable hovered steadfast at his fence, impeding forward hashing progress, and letting us in on stuff like "I own half of this creek!" and "Iím armed you know!" Catamite managed to slip by him, but the rest of us (myself, Kaptain Krash, and one or two others) left Mr. Property-Owner to his dessicated husk of a life and proceeded to try and parallel the creek on Mnt. Vernon Rd. Which heads uphill for a ways, then loops back on Glendale. Which called for a little discreet trespassing on our parts. I came out on Sycamore, totally off trail, and met up with some more boxers, Redneck Mutha and On The Rag. I joined them through some condos, and managed to come out into some newly cleared woods, where we hooked up with Catamite, who was still on trail.
Flour bee-lined to Farmerís Market from here (up E. Ponce) to an incredibly welcome water stop in the parking lot. I was hot and tired as hell, and I was about to run another entire hash! (the remainder of the hash is one I had set a few days earlier for the Full Moon Hash). Iíll lay out the highlights of the remainder: behind Farmerís market, along creek, through woods, by Jan Coxís "Behold the Mystery" love den, across N. Decatur, down a wicked-steep kudzu hill, then a hot, extruded, and, did I mention, disorientingly hot and long run down Valley Brook Road, giving me ample time to plumb my imagination for various post-run dismemberment scenarios involving Back Seat Box, cars in first gear, and rope. Somehow, I couldnít see Minnie Brew doing this to me ...
We ended at Breastrokeís pad. I was dizzy and pale through most of the festivities, which included: a gag present-opening ceremony, where the couple recieved, among other things, a set of crystal beer mugs from Cums Collect (he cares) and a basketball hoop strap-on. Lots of down downs for first timers and visitors and Rule# 6 infractionary folks (can you tell I lost the roll count sheet yet?). Also, there was a seriously dense fudge cake with an impressive iced drawing of the couple and little filigrees and whatnot. Everyone had fun, the Newly Inextricably Linked took off for Jamaica, and we all skulked home, drunk, alone, unwanted (snffff) ...
Despondently yours, Niplets.