February ninth marks a new day in hash history as the highly anticipated 2017 Mismanagement mismanaged their first hash. It is only fitting the that the Chinese calendar would fall on the year of the cock for this crew. What a glorious test of the unwavering resolve of our new mismanagement as they were struck with every kind of disaster one could think of.
The sky opened up that morning as the gods decided to start their test of worthiness. White stuff you try to catch in your mouth descended from the sky in dumpster loads. Although the first test was cumbersome and claimed a few of our mismanagement and some of our disciples, our more faithful zealots braved the wintery weather and made the 3598 km hike to the designated rendezvous. Amongst those lost, Fort Dixalot and Slothy Seconds (our current and former religious advisors), were the hardest felt losses. A few Hashers entered the rendezvous point, The Field House, early and raised mugs and danced in the honor of those who have sacrificed their hash for us. After Goose, Goats, 60k9, Taintless love, Sex toys and just Micah had completed the honor ceremony they quickly devised a war plan for the upcoming test and awaited the arrival of fellow hashers.
The wind howled outside with a piercing scream as the gods reminded us what was in store beyond those rattling gates. Hashers started to pile into the field house as more and more worried looks began to be tossed around. Those looks of course were from patron strangers who understood that once we left we may not return. As the time approached and morale was starting to waiver, we were corralled outside where our surviving RA,Post traumatic goose disorder, met us with a warm hearty monster truck “ WELCOME WELCOME WELCOME”. Immediately spirits began to lift up as he described the Trail that our advanced party , Pantyfile and Sox to Be You, had laid out for us. Hope soared as we gave faith that they had found the safest and shortest route to our rewarded destination of more alcohol…...back at the Field House……..but we didn’t overthink it.
As we we set out on trail, Mismanagement struggled to keep the crew Whole. Short handed as they were they nearly lost one of their foundation members to a vicious hash crash. Turning the corner, Taintless love, hit a patch of magic invisible ice where he came crashing with all his might down to the earth. Due to his quick reflexes and all around awesomeness, he was able to recover swiftly without damage. This was fortuitous, for losing Taintless Love would surely spell the BFMs demise. The crew then realized the dangers and toils they may face ahead. After many false trails ending confusingly with a tennis ball, Taintless was able to deduce that the Hares had marked false trails by simply throwing tennis balls covered in flour. They really dropped the ball. Their slight of hand revealed we were able to move along quicker. Our journeys lead us to a dangerous land where creatures only existed with half heads. Thinking quickly, Goose covered half of his head and hid amongst them distracting and confusing the creatures allowing us the ability to sneak by. We moved so quickly compared to them it was almost as if they were mannequins. Goose couldn’t have reacted at a more crucial time as Goats and Taintless were all mixed up.
Emotions ran high as lives were changing that fateful night. Our brave and humble leader alleviated his guilt upon Taintless shoulders. He confessed he had all the pictures of the shirtless guys at our hash in a personal folder named
“Not my masturbation folder. Seriously.” and that Taintless was 56% of it. Taintless then in turn admit that he had an extra warm face mask the whole time that Sex Toys could’ve borrowed. After 4 gruelling Miles to the first meet up with hares, We refueled our muscle engines with dependable bud light and berated the hares for being absolutely terrible. This was quite the shitty trail. As morale dipped dangerously low the again quick reflexes of Taintless roared a warning to a group of hashers who were almost pulverized by a motorized vehicle. His warning allowed the hashers, specifically Pounded in the can, enough time to react.
Another confusing terrible mile passed us by before we realized we probably know the way back to the Field house better then the hares.
Our fearless GM sex toys, let out a bellowing cry “ COME WITH ME IF YOU WANT TO LIVE”. With no feeling left in our fingers we dug deep and followed him on the path to victory, and more beer! Seeing as how the hares had done bad and should feel bad, Goats beat them back to the rendezvous and pantsed Pantyfile who smiled and took it like expected.
Thanks to the tireless efforts of our new mismanagement, we suffered no further losses and the group finished whole. Celebrations immediately commenced as our Ra, with notes written on his hand like a teleprompter, Goose lead a vigorous circle with many accusations being directed towards the hares. It was not all finger pointing, Macguyver muff diver was whisked into a side side for the annual reminder of his birth. After circle was closed we brought a travel hasher into our fold and bestowed upon him our own BFM name. Much deliberation ensued but after a well organized democratic process conducted by the new mismanagement, a name was offered and voted on. From this day forth Upper Cunt shall forever at BFM be known as EL Poopa Cabra!