Hares: Tits Of Steel and Backdoor Deposit
This is the closest to death I have ever come/cum on a trail. I wrestled with the question of whether you shitty, shitty, insane, shitty, shitty, cocked, shitty half-minds are worth the pain. You probably aren't, but I hate myself and I love beer, so here I am...
...AND THERE I WAS (to borrow a phrase), reaching Cherry Street Tavern around 8 and immediately facing Flounder's derision for holding up the entire night. Can we all agree that Flounder's 'tude is out of control?
The shit-storm of an evening began with Chalk Talk, where we gazed mutedly upon two sweaty nervous dudes (Gag Reflex and Urine Luck) getting it on for the first time. Everyone was IMMEDIATELY aroused.
After about 20 minutes of running up and down the same street, somebody figured out that our sadistic hares had laid a TOTALLY SAFE AND HAZARD-FREE trail across the middle of the Parkway. We survived, but were almost smashed in our asses by a car without headlights.
If you're anything like me, then you start seeking out people and things to hate while you're running in cold weather, just for the sake of hating. Incidentally, it was at about this time I discovered that Urine Luck had SHAMELESSLY SLITHERED back into Cherry Street after Chalk Talk, abandoning the very people he had just rallied.
I regained a momentary sense of focus as I channeled my energies towards hating him (and the rest of the auto-hashers chugging down lagers in Cherry Street at that very moment).
Blah blah blah, a bunch of circling around behind the art museum and me awkwardly limping (it's not unusual for me to be at the back of the pack). Shot check was on Kelly Drive, and I want to personally thank Tits and Backdoor Deposit for swiftly foiling my plan to "not get wasted this week" (I have yet to see this plan succeed).
Everyone crushed shots, then Flounder gave me his mittens—perhaps an olive branch from our earlier fracas.
Things were looking up! But not up enough, so I summoned an Uber. I don't like being a cheater, but a spring sweater, no gloves, and no hat in single-digit weather make Catherine something something. Gag joined my Uber ride in solidarity, and we met Dwayne, who restored my faith in this planet.
The best course of action at this point was to drink to forget. So we did, and I ate a big sandwich. It was the best turnaround night of all time.
Summary For Lazy Hashers: Cold, ouch, beer, yay, mittens.