I miss Thirsty&Mac226;s already.
Now, of course, the Nittany Valley Full Moon Hash has visited Sharkies
before, and it was always pleasant enough, as long as we did our ceremonies
down in the dungeon.
But this time there was a new twist. The young lady who greeted me and
Fart at the door insisted upon seeing IDs. Beyond that, even. She insisted
upon removing my ID from my possession and shoving it into some machine.
Big Brother will now tally for me how much I drink in public. Another
debate for another time.
And so, one by one, the Nittany hashers filed in and were counted.
Ultimate, Wankerman, Julie, Saab Story (who happened to REMEMBER his ID that
night), somebody else (help me out here Porkie!), and the hare, Pork Screw.
We sat there guzzling Yuengling, waiting for the „guest of honor‰.
Guest indeed! We were waiting for Battered Balls, for this was to be his
Goodbye Hash. After a six month absence, the little shit had sent out a
touching farewell over the Nittany Valley list server, and PigFucker
practically had to dare him to show up for the Full Moon Hash. Well, he
made it, in Slow-like hash time.
The hare declared that he had pre-laid the trail, but still wanted a
pitcher&Mac226;s head (who said head?) start, to make a modification. The
modification turned out to be an extra BEER check, with a block of ice for
Battered Balls, up by North Halls on campus. After splitting up into two
packs, the original trail and the revised trail, most of us arrived at the
check. And we drank. And we drank some more. And there was no Battered
Balls, and we were missing Wankerman too. More modifications needed.
We piled into Pork Screw&Mac226;s truck, and auto-hashed to the next BEER
check, Zeno&Mac226;s (located directly above the center of the Earth). After a
pitcher or two, we were reunited with the missing hounds, who had found a
hockey playoff game at the Sport&Mac226;s Café more important than the trail. Pork
Screw sprang into action and announced that this was NOT the end of the
trail. He fled the scene, after buying us BEER and himself some time.
Up Allen Street we went after we were good and ready, twirled around a
bit near the Goodwill, and found ourselves at Pork Screw&Mac226;s truck in a dark
parking lot, with the ceremonial bag of ice awaiting it&Mac226;s designated butt.
The hare asked me to run the ceremonies, as we were missing everyone else
religious, and he was, well, the trail&Mac226;s hare.
I seated Battered Balls in his place of honor, the hare was awarded his
customary down-down, and then we all stood around trying to think of nice
things to say about the departing hasher. And then we told jokes, and then
we sang. And then we let Battered Balls try and think of nice things to
say. We all came up with a lot of moronic shit, nothing of redeeming social
value, butt accomplished what we set out to do&Mac183;.leave the sucker on the ice
a goooood loooong time. Hope Colorado does you good, you hopeless piece of
shit.
Down-downs foe everyone. End of story.
And&Mac183;.nice job of adapting to changing situations on trail, Pig Fucker.
You don&Mac226;t suck!
On On,
hornyduck