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What:TWAT (Thirsty Wankers Alternative Trail) Hash No shit there I was, at home without any pants on, when the doorbell rang. I peered out the window and saw a car loaded with hash stickers, so I opened the door - wearing nothing but my undies and a cut-up t-shirt – to find Dead Woody, the gracious volunteer hare who had cum to pick up flour for our TWAT trail. After going outside to retrieve the flour from FRB’s car, I was ready to put on some clothes and go hash. A little while later, the pack met up behind Snooker’s in the Whole Paycheck shopping center, where we tried to convince muggle billardsmen to join our group. I asked if they liked titties and beer, to which they replied “YES” in unison, so two enthusiastic hariettes - Chuck and J. Frenchie - showed their tits. They still declined, but didn’t mind ogling at our festivities… and Spreads’ sweet ass. Our solo hare was off around 7:03, with the pack following close behind after complimenting Spon Cum on her new ‘do. After two song checks in a row on Ridge Road, the pack was concerned that we would have another Lazy/J. Ariel song check extravaganza, but luckily that was not the case and we soon found ourselves headed towards some very hilly shiggy with a BN close by. But where was the beer?! We wandered around looking for our hare, but couldn’t find the alcoholic nectar necessary to quench our thirsts. I started to feel the stupefying effects of dehydration, so I stopped to take a selfie with a dollop of flour - which I had confused for Dood Where’s My Car, whose skin is the same hue. The pack meandered a bit more and we found Squirtle downhill and laughing at us – he had been watching us struggle the entire time. Dick. During this break, the delightful Chuck came up with the idea to name J. Ariel based on a tent-related incident that occurred at Holy Trail. A few names were tossed around, a Connect Four commercial was watched, and by the time trail was over, we had a few great ideas. Our thirsts were quenched but there were still three beers remaining. Leftover beer?! The horror! Thankfully the pack came up with a great idea – Dead Woody should just lay an OTF. And he did. And it was glorious. But before that occurred, the pack encountered a strange check, “TWC” – which in Squirtle-speak is a twat check. Beavers were spotted and we continued to a greenway trail, but quickly cut into the woods to a body of water with an OTF on some very unstable rocks. The dapper Scatologist took a dip in the brown-green water, then he and Cansino helped their fellow hashers climb a fence and shuffle across a small ledge. And by “help” I mean they cupped our butt cheeks to scoot us along. Acceptable hash behavior. We all got wet anyway because in order to safely cross 440, we had to go under it. Once safely across, there was a T/E split by the art museum. Turkeys had to go up yet another steep hill and eagles had to go up a longer steep hill. The pack reconvened at the pedestrian bridge over 440 and started the journey back to start. Spon Cum led closing circle, where everyone marveled at my homemade bag of ice. Accusations were made, visitors were welcomed, a virgin was defiled, and Just Ariel was named Connect Whore: It’s InTents. Ask her about that sometime. Or ask me because I creepily watched it happen at Holy Trail. Sometime during circle, Juicebox lost some property, which Dead Woody kept safely in his man pouch. As Juicebox was attempting to reclaim said property, Face Down appeared and promptly took a bare-ass seat on the ice. Circle ended and on-after was held at the Brickhouse.

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