over the years).
The usual band of miscreants met at an abandoned Taco Bell on
Pleasantburg Road on a boiling hot afternoon not fit for running, but
perfect for beer drinking. Being stupid asses, they decided to hash
anyway.
A half-hour late per tradition, the Hares began their litany of
lies about the route and the hounds ignored them while chatting among
themselves and sipping amber nectar. When the annoying talk was
complete, the hares were blessed with holy fermented-hops water, and
they were off, dodging traffic.
The trail headed toward some sketchy neighborhoods and for once
the Hares seemed to have told the truth. They'd told the pack about
the route going through the "Bricktown All-Stars" gangland, and the
pack found trail littered with used bullets and hobos. Unfortunately
for the hounds, the trail soon meandered through Beck Academy where
the pack momentarily lost the trail by searching everywhere except in
plain sight where the trail led down the middle of a sidewalk.
The trail then circled a track, confusing the pack as it ran
around it several times shouting "hash," "hash," and blowing the damn
whistles until someone got a bright(?) idea that it was circle.
Quickly regrouping, they found trail dead-ended at a fence, where
after they hopped it, things got worse.
Prominent features were poison ivy laden underbrush through an
uncharted forest, in the heart of Nicholtown. After 20 minutes
following a sketchy trail, where Daily Newd was somehow able to fall
on his ass in Sliding Rock Creek and smash his on the rock - luckily
the rock was undamaged - the pack crossed a small stream and ended up
at beer stop numero uno, fittingly on an abandoned
street.
After much whining from the pack, the hares departed and, "they
said," they felt bad for the hapless pack and tried to make the trail
as easy as possible. Due to their joint incompetence, this was
impossible.
On Faris Road the clueless hares led the pack through a circular
road, and an intersection on the edge of choice-looking woods that any
right-minded hare would have plunged into with delight and set a
beautiful trail. But the drunken losers instead, head up an asphalt
hill, through several steaming hot Greenville Tech parking lots where
the sun threatened to kill them all due to the lack of
rehydrating beer.
Finally, the trail led into the campus administration building,
up a flight of stairs, down an elevator for two flights and out the
back door. Not a bad little trail for the hare-brains. The pack
luxuriated in the air-conditioning, drinking water of all things, and
used the facilities, flushing their chances of catching the hares down
the drain, along with used beer.
Eventually, the pack found the second beer stop, and GM, Strokes
Twice Daly, and NFHN Natalie who were late because they were planning
for a r*ce. Finally, the Hares left for the final stage, up more
hills, behind commercial buildings where they set off an alarm, which
alerted the pack of their presence while they were warned: Evacuate
these premises immediately. The Police have been called. You are
trespassing on private property. The Police have been called. Etc.,
etc."
Meanwhile, the hares - allegedly feeling sorry for the pathetic
hounds, made the last leg short and they mercifully ended the trail at
an abandoned Mexican eatery.
The circle was formed, and the Hares were saluted for their sorry
trail-making, and then they were honored with celebratory down-
downs.The Virgins - Just Ray and NFHN Hans -- were introduced, mocked,
asked stupid questions and honored with celebratory down-downs.
Hare "Just Paul" was then brought into the circle and it
ominously began raining. Peggy Pulanasti interrogated "Just Paul" like
a Nazi War Criminal, and the no-namer cracked under the pressure,
admitting to a litany of crimes against nature, underage Kmart
harlots, the Wisconsin legal system, his bowels, Mexican police, and
various traffic offenses, including one with a golf club and an irate
motorist perpetrated within the confines of the Greenville City
Limits.
The naming committee convened, and after much beer drinking, lewd
propositions and general time-wasting techniques honed in their
civilian jobs, arrived at a name for "Just Paul."
For his digestion of a quarter pound of fine Colombian weed, on
two occasions!; for admitting to crapping himself in a drunken stupor
outside a Greenville strip bar; and for being a member of the ersatz
para-military organization and Republican money-laundering
organization Greenville Rifle Club, he was named, with all lack of due
respect: "Straight Shitter."
