The Tyrant consulted with the great and honorable Gispert, and Anal Sandwich was chosen as the hare for the event. This was probably a poor decision, as that wanker is DAMN fast, and sprinted off with a smoke-trail behind him.
The hounds followed after a five minute lead, and were led on a roundabout trip through mid-town... coming tantalizingly close to several bars. We passed in front of Fausto's again (where I was sure we would have a repeat of the last pick-up hash) but did no Beer Check was marked. We sprinted down the street, following Checks and improperly utilized Whichy-Ways (there is no such thing as a three-way Whichy-Way. That's a check, dumbass) until we got within spitting distance of Shanna Key... but again, no Beer. The hare didn't even drop the emergency beer-bag he was carrying to quench our thirsts!!!
With a final sprint up to 7th street on Seidenberg... the Tyrant was sure we were going for a beer stop at the Hash House he lives in on Fogarty. But suddenly, Anal decided to abandon that path as well. So no beer.
Passing Checkers on the run back down Roosevelt, Just Kiel and Marilyn ManHoe got thirsty and pulled off at the Shell station to buy the pack some tallboys. The run finished where it began, and a great and rowdy religion was held under the bridge. We welcomed our virgin Just Aileen, properly introduced our transferring brother Just Scott, and began the tradition of saying farewell to honored hashers with the ceremony of "drinking-from-their-shoe-while-telling-insulting-stories-about-them." I learned many things about Nacho Tits, and he will never meet my sister. The Tyrant then tried to hurl the shoe/vessel across the marina, and Nacho Tits had to avoid jet-skis and boaters as he doggie-paddled out to retrieve it, nearly drowning on three occasions. Apparently they no longer teach Coasties to swim. It was even funnier when the Queen's Enema tried to out-throw ManHoe, and ended up winging Nacho's other shoe directly into the briny deep.
On-After was held on the patio-deck of Thai Island, where much curry was consumed by all. Honor to Sergii for letting us into the restaurant reaking of sweat and stale beer. Honor to those who chose to ran in 110 degree weather. Honor to the Key West Hash, and all of her bastards.