Greetings fellow hashers.  This is the hash trash for the Green Bay Packer hash that departed from the glorious Hurricane Hole on July 7, 2013.  This account is the truth and nothing but the truth. 

We arrived to Hurricane Hole and quickly made our way to a jubilant bunch of hasher congregating by the bar expecting to find a cooler filled with wonderful golden nectar. Alas this was not the case and there was no cooler and we had to pay for our own On-Start nectar.  Shame to the hares Nursing an STD and Pleasure Me Orally for this egregious oversight.  But we quickly forgave them since they promised us delicious surprises on trail.  We gathered around all of the hares, which was a record setting pack of 27 Hashers (including hares), and discussed those silly markings for the virgins and veterans alike. The hares were given a 10ish minute head start and we were off!

All looked promising as we made our way Northbound on US1 into Stock Island!  Hopes were quickly dashed though as we lost the trail in front of Dion’s.  Mmmmmm….fried chicken!  A search grid was quickly set up and we located a virgin check at an intersection a block off US1.  MARK YOUR INTERSECTIONS HARES!  This is getting a little silly.  The trail took us deeper into the underbelly of the Stock Rock.  At a whichy-way Just Sonny, Fartacus, Just Kiel, and two other brave souls zenned across a block and picked up trail, whilst the rest of the pack came across what they thought was a beer check.  It turned out to be two empty Smirnoff Ices?  (Honor to the homeless!!)  With the fab 5 well ahead of the rest of the pack, the first beer check was found after wading through several bogs.  During consumption of the nectar Tiny Pole Dancer (who by the way was already tanked) decided to tackle Fucking Low Prices and his girlfriend into one of the bogs as he was trying to carry her across the water.  This did not go over well (under well?).  They left. 

The trail then took us in the general direction of the Rusty Anchor.  Another beer check?  No L.  But hope was high as we turned onto the road where the mighty Hog Fish is located, as we passed the road which we all felt for sure we would turn down to find more frosty libations, again no trail headed to the BAR. L.  Turns out there was nectar at Hog Fish but a poorly marked trail struck again.  (Seriously guys?)  We trudged on, thirsty, in to Boyd’s campground where once we reached the end, BEER CHECK!  In a boat several hundred feet away.  Ribbed for His Pleasure, Just Sonny, Just Kiel, TurdinHand, Just Justin, Tiny Pole Dancer and some virgin with nice ta-tas braved the rough sea to claim the nectar!  They would not however bring beer back to the rest of the dry pack.  As they kept yelling “you drink, you swim”. 

This seemed to dishearten most of the pack.  Trail was ignored as everyone returned to the On-Start.  Ribbed for His Pleasure made a quick pit stop to get Burger King drive through.  He did not get any for the rest of us.  Shame!  All returned to the mighty Hurricane Hole, many beers were consumed, accusations were thrown in all directions, several boobie sightings were made, and delicious wings were consumed.

On~on!!
Just Kiel

Well, Holy Hash Gods!!  It was hotter than Hades last night when the typical pack gathered under the bridge at Garrison Bight Marina.  Nacho Tits made a majestic reappearance, bringing with him a transferring Hasher from Maine.  Of course, Nacho Tits didn't bring anything to drink to this BYOB event, and told his "new guy" that he didn't have to bring any beer either....  this is why we haven't missed him.

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.