I'm still recovering from this one.  

That's right.  Four days later, and I may still be drunk.  This hash trash will likely be as much of a cluster as the hash itself was.  

Anyhow...... there we were.  Our previously safe and clean southernmost harbor was invaded by the dirty ship containing the Jolly Roger H3 and friends.  As it issued forth its unclean emissions, challenges were shouted far and wide across phones and internet to the Key West H3 and we reported to Mallory Square for battle.  Some of us were slightly tardy/'tarded because of an apparent scout party or two landing the night before from Tampa. Speaking of which, I'm still not sure what happened that night, but some of us may or may not have woken up with titty sprinkles on our faces.  I know I personally was sore in all the right places from dancing for hours at the Green Parrot.  That's all, I swear.  

Back to the story......the hares (Dead Travelin Fister, 4" Spike, and Menage A Neuf) showed up finally after fighting their way through some shitty festival traffic with roughly 20 cases of beer in two huge rented coolers.  There was much rejoicing and haberdashery sales and trading.  Finally circle started and the hares were blessed.  

And we were off!  Right away, the hares realized they were way too hungover for this shit. As we sprint- walked away from the pack, freeballing trail the whole time, we discussed the meaning of life and pirates and how many 369 degree checks would slow down the pack enough that we would not immediately get debriefed. Thru parking lots and busy streets, we soldiered on, shouting at innocent passersby and then finally and sweatily meeting up with our Beermeister HNIC at the park on Poorhouse Lane. There we awaited the pack's arrival. 4" Spike and Menage A Neuf decided to be swinger pirates in true hasher fashion and jumped on the playground swings.  As the pack arrived, some bitching ensued due to the length of trail before a beer check, but I still DGAF, you pansies. It was one mile.  

We were approached by some muggles while in the park and may have recruited some new virgins, but it is yet to be seen. As the pack straggled in, the hares took off lazily again, this time heading past the graveyard thru Old Town and to the beach at Salute's. As we ran on, we ran across a long-dead and baked iguana corpse, which I obviously marked with a true trail mark.  Additionally, after multiple package and tit checks at every hash, we decided to spice things up a bit and have some leapfrog and imaginary sword fight checks as well. It is important to mention we left two of these directly in front of Salute's on the Beach much to the diners' amusement.  The next beer check was just past that so that we could all enjoy the sight of the rest of the pack acting like a bunch of idiots in a public venue.  The crowds roared their approval. And then I saw it. The dead iguana was now in attendance at the end of a long dog leash, pulled by none other than XSNRG.  A dark sense of foreboding briefly clouded my vision, but I figured what the hell and took off again with the other hares to continue towards the Southernmost Point Buoy for the requested photo op.  As we made it to the buoy, the kindness of about fifty tourists allowed us to crowd up and around it for a photo. I'm sure we are all the stars of several chinese tourists' vacation photos. 

And then, the trouble started.

As I ran ahead of the pack, comfortably close enough to hear their ramblings and songs, I suddenly heard the shrill screams of a young female tourist floating sweetly through the air from the back of a trolley.  Since XSNRG was almost directly behind me, I immediately knew what was happening.  "IS THAT AN IGUANA?!!!", she shrieked, barely pausing for air.  "IS IT ALIVE?"  XSNRG replied with some kind of sarcastic retort and there was a minor back and forth.  And then it happened, the most glorious response I have ever heard given to a muggle mid-trail from one of our Jolly Roger visitors.  

"SHUT UP YOU C!NT, DON'T YOU KNOW IT'S DEAD IGUANA DAY!"

As the pack howled with laughter and I almost tripped over the curb in my mirth, I thought to myself, "Self. This is when the aliens show up."  And so I picked up the pace, leading the pack On-In behind the bank on Simonton Street. I proved to have some powerful ESPN as we circled up, since the aliens showed up withing five minutes of our arrival and the dulcet tones of Kumbaya were offered up immediately.  Luckily HNIC took the reins and spoke with the officer.  The conversation went something like this.  

HNIC: Sorry officer, we'll only be here briefly to meet up and then start a pub crawl.

Alien: Sir, that's not why I'm here. We were called with reports of a live iguana on a leash being dragged by one of the members of your group.

HNIC: Oh. Well actually--

Alien: Even though iguanas aren't protected, you need to release the iguana immediately or someone is going to jail.

HNIC:  Oh ok.  Sure, we'll let it go. (at this point I'm dying as there is very obviously a very dead iguana with no eyes hanging out near the beer coolers).

Iguanas aside now, we continued with circle, properly awarding or accusing deserving wankers.  Some amazing beer boarding took place with the FRB and FBI, thanks were given to the hares for their sh!tty trail, and most importantly, we thanked Jolly Roger H3 for invading our island. 

But we weren't done yet, oh no.  Now the pub crawl began!  Our first stop was the Cork and Stogie, where the loving owner Dave Sr. made us a pretty sign and gifted us with the best craft beer $3 can buy. I'd have been happy just drinking there all day, but the demands of you wankers kept us moving.  On to the Salty Angler, where hash friend and owner Amy had $3 beers, ciders, and margaritas (which started doom for certain hashers, ahem Menage a Neuf). Then it was Bourbon Street where in true hasher style, everyone got naked and played volleyball in the pool and some people acquired a new husband or two.

At this point, we had three more bars to hit, but our happily wasted Jolly Roger brethren had to head back to their ship.  So Key West H3 and a couple of the land lubber Jolly Rogers bravely continued the pub crawl down Duval. At some point, Just Chris paid for us all to be fed to continue our carousing.  I can't tell you on a public website much more of what happened, other than it ended mightily and in the nude at the Garden of Eden. And there was much naked swordfighting. 

But I had a blast this day, and hope everyone else did too!! 

Love, 

DTF

So there I was. Hung over and barely moving in a dark room in a friends house, having drank enough the night before to floor a herd of old Catholic Irishmen.  Full blackout status had been achieved; ie, no memories at all after about 10pm the previous night.  And then, out of love and a deep sense of self-sacrifice, I dragged Shiggy Shave Her out of a Muggle's house to the on-start of Menage A Neuf's and Bottom of the Ninth's reportedly "epic" trail.  All we had been told was that some sort of color orgy would be taking place, but no one really knew any details other than to bring a white t-shirt. Obviously an orgy was really the only promise we needed.  

I parked my car and changed clothes, much to the delight of the neighbors on the stairwell across the street.  Tits out for the boys indeed; I really hope they were over 18.  Neuf and Bottom drove up toting a very small amount of the sacred nectar and paint. Confused but uncaring, I stumbled across the parking lot to bitch and whine while 3 Hour Whore took one of my tshirts and immediately slashed it into some sort of fashionable clothing shirt type thing that I wouldn't be able to muster the skill up to do if you gave me a hundred dollars cash on the spot. Hashers slowly started to pile into the parking lot, grabbing brews and chatting. We circled up and the hares were blessed.  Once they were gone, confusion started again over the meaning of a few new marks during chalk talk and the bag of paint, but in true hasher style we decided to deal with it later and took off at an exhilarating slow walk (except Thumb In Clooney and Missed Her Bullseye and screw those overachievers. But one of them would pay later.....).  

The trail was a basic shitty trail, with a few twists.  As we approached a playground filled with the angelic noises of small children playing angelically with their angelic parents, we realized our first orgy was upon us.  Sweet!  3 Hour Whore took the reins and started spraying people with red and green paint, because we strangely found red and green paint on the street at the check.  But apparently that was happenstance, as I called Bottom and found that we were to just liberally apply paint to each other in whatever colors we desired.  To make it more interesting, we decided to forego the use of hands to apply said paint, other than the first person to apply the colors of paint to the rest of the kennel. Tits, butts, hips, crotches, and shoulders were used to squish paint all over each other and I'm not telling who popped a chubby.  And then we were off again!  

Several more orgies and some trail treasure later, we broke into two groups.  The front group apparently missed an impromptu shot check (dammit!) provided by some Muggles that Begging Brother Banger knew and made it to the patch check (where there were no patches) after waiting for 25 minutes for the rest of the pack.  We eventually reunited and it felt so good that we celebrated by spreading more disease - I mean paint - upon each other with various parts that you generally need to show a licensed professional on a dolly after you're traumatized enough times.  Then there was a shot check and some of us were officially f*cked.  Missed Her Bullseye was apparently possessed by a demon and proceeded to chug most of a bottle of whiskey by himself, with a little help from some wankers and a lot of help from Shiggy. Much like a gremlin you shouldn't feed/water after midnight, MHB then proceeded to spank all the harriettes with hands or a two-by-four or whatever he could find on the side of the road. By this time I was feeling a little better so I took a small sip of that life-changing whiskey that really just made me want to vomit so I left the boys to it. As we completed the trail, all hell broke loose and we probably experienced one of the shittiest circles I have ever been a part of, much to many people's amusement. XSNRG valiantly tried and failed to outshout Missed Her Bullseye, who was busy careening around circle after his FRB beer-boarding, whilst mooning and flipping off neighbors that were happy to watch the shitshow via binoculars. I valiantly tried not to puke (and won), Shiggy valiantly started drinking again like a pro (and got drunk again like a pro). 4'' Spike was giggling and throwing Shiggy's face in his crotch, per usual - see pic above for documentation. HNIC frolicked under a rainbow umbrella while everyone ducked and rolled away from the pointy parts.  Begging Brother Banging's friend Just Chris (the one with the package, ladies) tried to get his patch by begging Neuf to let him use his mouth while Thumb In Clooney took Neuf's glittery money shot on his ass to receive his patch.  Eventually we gave up trying to be anything other than completely ridiculous after a picture was taken missing half the wankers that were on trail, and we joined up for the On-After at the Green Parrot.  I tiredly but proudly DD'd for a few folks and immediately passed out in my bed, collapsing in a very unladylike, but very hasherlike heap.  

So there we were.....meeting up for a pick-up hash in the parking lot behind the courthouse.  For a bunch of wankers, this seems a dangerous place to meet but whatever.  Almost 20 of us showed up for this weekday hash since none of us give a damn about our jobs/some just don't have jobs because Key West. As we gathered and took turns peeing in bushes we received some side-eye from the tourists walking by. Shiggy Shave-Her was somehow on time for once, so we had plenty of time to quaff the sacred nectar before he took off.  Good job bud.  The hash shit was bestowed upon Queef for Cuz for some sort of violation I don't recall.  After some blessings, Shiggy was off with the pack in pursuit!  

We hung a left out of the parking lot and followed trail down Whitehead to Front Street.  Here there was some confusion as some hashers that were in the know about where trail was going short-cut trail up Duval Street.  The rest of us went down Front and then over to Greene Street where we cut in front of the Conch Farm and down the docks.  First beer check was by the ferry, where manatees danced in the water on the other side of the cursed Tortuga IV party boat and we watched the sunset.  We nailed a beautiful roller coaster pic or two, thanks to some helpful tourists. Thank god Neuf was wearing a neon shirt or he would have disappeared into the ground.  (pics coming soon)  Off we went again.....following trail down and around with a few checks and YBFs in play.  We eventually wound around by Poorhouse Lane, where some confusion took place over some old Beer Check marks by the park.  But there was no beer to be had so we moved on quickly.  Somewhere along the Mu-Sick picked up a crazy hasher from Guam - he was just nonchalantly hanging out in his yard and saw us run by, at which point he asked if we were a hash.  Woo-hoo!  A new KW hasher!  One of us! One of us!  Off we went again, cutting back across the island and over through Bahama Village.  Once we got to the soccer field, we saw there was a game going on and immediately started catcalling the cute lil soccer players in their short little shorts. I blew my highly annoying Fox whistle (gift from 7 Shooters) to add some healthy confusion to their game.  Then we picked up a good muggle friend on a bike, Angie, who while somewhat confused by our debaucherous activities, followed us blindly to the On-In......her mistake. 

When we reached the field at Truman Annex a mad sprint ensued to both avoid being FRB and DFL.  Sadly, BMF wasn't paying attention, so he got the waterboarding an overachieving FRB deserves. After that I looked around and realized that we had quite a few extraordinarily inebriated hashers present.  The new guy was running around alternately humping/groping/pantsing people. Just Chase was drunk, unaware of what was coming for him.  A few others were hootin' and hollerin' once we circled up.  Accusations flew, dealing with old marks, a few new-shoe wearing dummies who got to quaff the nectar from their already sweat-filled footwear, and some false free-beer claims on trail.  

And then a naming!  

Just Chase, the long suffering unnamed hasher, finally got to insert his narrow butt into an ice-filled cooler and wait as we named hashers came up with a name for him.  The following were possibilities based on his Inquisition:

Pastor Peach Prime (and variations)
Old Peach Pits (my personal favorite and I still laugh every time I say it.)
Captain Save A Bitch
Tarzan Teaser
and Rotten Monkey Business

But his official name is now:

VIRGIN MONKEY ASS

Welcome to the hash world VMA, now you're stuck with us forever!!! 

Love, 
Dead Travelin Fister

Saturday, August 8th 2015.  
Hares: DTF and Shiggy

The trash will be written from the hare's perspective today.  

It was a magical night filled with unicorns, a little running, shots, and bars all in celebration of our dear Humper's birthday.  A tiny pack of hashers met at 7pm (well, most of us) at the Southernmost Point to circle up and quaff some sacred nectar before the running began.  The hares, Dead Travelin' Fister and Shiggy Shave-Her, took off in two separate directions, thoroughly confusing the pack even while Menage A Neuf's catcalls echoed down the street. You knew right away this trail would be challenging.......  DTF and Shiggy raced through the streets with a hungry pack behind them, dropping boob, package, song, and beer checks the whole way.  The first half of the trail was absolutely littered with checks and whichy-ways and YBFs to slow the pack.  Occasionally the hares stopped to have a root beer barrel shot or stare at pink, personless thong underwear freshly deposited on the nutrient-void, beer-soaked Key West soil.  We also discovered a few well-dressed hashers not hashing on Duval street, and thoroughly scolded them until we realized they were celebrating their unmentionable anniversary or some such nonsense. No one cared; we moved on.  After dropping music checks all the way down Duval Street in the middle of lobsterfest, we hares were extremely excited to hear the moaning and bitching from the pack once they arrived at the end of the trail.  But sadly, it was not to be.  Instead we heard moaning and bitching because this sad little pack lost the extraordinarily well-marked trail in the midst of their debaucherous drinking.  Still, in circle it was admitted that it was in fact a GREAT trail, other than by Neuf who drank for his failure to yield his cantankerous mood at the time.  Some other people drank because they didn't wear their best non-Muggle attire.  Some other people drank for some other shit but I don't remember what.

At this point, the man of the hour Humper himself, with Gator Snapper in tow, showed up at circle and re-energized these worthless wankers enough to begin the Duval Birthday Crawl.  We began at Captain Tony's and ended at McConnells.  There were about ten or so bars in between that night.  With much ado about nothing, we whistled, stomped, and sang our obnoxious way into the traumatized public's hearts......except for that one Irish Catholic bartender, but I think he was just mad at our lengthy, perhaps off-key explanation of why Jesus couldn't hash and at 1 am to boot. It was an enlightening experience for all of us, or none of us. But it lasted about 20 minutes or so and that's the important part. Just Chris showed up at 1am, sketchy bastard, just in time for us to leave.  (By the way dude, I have the weirdest ass-dialed voicemail from you from during the Sunday night dinner and you're drinking for that next time I see you - didn't sound like work to me at all mister!)


After McConnells, we all went home to prepare our livers for the next night.  I'll post some pics from all three birthday nights just for the fun of it.    

-D.T.F

Tuesday, June 2, 2015

Hares:  X.S.N.R.G. and Just Dan 

The full moon rose at 8:23pm that night, just 7 minutes before the hare(s?) were away.  But we didn’t know it.  She was probably hiding her face behind the clouds from the onslaught of debauchery that was sure to ensue – or the loud neon colored theme.  Anywho, we circled up and much to our amusement the GM liberally doused the hares in the face and head with streams of beer while citing some gibberish. And then they were off.  Or one of them was (Just Dan), while the other (X.S.) climbed upon the trike and slowly meandered with the jogging group.  I’m still not sure why he wasn’t immediately debriefed, but whatever.  Apparently he was really beermeistering, so we couldn’t be too mad. A quick chalk talk ensued for the virgin that 3 Hour Whore forced to cum.  And from the start, we were lost.  An immediate whichy way threw off the pack as certain hashers (7 Shooters) half-ass checked to the left, which led to us going right.  We quickly realized that was incorrect and appropriately admonished him when we realized he must’ve been a foot from the true trail mark without seeing it.  Moving on, we followed trail to our first beer check in front of the Conch Republic.  Here we found a delightful sprite of a woman who was sending some sort of glowing rocket up into the air over and over again much like an autistic astronaut.  I don’t know if she had any friends or if they had left her to her frolicking, but she initially appeared alone so we offered her a beer.  To which she responded by sending the rocket-thing back up into the air again.  After many exchanged half-mind glances confirming that she possibly had half the mind that we half-minds had, our fearless leader yelled “on-out!” and we left our little friend behind.  Two minutes later, we had our second beer check. We weren’t sure why it was so quick, but we were all in agreement that it was ok to just focus on the sacred nectar this night.  A few bushes were anointed and off we went.  There were at least three more beer checks that night.  I recall one on Southard in the big parking lot, one on Elizabeth near a cop car, and another on Southard behind Charlie Mac’s but I feel like I’ve forgotten one. I personally enjoyed the one on Elizabeth the best since we woke the neighbor, who creepily and silently peeped over his fence at us as we played with a friendly pussy on the corner.



Back to Mallory to the On-Home, where just before crossing the line, we all showed our asses to the moon (or an approximation of where she was located – she still hid her face in fear).  Here we were joined by three local muggles, one of whom we knew from the delightful tot-frying depths of WOB, the rest were strangers.  We circled and accusations commenced. There were two new pairs of shoes in the circle belonging to Three Hour Whore and her virgin, so they immediately were made to quoff from said shoes.  Shitty trail, etc.  7 Shooters was accused of wasting the sacred nectar in an attempt to hydrate a cockroach, to which he rebuttholed by stating he felt that all the creatures of the earth should be able to participate in the Holy Libations.  XSNRG immediately rebuttholed that to hydrate a creature, one must successfully aim within 7 feet of said creature – at which point the original accusation was upheld and 7 Shooters drank.  Our muggle friends interjected a few drunken accusations of the gods and sang some sort of dithering song while one played a guitar.  Accusations were closed, announcements were made, the bum that was previously shouting how wonderful this all was passed out and began snoring loudly, and then……………….a NAMING! Just Dan was called back into the circle to prostrate his bare ass, taint, and balls in a cooler full of ice. I don’t know what happened to the rest of him even though the moon had emerged at this point to watch the goings-on, but I assume it had something to do with the cold.  The Inquisition began.  It was long and it was hard, much like most men wish they could be.  Out of respect I will not detail the questions and answers, other than to say that he has a strangely recurrent theme with cousins.  The list of possible names:  Cousin Cummer, Queef4Buck, Cousin Harey, Cuz Cummer, Cousin Jerker, White Dan, etc and so forth.  But it was decided upon that for now, this half-minded, three-time unnamed hare will be known as QUEEF 4 CUZ.  The Chariot then swung as low as Peter Dinklage’s nuts and we adjourned to find more beverages and sustenance. 

-Dead Travelin Fister

Key West H3 Hash Trash, 16 May 2015

Hare: XSNRG

The Hash began behind the courthouse, with the shockingly delightful sight of XSNRG wearing only a handmade Crown Royal banana hammock.  Delightful until he turned around and displayed that goddamn harry ass, and knowing even Key West couldn’t handle that backside, we made him put on clothes for his anything-but-clothes trail.  Speaking of which, fail to (most of) the Hashers!  What, didn’t any of us go to college?  XSNRG was highly upset at us, admonishing that we have been wanking of a lack of spirit and creativity and fun at KWH3, and then we don’t even shed our clothes!  We have a responsibility as Hashers!  Yep, he preached of responsibility as he rode off towards Walgreens to get the chalk he forgot.  As we waited, a car full of people drove up.

               “RU?”

               “On-on!”

Yay, more visitors!  They proceeded to park in such a way to get their bumper stuck and pull out the fender.  Maybe they were embarrassed at their shitty driving.  Maybe they were angry they just caused a thousand dollars of damage to their car.  Maybe they saw Mu-sic in his towel, Chocolate Covered Cherries in her sheet, or 4 Inch in his pillowcase.  But they immediately left, never to be seen again.

We (finally) began trail, through the million dollar houses of Bahama Village.  Beer Check One was uneventful, and then Beer Check Two was… beerless?  On a Duval side street, about five houses deep, the hash looked everywhere for the promised nectar.  Mu-sic suggested we look inside a ratty-ass cooler sitting on someone’s porch, but fortunately Ménage a Neuf’s eyeroll sent out a sonic blast preventing anyone from checking.  Well, either that or the three huge dudes that were sitting around the cooler, daring the strange people invading their hood to come steal their beer.  Soon (a relative word), the Beermeister arrived, and the crowd calmed from its rising tizzy.  There was much teasing HNIC about his punctuality, but in retrospect, why would he hurry?  If you were strolling down Duval on a trike full of beer, you also would change your life philosophy to “it’s not the destination but the journey that counts.”

The Hash continued with a super-classy tit check outside of an ice cream store (yes, when our GM erased the chalk titties, there were children sitting outside the shop).  It’s okay, though, because there was a dick check a block later, and another tit check a block after that.  The Hare snared himself at the first dick check (“I was thirsty!”), constantly telling us about the five miles he had just run with his amazing turkey-eagle spilt (so glad he put on shorts, can you imagine that purple bag flopping up and down as he sprinted Duval… oh wait, that’s pretty normal here).  Next was a bit of getting lost due to Just Bradley (fucking non-named Hashers!), and then our final dick check where our only visitor Jersey Asshole (still no idea how he got that name) decided to go across the street, hidden between two cars to show us his junk.  Of course, 4 Inch was the only other person possessing a penis with us slower group of ladies, and he probably didn’t want us comparing.

Then we circled.  Because XSNRG forgot the sacred drinking vessel (responsibility, Hashers!), we drank out of a nasty-ass safety cone.  Seven Shooters kept calling himself “RA” because he was leading circle, to which Mu-sick and XSNRG were mightily offended.  Mu-sick was also butt-hurt that he couldn’t find the markings on the eagle trail, while everyone else had a blast on turkey.  It was Thar’s birthday, and we all told her to fuck off.  Then Under Table Junk Grabber drank in celebration of a name she can tell her parents.

Ah, Hashers.  You literally can’t please all of us at once, no matter how hard we keep trying!

Love, Just Steph

At White St pier, the tutu themed Bash was kicked off as Conchsibitionist kneeled before BMF… ahem… our hares BMF and Conchsibitionist kneeled before our esteemed RA XSNRG.  We then met two virgins, Just Cristoff-mon and Just Chuck, and were joined by three Columbian wanna-be virgins, their voluptuous leader proudly and loudly displaying a beer-filled coffee mug, begging to come with us.  Sadly, without bikes, they were left behind in the vast and desolate beaches of Key West.  

A beer near was found soon, and from there two different stories.  Some say a homeless man stole the pre-set beer, others say the hash just missed it.  But shortly after, as the hash bore down on our hares, an impromptu beer stop suddenly appeared in front of Manhoes.  Wait… don’t we know the people who live at Manhoes?  And aren’t they hashers?  Hmm, apparently the “I’m sick” excuse used earlier wasn’t coordinated with the roommate, who called out Little Slit That Could and Limp Locomotive as having left on the scooter earlier.  Fail.

On on!  Two shot stops followed, highlighted by the presence of two police cruisers at each shot stop.  Finally, we arrive at the Coast Guard base on Trumbo for circle.  There were a few charges, including the hares marking an “exchange bikes” stop too much like a “music” stop.  The hares also paid for their shitty fucking trail.  Then the virgins (four, we picked up a couple on the ride).  First were the two who came via hashers; Just Cristoff-mon pleased the ladies, and Just Chuck led us through a pretty awesome traditional Hawaiian chant.  And then the random virgins gave us all a show with Just Drunk Girl (sorry, couldn’t understand her slurring) standing with her bewbs pushed up and out of the bra, panties shoved to the side, and her boyfriend (NOT HUSBAND, NEVER GETTING MARRIED… that wasn’t slurred…) wearing her sun dress and nothing else.  **Sigh**  Too bad, because these clown babies would be textbook hashers if it were remotely possible for them to remember anything from the hash.

And finally to the good stuff… the naming of a hasher!  And not just any harriette, but our beloved Just Maggie.  She proudly dropped trau, flipped up her tutu, and sat on the ice.  I make no promises of the accuracy of those statements.  Except for the fact that she has had a fist up a penguin’s anus.  I definitely heard that.

At the deliberations, Traveling Fister came first, then “Dead Head” related shit.  Then Penguin Fister, which evolved into Terrapin Fister, and Flaming Fister and Dead Fire Fister. The Q&A was reviewed, more personal stories were discussed, and then XSNRG was struck by the lightening of Zeus.  He randomly said Dead Travelin Fister, and clarity settled upon the KWH3.  DTF.

Congrats, DEAD TRAVELIN FISTER!

On after at Backspace, with the patio reserved (cornhole!) and 2 for 1, followed by the obligatory Don’s (jenga!).  What a shitty fucking night.

After a full day of drinking brunch at the Hot Tin Roof with Rumspringa and her better half, Just John and I marched to the local CVS to buy the required uniform of the day’s hash:  Granny Panties.  Yes it’s true, Just John did own granny panties in the past, but due to the unhygienic skid marks those horrible underthings were voted unacceptable for the public eye and promptly set afire on a Viking burial ship.  Eventually we then made our way to the on-start at Shanna Key ready to join circle promptly at 6:30pm.  Yet……..it was not to be.  Since several wankers decided to no-show due to their alleged copious alcohol intake sometime in the previous 24 hours, there was then a mad scramble by the fully costumed hares (4” Spike and Menage A Neuf) to obtain the (un)Official Record Book and the Sacred Drinking Vessel from two separate locations.   I should mention that 4” was wearing the sexiest granny smock/dressing gown I have ever seen and somehow Neuf managed to cram all of his abundant package into some very silky granny panties.  Anyhow, never one to linger aimlessly, I cracked a can of sacred nectar and started obtaining Hash Cash which was then temporarily deposited in the waistband of my own voluminous striped granny panties.  Finally, circle was called and the Hares were Blessed appropriately.  Some introductions took place for benefit of the virgin Just Chase and the returning hasher Tiny Testes. Some disappointment was discussed at the lack of tit and/or dick checks.  Some excitement was expressed at the introduction of Jell-O shot checks! And then we were off!

Trail was very straightforward.  And by that I mean every mark could have been a true trail mark when you really think about it.  Every. Single.  One.  I actually saw a few people nodding off while running/walking.  We started with climbing some razor sharp coral to go traipsing through a promising bit of shiggy in the form of smelly seaweed on a private beach.  Shortly thereafter, we had our first beer check at Salute’s.  Realizing this was a good sign and that our beer would be cold at the beer checks today instead of lukewarm in garbage bags on the side of the road that may or may not have been stolen or pissed on by Key West’s esteemed homeless, morale lifted.  Then more trail of the boring nature.  A silence fell upon the pack much like the silence of the KWH3 Facebook page when a hare is called forth to run the next week’s trail. After stops at Don’s Place, the shitty Barrel Head bar below Thai Island, and my house for the liquefied Jell-O-shot check, we ended at Shanna Key once again.  Once all had gathered, the RA laid trail to the parking lot next to Shanna Key and then we circled.  Due to time constraints and yipping of the pack for virgin blood, only 5 or 6 accusations were made.  The hares were called out for their shitty (long!) trail, the fake whichy way with the true trail mark on top of it, and the shitty, shitty liquid Jell-O shots – some of which contained Fireball, Jim Beam, AND vodka.  No wonder they were liquid. They were so disgusting, there’s still a full tray sitting in my fridge right now.  Actually, as of now there’s a little less than a full tray, but I’m writing the damned hash trash so I’m allowed to have a few at 11am.  Conchcebitionist, XSNRG, Mu-Sick and some others were called out for tech on trail.  A few non-participatory wankers were called out for not participating in the granny panty theme, which definitely confused the non-hashers we ran by.  FRB HNIC was crowned/chained.  Virgin Just Chase was made to cum by Bahama Mama Fucker and the chicks were given additional fodder for their spankbanks.  Some other chatter happened and then circle was closed because we had to make it to erections before people started passing out in a drunken stupor or nominating the chickens in the parking lot for MisManagement.  The on-after was split between Shanna Key and then Don’s Place, where hundreds of people had gathered to congratulate us and then afterwards see the Mayweather/Pacquiao fight.

Erections Results:

GM:  7 Shooters Up the Ass

RA:  XSNRG

Scribe/Hare Raiser/Hash Trash:  Conchcebitionist/Just Maggie/Just Stephanie

Haberdashery:  Begging Brother Banger

Hash Cash:  HNIC