Flatlanders,

For those of you who weren't even there, or, like Hairy Rim, can't
remember much about what happened, here's a recap of Friday's
festivities.

The pack gathered at some piddly little park up on the Hill, round about
hash time.  It was a glorious pack, featuring many returners, the sort
of pack you might (wrongly) suspect would eat up trail.  Cum Silent's
parents gave us their blessing, and we sent the hares off uphill toward
Chataqua (not Chacockua, who stuck around with the hounds).  3 minutes
later, the pack set off in pursuit, snaking their way up to Cascade,
which they followed through a series of DPs, true trail leading
straight.  Then they came across a DP which would prove pivotal, with a
45 leading down to the right.  The pack split after sniffing out the bad
trails, the sniffing of which included a near piss-snare where Dr D
watered a tree concealing the Beav, then chugged off, oblivious.  The
splinter-pack following uphill eventually turned rightward and downhill,
navigating a series of DPs which led them headlong into the
splinter-pack who had made the fateful decision to turn downhill at the
pivotal DP.  Confusion reigned briefly, until the pack realized that the
hares had connected them in a loop, only to wait its passing to lay a
freshy out of an old DP.  Cummy bitterly tore into the hares, with
profanity which would make even the most hardened halfmind blush, and
with good reason.  For there were DPs on the loop, indicative of true
trail, though truly, true trail led into the DP back on Cascade, and out
sometime later, up toward Chataqua.  A DP-less loop or a double-arrow
crossing would have been a "whole nother" thing.  Questions of style put
behind them for the moment, the packs reunited, minus SCBs, and
ferretted their way into Chataqua, where they encountered a heap of
hare-trodden poison ivy (how's the legs doing?), easy detoured.  Back
out of Chataqua and parallel to another Cummy-maligned trail feature,
the pack eventually found its way back to the beer check at the start. 
At this point, Shit implied that he knew the hares' halfminds on the
matter of trail leading out of the check, though that proved as false as
the bad trails he led us through.  The trail, meanwhile, led down the
Hill and across on University.  The pack made braids with episodes of
brief shortcutting, but managed nevertheless to rally at the second beer
check, at Timmy (unnamed, unhashing)'s apartment near grad student
housing.  As the hares set out to lay part 3, Two Holes and Joe
(unnamed) arrived, panting, flushed, and out of breath.  We didn't ask. 
The pack navigated the difficult stretch west on Arapahoe until they
found a roll of quarters and a map including hopping a bus down to
Greenbriar.  As Hood parcelled out the change, the pack harrassed a
series of bus drivers until they found the one they sought, and, after
stripping the driver of the entirety of his transfers, made their way
south.  The Skip took them past the Hill, which is the last place Two
Holes and Joe (unnamed) were sighted - "Yeah, we're going to... uh...
drive down to Greenbriar..."  Dr D's pack arrow inside the bus led us
safely off the Skip near its southern terminus, where a twisting,
confusing and DP-less trail led down across the disc golf course to the
east.  Deep acquired a souvenir, then joined the rest of the pack across
a condo owner's yard, the condo owner taking pity on the pack for the
hare's brainless laying of powder under his operating sprinklers.  Walk
Like wooed a turtle (not Turtle), then the finish was gained, more as
less concurrently by the entirety of the pack.  Shit showed up sometime
later, after shortcutting the straight, DP-less section of trail.

Down-downs ensued, as 20 someodd halfminds tore into the piles of fine
ale.  They wisely elected to carry on without Blowsis, who was busy
remedying his bug juice oversight.  Returners drank.  The virgin Adam
(unnamed) drank.  Sinbad sang of sailors.  There was one naming of
note.  The wretched puke formerly known as Big Jim Slade (unnamed) now
gladly responds to Half Cocked.  The evening wrapped up nicely, as Hairy
Rim succeeded with his mission to "return knee-walking drunk", though
some might say he was more "brother-dragging stinking near-death
drunk".  Hairy will now answer to such monikers as Pukahontas and
Chunderbunny.  The coolers washed clean with a high-velocity spray from
a garden hose, you'll all be glad to hear.  On-afters continued with
beer and pizza and the hapless Sixers at Hash House I.

Next hash is a week from Friday, hared by Shit and Chacockua, location
TBD.

On-on,
Deep