Hashers,

For those of you who weren't even there, and that's pretty much
everybody, here's a recap of Friday's festivities.

The "pack" gathered at the S Boulder Rec Center around hash time.  By
"pack", I mean Deep, Cummy, Hood, Half-Cocked, Freudian, Sinbad,
Jennifer (unnamed) and visitors/first-time Flatlanders Birdman, Birdman
Jr, and Split Ends.  Pukahontas participated in his own solo hash, with
a start somewhere down toward Boulder.  Cummy drew the first hare, and
Birdman was rewarded with the Shit, or for those of you who forget how
we do our Mr Happy's-style pickup hashes, the guy who gets to carry the
second bag of flour.  Cummy set off, then returned for some chalk, then
set off again.  The pack followed her trail up(!) toward the flatirons a
ways, then back down (ah...) toward Gillaspie, a bit farther north.  The
hapless hare was betrayed by a bystander with a cellphone, and Hood was
able to nab her.  Hood bolted in the direction of his house, on
Gillaspie on the other side of Table Mesa.  He led the pack through a
rather hostile neighborhood, rife with slack-jawed yokels and angry,
foul-mouthed, threat-spewing homeowners.  Birdman loitered after a
particularly scenic tree-lined propertly line ditch section, hoping to
safekeep his son, who had already managed to find an improvised beer
check at Hood's place nearby.  Cummy the SCB snickered at Deep as he
stared at Hood's house, trying to fathom why it looked so familiar.  The
pack, minus Pukahontas, who was presumably just starting trail,
regrouped, polished off some rather tasty ale, and set off into the
darkness after Hood, who retained a small amount of powder from the
first bag.  The trail snaked behind a row of garages to the point where
the Shit resupplied Hood, then over through the Table Mesa shopping
area, down past a Firehouse, and into the vicinity of Broadway.  A bike
path returned the pack to the start, with Deep nipping at Hood's heels,
but refusing to bite on an orthogonal finish not 50 meters from the
beer.  Pukahontas was presumably navigating the ditch near the hostile
homeowner at this time.  Speculation abounded that he would be captured
and slain by orcs.

Down-downs ensued in what was thought to be a sheltered shelter on the
lakesure nearby.  Turns out, the shelter amplified the minutest of
sounds, which filled the harriers with trepidation and fear of gaining
the Homer J Fong.  The songs were butchered and beer hardly molested, as
the diminutive packed enjoyed themselves briefly, then closed the
gathering in distinctly un-Flatlander fashion.  At this point, Deep and
Cummy rescued Pukahontas a quarter mile from the finish, wandering
off-trail.  Deep's and Freudian's pack arrows had provided some comfort.

On-afters featured five stalwarts feasting on pizza in Half-Cocked's
capacious basement apartment up near campus.  Woe to the returners.

Next hash, which you should feel free to attend, will be a costume hash,
hared by Freudian and Pukahontas in Broomfield or Westminster.

On-on,
Deep