Flatlanders,

For those of you unfortunate to miss this past Friday's hash, here are
the details.

We gathered up in Gunbarrel at a convenient curb, and enjoyed a brief
reunion with Shit, freshly back from a stressful winter of diving in
Honduras, before he and his co-hare, Chacockua, took off in a westward
direction.  There were good numbers, and school was provided for the
handful of virgins.  Then the pack set off in fine Flatlander style,
which is to say, shortcuts were rampant and mainly productive, and we
swept through the neighborhood without much trouble.  The trail soon
turned eastward, and Deep split off from the pack.  As he crossed a
parking lot, he spotted the hares resting on a bridge on the far side of
a ditch and field.  He alerted the pack to his left, which set the
taunting hares scrambling, then crossed the ditch and picked up trail. 
What the hares didn't realize is that Cum Silent had already circled
around pretty much behind them, and he soon sprung his ambush on the
hapless duo.  They split up, and Cum Silent followed the lame duck Shit
for a short distance before recognizing the ploy and applying himself to
the hunt of Chacockua, who he managed to snare some 5 minutes later and
half a mile to the south.  The FRBs, meanwhile, led by Kim (unnamed),
caught up to him, and they set after the hares anew, mainly in a
northerly direction, toward Twin Lakes.  At this point, the Beav sprung
his own trap on Chacockua, in the sense that Chacockua ran right into
him, leading to the second snaring of everyone's favorite chickenshit. 
The pack fanned out when they reached the eastern lake, and eventually
sniffed out trail to the east, where Shit's second lame duck ploy
managed to goad the Beav into a futile attempt at the trifecta and a
face full of dumped flour.  A bit of step-retracing, and the pack was
back at the finish, a newly constructed pagoda we put to good use.

Virgins were christened and many beers consumed, even the skunky ones. 
Then Shit brought out the ice block, and things really got going.  Not
an ass was spared, as we brought out lengthy favorites like "Chicago"
and "Mobile" for the occasion.

On-afters ensued at a Mexican place nearby, where beers became
margaritas, and the evening burned itself out.

We christened the Summer Flatlander season in good style.

On-on,
Deep