Hash Trash #146
Hares:Big Shitter and Ass to Mouth
There is a point when growing up when you feel like you are getting
fucked around and made to go this way and that just because you are a
kid and your parents are them. They tell you to go take out the trash
or clean your room. You really don't want to, but there is this
innate sense of guilt and family that prods you to. Call it an
instinct if you will. It's the same thing that makes the crack whore a
mindless drug addicted sex machine. It's also the same thing that
makes conservatives continue to think that the media and Hollywood are
to blame for everyone's troubles. I am sure that one abortion that
the chick from that movie got made the whole country go down the
fucking tube. For this same reason, I will fallow almost any trail to
the end for beer. You see, it made no sense for any of us who spent
the 30 minutes or so looking for Shitter's trail to continue looking
just for beer. We all knew where the bar was and could have been
there in 15 minutes, but we kept beating a dead horse and looking for
the fucking trail. You weren't there for the trail, that's fine, as
long as you have done one shitter trail, you know what you missed.
The trail started at the Brass Horse Saloon. The Horse as I will call
it was the last holdout in the no smoking crusade that had just swept
over Portland. I think the owner gets kickbacks from Marlboro for all
the smoke that was still in this bar. The walls were stained brown
and I had to be reminded that they were initially white. They
probably could have served me horse meat and I would have eaten it
because my taste buds were so fried.
We started out down Washington. It became apparent that we were
headed for Mt. Tabor and the magical reservoirs. After some
obligatory winding through the neighborhoods we started gaining
elevation. As usual, Twat and Hydro were leading the pack. O made
his damndest attempt to remind us that whistles and calls are not
really optional. I wonder if he ever goes home and slowly plans our
demise for not being vocal. I remember the topics of conversation
were "how is shitter going to fuck us this time" and "to bad this
wasn't last week because we would have been in the snow." In no time
at all we had arrived at the campus of a religious institution in
Portland. I don't remember the name, but I do remember hoisting a
beer for God.
After the BN, we quickly made towards Mt. Tabor. There was some
discussion along Stark as to where to start up the park, but
eventually we found trail up by the main road. I listened to a
particularly vigorous discussion on the merits of rubber vs. latex as
a costume idea for the upcoming rubber ball. I prefer painted latex
myself. Not near the genitals however as it tends to remove hair.
The last time I hashed on Mt. Tabor was the first time I met Papst
Smear and String Cheese. They were cleansing their bodies on a diet
consisting of water, syrup and cayenne pepper. I reminded them of
this and my first impressions were that they were "Portland people."
String Cheese thought it funny that I had this initial impression, but
after talking to her she understood how I would feel that way. Thank
god they are totally different people from my first impression. I
wonder what people thought of me and Man Milk?
After wandering around Mt. Tabor and contemplating what would happen
if we peed in the reservoir we came to a halt. At the bottom of the
hill the trail went behind a tree line. We followed the trail
diligently but continued to come up short and loose the trail.
Tinkerbell, Stinky and the rest of our party spent a good part of an
hour looking for the correct trail--- cursing Shitters name the whole
time. Eventually O came up with the idea of calling Shitter from his
phone. He looked up the number and dialed. I don't really know the
entire conversation but apparently his Big Shitter was a German woman
who thought that O wanted to shoot a Scheizen video with her. This
got us nowhere and we continued on.
Eventually we got tired of trying to find trail and figured that
frostbite would set in before we did. I had high hopes of seeing a
dead hobo from freezing, but was not rewarded. We wound our way back
to the Horse and lo and behold, Shitter and Ass to Mouth were there.
This made us feel slightly better as did the fact that we saw a direct
line of flour starting two blocks before the bar. Why the man holds
onto his precious flour is beyond me.
Roasting the hares became a big game at the circle as we tried to
outdo one another in general insults. Eventually we left happy and
slightly inebriated. It's amazing how beer will calm the mood of an
angry mob. Put a pint of suds in my hand and I will even forgive my
best friend for sleeping with my girlfriend in college. That pain
took awhile to get over especially because he did it with me in the
same room and told me to, "Be quiet bitch, I am trying to get my puss
on."
Snotty
