A short and sweet circle-jerk and our 30-some hashers, the greatest attendance Corvallis has ever seen for it’s annual Red Dress event, dashed dashingly down the streets. We serenaded our bartenders and bystanders for far too long at the first beer check at Harrison’s. Then half of us managed a minor derail, due to one misleading check, before all back at the next check.
Next stop was Squirrels, where we stood way too close for comfort, sweating off dem nuts and messing up a few rounds of pool. This time the old ladies gazed and giggled, requesting pictures with our men in red. Another tender serenade and off again for our last bar hop before the final event... when on the way, one of Just Kyle’s supervisors yelled from some shadowy street corner that maybe he should wear something else to work tomorrow. Cue shame sprinting, hysterics and one foreshadowed offense.
The gracious lads at Oregon Trail gave us a quick brews cruise and tasters of their delicious dark sour. We cleared the floor for another long circle, Eugeners shouting out many offenses. Bday boy, Banned FTZ deep-throated one hellish concoction from el vessel de sacredness, then Oregon Trail’s owner/brewmaster/some dude in charge took center and beastily chugged. What began as a mediocre hoorah burst into buffoonish hoots of victory.
On-on to the Peacock, and upstairs to the sultry heaven of red-dressed men and women, like coming home after a long, sweaty street pounding. Cue what some might call dancing. Hey, everyone commend Cockbroker on her peppy 90’s cheerleader moves. I’ve never seen so many successive airborne splits on a dance floor. Also, my apologies to anyone I told to try and punch me so I could put them in a hold. Blame Eggnog. Oh, and best red-dressed goes to Pole Whacker, joining us on-after, in her hellsa authentic Kimono-type apparel.
Anyways, I can honestly say that was the best time I ever had in a red dress. So thanks, hares. You’re the shittiest.