We knew we were DOT (Dead on Trail) at the last strand of false tape, the usual front-runners running wild and confused in the distance. So, what should have been a short trail (only 4 miles) turned into a long, hard night of search and rescue. Shitty. Shitty, shitty, shitty. Packs rejoined and slanderously rejoiced at the last Beer Check, which had become a mobile BC by that point. After demolishing our thirst, we booked it for the finish line. As for circle, I don’t recall a thing, except Wiffle’s bat cumming hard on my face. In closing, I can confidently say my first hare experience was a real bust. Thanks, Assbag. You’re a real bag of ass.
Until next hash,
[Editor's Note: The co-hare willing accepts all complements and would gladly lead everyone through darkness, desolation, isolation, dampness, and shiggy all over again.]