Hares: Hyper Cunt & Alcoholiday
Box: Lake Mead NRA, 6.5 mile parking area on Northshore Road.

Pack (in order of appearance): Gerbil Porn Star, Golden Eagle, Hunka Hunka Burnin' Shit, Blueberry Hill-less, My Hips Don't Lie, Sad Bastard, Pedalfile, Poke-a-Cuntess, Koresh, Premature eWhackulation, Pubic Bear, Richard Pierce

           If you have to ask... (You don't know!)

Mud, Sweat and Beers, with a smattering of shrinkage, and a touch of titty hard-on-on's, might be one description of Sa-TURD-ee's shaggy-rific trail laid by hares-extraordinaire Hyper C*nt and Alcoholiday. One fact remains; one might find it easier to wrestle a halibut from a highly-horny blind lesbian than it would to relate the magnificence of a virgin shiggy trail at Lake Mead to another whom has not experienced it first hand. Therefore, I ask you to close your eyes, put the image of Alcoholiday throwing flour at the earth out of you mind for the moment, and envision pure hashing bliss in a no-longer-connected-to-the-sprinkler-system garden of the gods.

"The Vegas Hashers are Strokes!" - This was not the exclamation of a Vegas visitor returning to his mother hash, but instead the modality hashers needed to employ to access "Beer Check Island." While most, like six-stroke-Sally, Poke-a-Cuntess, crossed what Pedalfile compared to a piss-warm English Channel rather quickly, she bearing a large dingy between her legs, Golden Eagle, crossed at a more leisurely pace. Mai Tais, sour-doo pretzels and cold beer awaited all who braved the white-capped waters at which time My Hips Don't Lie brandished her X-ray super power as she assiduously peered through the jetski racers trunks and confirmed for the harriettes the predicted sizes of their johnstons.

Encore!, D�j� vu?, or "Once More From the Top � With Feeling!" - In line with the spirit of the theatre performance that many Hashers attended that night, we, the remaining members of the Las Vegas Hash House Harriers (Viva, Las Vegas!) decided to present circle, and other post-run shenanigans, in multiple acts. A special, "Thank you" goes to the "first to leave" down-down recipients, Pokey, Koresh, and Premature eWhackulation for warming up the pack.

Dress Rehearsal - As Blueberry and Alcoholiday (HyperC*nt's understudy,) drove the Spammer's back to their vehicles, we, the remaining, bare-bones in appearance but brimming with piss and vinegar, LVHHH (vlv!) pack members followed Koresh's lead at BOX and acclimated transplant, Pedalfile, to LVHHH (vlv!) traditions (of the week) by unselfishly running circle one time through as to relax his amygdala and give him a sense of comfort and familiarity as we would engage in the "real" circle, once the fucking hare got back from fucking-off.

[NOTE: During "Dress Rehearsal," the role of Alcoholiday (the RA) was played by under-studded, Hunka Hunka, the role of Alcoholiday (the Hare) was played by Hare-transplant, Pedalfile, and the role of Blueberry Hill-less was played by Sad Bastard, who, surprisingly, had a song to share when called upon.]

Like the sanguine synchronized swimming of the hashers in the water, the second circle mirrored the first, albeit in a more boisterous and animated way. The content was nearly identical, yet the half-minds of the hashers had been fully lubricated. In cultivating a collective reality of the day's events, "real or imagined" became mostly the things of fairies, giants, dragons and magic carpet rides.

Curtain Call or "But wait, there's more!" - This is where everything turns Dahli-esque. A blanket of stars (and satellites, as soon-to-be-contra-named Gay's OK and ADHD-addled, Gerbil Porn Star, discovered) spread across the sky. A gentle breeze and assorted answers to the question, "Arrrrrooooooooooooooooo!!??!!" wafted over the waters and onto our tiny beach. The wa-hoo sap was flowing, full force, through the veins and half-minds of the remaining hashers. What climatic cherry could these hashers toss on top of this super Sa-TURD-ee spectacle? Why none less than a Contra Circle, a Nekked 10:30/Midnight Hash followed by one final "circle," just in case any absent-minded hasher had forgotten, or finally rubbed two brain cells together and synthesized, a hash crime during the previous three circles. Even though a weathered hash purist might frown upon not waiting until midnight to engage in a "Nekked Midnight Run," we, the remaining high-in-spirit/short-on-smarts pack members were knee-deep in gravel and receiving a sand shower at the aforementioned, more traditional time.

OutCast Party or "Exactly how many beer pitchers does the Lake Mead Lounge own?" - Seven, and each was kept full of the frosty nectar during the on-on-on thanks to resident high-roller and Holey Dick! impersonator Richard Pierce. Pork products and fatty foods were polished-off by the pack. A million dollar jackpot was allegedly won, then lost. Dogs and cats lived together in harmony. Cancer was cured. Health professionals promoted chocolate to the top of the food pyramid. The cows came home, but Richard Pierce is still out partying.

That's all I can remember and I swear it's all true. HH