15 July 2008
91. Where's the TP?
Southern Comfort H3 - 4 July 08
It's difficult to look back on this long weekend and realize that there was stuff I actually missed. My hashing trifuckta started Friday night with Southern Comfort. But I guess the major festivities started with Painful Member on Thursday night and continued on to the Peachtree Pub Crawl Friday morning. Let's not forget the bar on-after and the on-after-after pool party Friday afternoon.
So apparently, hashing three straight days isn't even good enough. Well, fuck it. I've got shit to do.
We gathered under the shadow of I-85, way inside the perimeter for SCH3 #678. I guess it would be where midtown and Buckhead meet. We pulled up to find Runs Down My Leg preparing for his haring duties and other various hounds waiting for the chase. Not surprisingly, most of the pack rolled in relatively late due to the incredible amount of hash hangovers and such. Runs Down shuffled off, claiming he only needed a 30-second h*ad start. I guess the pack didn't believe him, because we still gave him 5 minutes and then didn't really try to hard to leave on time.
We left the Definition 6/Public Storage lot on Monroe and stumbled to Armor Drive to find a check directly under I-85. That led to some shiggy and railroad tracks and more shiggy bordering I-85 and then a golf course. Maybe Ansley Golf Club? Then maybe the south fork of Peachtree Creek?
Notice the question marks. That's because I have no idea where we were and my GPS crapped out. All I know is that our demonic hare decided to take us on an epic hydrohash that had us in the water for maybe an hour. Granted, Read My Boobs and I were DFL's and quite slow this time around, but we weren't too far behind everyone. It was the last set of railroad tracks that finally put the F in Dead Fucking Last.
We got out of the creek and crossed some shiggy to the tracks, where we found two pieces of TP. That's it. Two. The previous pieces of trail had been exceptionally marked, so we knew something was wrong. RMB was looking through shiggy as I ran about a quarter-mile eastward down the racks. Nothing. We met up again, and she went west, while I went east again, hoping to find anything that resembled a mark anywhere along the tracks. I finally called the hare, who assured us that the trail indeed h*aded east, and it must have been the train that blew TP away. Considering that the first two pieces of TP were laying at the edge of the shiggy and not anywhere near the tracks, this probably wasn’t the problem, but it was the only explanation we had at the moment. I hung up and looked for RMB. She was a speck in the distance, and it was getting dark, so it was a dim speck at that. I filled up my lungs and gave my Canadian Goose call two major blasts. We met up near the last mark again and I explained what I had learned.
It was now officially dark enough to start hearing fireworks. We turned around on the tracks and saw them starting at Centennial Olympic Park. We had a perfect view. But we needed to get to beer.
We got underneath the Marta tracks, crossed a creek, hit more non-electrified tracks, crossed a street and saw the On-In. That's when we heard the shouting. It was the pack, looking down at us from the Lindberg Marta Station parking lot, up near the top. Much screaming and cackling was heard by the sufficiently lubed pack, which could have either motivated us to come up and join them, or go the other way and find another group of less verbally abusive drunks to play with. We chose the correct option.
Two hours after we left the start, we grabbed beers and watched the fireworks from our perfect vantage point on the fifth level. And we also found out what happened to trail: some homeless dude saw the TP hanging from the shrubbery next to the tracks and thought he had hit paydirt, pulling maybe 1/2-mile of marks so he could wipe his ass with something besides leaves for a few days. Dane said she even tried to get him to pony up some squares and he refused. She finally coaxed him out of a couple strips so the hounds could try to fill in some more of trail.
With the entire pack together, we decided to go up to the top of the parking deck and were doubly entertained by two sets of fireworks; from the Park, and from Lenox Mall. And the Lenox set was even better. Circle was held back on the fifth level at a section where there were no cars and just a few groups of civilians walking through. One of the highlights was RMB’s boob sister House of Boobs getting the first-timer treatment. If you don’t know what the treatment is, maybe you need to show up so you can get the same special attention.
May the Hash Get a Piece
It's difficult to look back on this long weekend and realize that there was stuff I actually missed. My hashing trifuckta started Friday night with Southern Comfort. But I guess the major festivities started with Painful Member on Thursday night and continued on to the Peachtree Pub Crawl Friday morning. Let's not forget the bar on-after and the on-after-after pool party Friday afternoon.
So apparently, hashing three straight days isn't even good enough. Well, fuck it. I've got shit to do.
We gathered under the shadow of I-85, way inside the perimeter for SCH3 #678. I guess it would be where midtown and Buckhead meet. We pulled up to find Runs Down My Leg preparing for his haring duties and other various hounds waiting for the chase. Not surprisingly, most of the pack rolled in relatively late due to the incredible amount of hash hangovers and such. Runs Down shuffled off, claiming he only needed a 30-second h*ad start. I guess the pack didn't believe him, because we still gave him 5 minutes and then didn't really try to hard to leave on time.
We left the Definition 6/Public Storage lot on Monroe and stumbled to Armor Drive to find a check directly under I-85. That led to some shiggy and railroad tracks and more shiggy bordering I-85 and then a golf course. Maybe Ansley Golf Club? Then maybe the south fork of Peachtree Creek?
Notice the question marks. That's because I have no idea where we were and my GPS crapped out. All I know is that our demonic hare decided to take us on an epic hydrohash that had us in the water for maybe an hour. Granted, Read My Boobs and I were DFL's and quite slow this time around, but we weren't too far behind everyone. It was the last set of railroad tracks that finally put the F in Dead Fucking Last.
We got out of the creek and crossed some shiggy to the tracks, where we found two pieces of TP. That's it. Two. The previous pieces of trail had been exceptionally marked, so we knew something was wrong. RMB was looking through shiggy as I ran about a quarter-mile eastward down the racks. Nothing. We met up again, and she went west, while I went east again, hoping to find anything that resembled a mark anywhere along the tracks. I finally called the hare, who assured us that the trail indeed h*aded east, and it must have been the train that blew TP away. Considering that the first two pieces of TP were laying at the edge of the shiggy and not anywhere near the tracks, this probably wasn’t the problem, but it was the only explanation we had at the moment. I hung up and looked for RMB. She was a speck in the distance, and it was getting dark, so it was a dim speck at that. I filled up my lungs and gave my Canadian Goose call two major blasts. We met up near the last mark again and I explained what I had learned.
It was now officially dark enough to start hearing fireworks. We turned around on the tracks and saw them starting at Centennial Olympic Park. We had a perfect view. But we needed to get to beer.
We got underneath the Marta tracks, crossed a creek, hit more non-electrified tracks, crossed a street and saw the On-In. That's when we heard the shouting. It was the pack, looking down at us from the Lindberg Marta Station parking lot, up near the top. Much screaming and cackling was heard by the sufficiently lubed pack, which could have either motivated us to come up and join them, or go the other way and find another group of less verbally abusive drunks to play with. We chose the correct option.
Two hours after we left the start, we grabbed beers and watched the fireworks from our perfect vantage point on the fifth level. And we also found out what happened to trail: some homeless dude saw the TP hanging from the shrubbery next to the tracks and thought he had hit paydirt, pulling maybe 1/2-mile of marks so he could wipe his ass with something besides leaves for a few days. Dane said she even tried to get him to pony up some squares and he refused. She finally coaxed him out of a couple strips so the hounds could try to fill in some more of trail.
With the entire pack together, we decided to go up to the top of the parking deck and were doubly entertained by two sets of fireworks; from the Park, and from Lenox Mall. And the Lenox set was even better. Circle was held back on the fifth level at a section where there were no cars and just a few groups of civilians walking through. One of the highlights was RMB’s boob sister House of Boobs getting the first-timer treatment. If you don’t know what the treatment is, maybe you need to show up so you can get the same special attention.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 5:04 PM 
