Run 331 – The (Con)Census Run

The “Trail”
After quickly updating the hareline, it became blindingly obvious that the actual Hare was MIA. So, our GM did what GMs supposedly do – he actually showed up and did some work. He laid what was undoubtedly an absolutely amazing trail. It was clearly marked, traversed virgin territory, had well-thought-out guidance, checks, on-backs and… Ah, who am I kidding? We are talking about Arsenic here. It looked like a cyclone came through or a rogue council street sweeper maliciously removed the trail.
That being said, five brave souls entered the forest. Queen Victoria, otherwise known as Y2KYJelly, managed to get us on the wrong path within a record-breaking 30 seconds. I would like to have said it was all downhill from there but Arsenic was involved so naturally it was all uphill.
Blood, Sweat and Fleshlights
Navigating this exploratory hare disaster was shared amongst the five of us. I, Eno, being the new front-running bastard of the group, clearly possess some superior intellect. In a sheer moment of absolute genius (or perhaps just psychic foresight), I paused and stepped to the side. As Jelly eagerly came forward to assume the role of the new leader, he took a blinding stumble and ensured that some precious claret was spilt on the run. Thank you for your sacrifice, Jelly.
In the chaos he also managed to severely fuck his Fleshlight (Google it, Ballbags) – sorry, Flashlight – but miraculously the damn thing still worked.

The Log of Doom
There was an excessive amount of short-cutting and spider-fucking. To ensure that Jelly and I didn’t end up in a perpetual Gurana loop the others mercifully cut through so we would actually see them and take the correct route.
However, although technically doing the right thing and attempting to walk the log of doom, Jelly decided that the concept of time was completely irrelevant. He took over two and a half minutes to navigate a pathetic 8-meter log. Frankly, Baah Sinister has taken dumps with longer logs in a shorter timeframe.
There were various time recordings for the run ranging from 6.7 to 7.3 kilometres. Averaging it out, the official (con)census was 6.9 – the absolute perfect score and distance.

The Circle of Abuse
In the circle we had the usual lashing along with the hateful and deeply hurtful slurs directed at both present and absent hashmen.
* Feelings & Concrete: Some fragile feelings were inevitably hurt and cups of concrete were generously shared.
* Failed Inspiration: We did try to rely on the minstrel words from the Cambodian Hash to guide us on how to be better people – oh wait, that piece of garbage was burnt on the fire. Fuck it; harden up, pussies.
* New Management: There was a major, earth-shattering event with the appointment of a new Sergeant. Watch out, motherfuckers – Sergeant Eno is officially on the job.
* Participation Trophies: Our GM received a brilliant customary over seas travel present from Fresh Meat. He then decided that since there had not been any raffles, we were all winners. Just like a woke soccer team, everybody gets a prize.
* Runner-Up: My spectacular purple spider bowl came a close second to Baah’s photography book; although we all know a book won’t make a single bit of difference to the tragic pictures he takes.

Culinary Excellence and Lockouts
For those of us who were deeply confused and thought we had stumbled into the Gourmet Hash, you were not entirely wrong. We were treated to the culinary excellence of minute steaks (which, for the record, cooked significantly quicker than Jelly walked that log of doom). Be like the steak, Jelly. Just be like the steak.
To ensure we didn’t have an easy exit, some cunt decided to lock the main gate. Fortunately our side-exit gate was easily accessed sans the mud, although Fresh Meat was frothing at the mouth and more than happy to take bolt cutters to the chain if need be.
We do it all again next week.
OnOn,