Run #330: Deep in Ball End

Welcome to the disaster class that was Run #330. Our illustrious hare, Y2KYJelly, decided to host us from Ball (or Bag) End—proving once and for all that a massive dick does indeed reside at that address.
Here is the official log of our suffering:
The Stealth Mission & The Banshee
We kicked things off by sneaking onto the “slim one’s” golf course under the pathetic guise of being incognito. Eno was practically weeping with joy at finally making it to a fairway—a monumental athletic achievement that surely would have made WTFAI shed a proud tear.
By the halfway mark, Jelly masterminded a brilliant ruse: “Turn off your lights and shut up, we’re trespassing!” Naturally, this wasn’t for our safety. It was an elaborate setup for him to scream in a tunnel like a startled banshee just to see us jump.
The Code Brown
Give the hare credit: the scare tactic worked flawlessly. It worked so well that Baah Sinister was immediately terrified into dropping his kids off at the pool. This blatant act of child abandonment in a public dunny would rightfully earn him a charge in the circle later as the pack’s resident “chocolate soft-serve dispenser.”
The Wrong Hole
Enough about fecal matter, back to the “running.” After misleading the pack through a truly pathetic excuse for a bushwhack, we naturally arrived at the wrong hole. Finding the wrong hole is a lifelong affliction many of our Hashers continually strive to overcome, but Jelly just desperately feigned navigational competence until we miraculously stumbled back onto a cart path.
Following a few pointless checks and on-backs, a search party had to be mounted for the wayward Arsenic and Miscarriage, while Baah and our shiny new front-runner mathematically calculated the fastest, most cowardly sprint home.
Gourmet Garbage & E. Coli Cocktails
Surprise! There was no drink stop. Jelly claimed this was because we had a “drink start”—a truly groundbreaking innovation that definitely hasn’t been a thing forever. Naughty Jelly.
However, the post-run feast was annoyingly impressive. A meal that would make the gourmet Hash wildly jealous was served on actual plates with actual cutlery. Since the host (Ballbags) made the fatal error of leaving his home unattended, we treated the venue like a Greek taverna. Once the music hit, the plates were smashed. We briefly entertained the stupid idea of cleaning up, quickly regained our senses, and moved straight to the booze.
Tequila is apparently contraband now, so we found a willing Sailor and drowned him in Coke. Mmm, warm rum.
The buzz was somewhat ruined when Arsenic realized—several sips too late—that Baah had dispensed the ice with his bare hands. Yes, the same bare hands fresh from his public dunny soft-serve session. We have no idea if that bathroom had toilet paper or running water, but hey, we’re Hashers. We’re tough enough to wash down our warm rum and Coke with a healthy garnish of E. coli.
The Circle of Feelings
To cap off the evening, Miscarriage decided to grace us with a heartfelt TED Talk, claiming we are all horrible people and that our relentless bullying is the reason Pepe left.
We listened carefully, while he read some dribble about being nice, no bullying and if you feel unsafe to contact admin… took his feelings into deep consideration, and—as expected—told him to promptly fuck off before getting right back to the nastiness. This is Covid Rehash, mate, not Rainbows-R-Us.
Final Thought:
We will subject ourselves to this entire miserable charade again next week—assuming the rest of you delicate flowers haven’t offended yourselves into permanent exile.
On On,