On the first day, there was beer, and the wankers saw that it was good.  On the second day, there was hashing, and the wankers saw that it, too, was good.  But some, claiming that they "had a life" whined that they could not hash on weekends, and so the hash gods spake, "Let there be weekday hashing in AVL!"  And there was, and the wankers saw that they had really screwed the pooch.

 

After leaving a smattering of chalk and no other useful information about the trail, the hares took off from the Skatepark, leaving JtR to give chalk talk and do whatever else it is he does with virgins.  The trail promptly split, one half leading hapless NFN Michael to r*n alone on some prior week's trail, the old chalk from which wickedly coincided with the fresh flour.  He was not to be seen again for some time.  The fantastically well-marked and tasteful trail proceeded to wend through downtown and into a check-back which everyone claims they "totally called that deception" but intriguingly every one of them r*n all the way down to the CB, nonetheless.  Trail proceeded though a halfassed, piss-poor attempt at shiggy, then up a nasty little hill before depositing the worthy hounds at beer check #1, generously hosted by Beer Pimp's soon-to-be-ex friends.  "What's this?  Multiple beer checks on a weeknight trail?"  The first rule of hashing is THERE ARE NO RULES IN HASHING.

 

Prying themselves away from the beer, the hares departed BC#1 and finally brought trail off the pavement, for a fun jaunt through fields, hobo camps, and a nasty little YBF which was even more demoralizing than the hares could have hoped.  Beer check #2 was most notable for our surprise reunion with long-lost NFN Michael, who had zenned his way off the old trail and back on true trail in the ruthless pursuit of beer.  Honors!  Things got even better with the surprise arrival of jello shots, which were so large that even the sluttiest harriettes could barely consume them in a single mouthful.

Amidst grumbles of having to work in the morning and other such nonsense, the hares finally led the pack ON-IN at Broadways, where Beer Pimp totally hooked us all up and we had a rockin' circle on the deck.  NFN Michael had stunningly become FRB, while Jack the Ripper sullied his already-questionable reputation by last-minute autohashing.  The hounds were eventually released into the night to stumble home and spend Wednesday bitching about how the trail went too late.  At least the hares had a good time. . .