As I walked up towards Bloor Street re-reading the e-mailed trail erections for the fifth time, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t quite right. Then it hit me… Moonman was obviously suffering from WeakLink Syndrome (the illness that makes a hare incapable of providing correct directions to a trail’s start location). Moonman’s symptoms undeniably demonstrated that the disease was in its advanced stages as he had somehow managed to supply the wrong instructions for getting to his own house. For a brief moment I felt some pangs of sympathy for the poor half-minds who might actually get lost as a result of Moonman’s unfortunate condition. However, I quickly snapped out of this uncharacteristically charitable frame of mind - reminding myself that at least I knew exactly where I was going and that nobody else really mattered.

I made it to Runnymede station just in time to catch the northbound bus. It was here that I ran into Just Like Tarzan. I pretended I didn’t see him, but his keen jungle senses picked up my presence and he waved me over. At first I was afraid he might publicly humiliate me again by practicing his chimpanzee calls and beating his chest with his fists. Fortunately he seemed more interested in discussing Toronto’s failed Olympic bid and my concerns of being banned from the TTC for life quickly faded away.

Just Like Tarzan and I arrived at the start location (Moonman and FLAB’s house) just as the pack was beginning to assemble. I immediately noticed that something was amiss. It appeared that at least two of the harriers present (Moonman and Shadow) had experienced fashion emergencies that morning and had called Trix R 4 Prix for advice (as all three idiots were wearing the same shirt). After the usual mingling and polite small talk, Birdbrian circled up the pack and we were finally on our way.

The pack soon found a check on Runnymede, just north of St. Clair. Here the majority of the lazier half-minds stopped and waited for the overachieving FRBs to find true trail. However Easy Bush had more ambitious plans in mind. She realized that the check provided her with the perfect opportunity to entertain the pack by staging an impromptu Biblical play (Old Testament, of course). Sadly, she was unable to re-enact her all-time favorite: "The Flood Story" (since we couldn’t find any puddles and Shadow’s offer to create one was quickly turned down). But this religious-minded and persistent harriette soon spotted a fruit tree and realized this natural prop was exactly what she needed to teach the heathen pack about original sin. She promptly removed all of her clothing (modestly placing fig leaves in various strategic locations) and began to pick the fruit from the tree’s branches. Unfortunately the Garden of Eden analogy was lost on most of the pack, who were more excited about the prospect of free food than free education. The only concern that held back some of the more discriminating half-minds was the fear that this fruit might have bugs in it ("like it did on Survivor"). Easy Bush, upset that her artistic talents were not being appreciated, put her clothes back on and stormed away in disgust. Soon an "On On" was heard and the pack set out on trail once again.

The hares’ marks then led us towards a row of picturesque new houses that, from afar, looked like a new homeowner’s dream come true. However the pack was in for quite a surprise... Have you ever wondered what would happen if someone took ten square blocks of meat-processing plants, bulldozed half of them and then built a housing development on the newly freed-up land? (I know I have.) Would the putrid aroma from the remaining processing plants waft over to the perfectly identical brick houses? (Yes.) Would it reek of dead farm animals so strongly that you’d rather smell a hasher’s fart than relax in your new back yard? (Yes.) Would the stench be so repugnant that you’d want to run away from the neighbourhood faster than you’d run towards a beer check? (Definitely not.) Is mad cow disease airborne? (Difficult to tell since everyone running trail was already an imbecile.)

Fortunately the marks soon took us away from this marvel in urban planning and we were once again able to take a breath without feeling the urge to chew our cud.

After this lesson in the dangers of new home ownership, the pack followed the trail south through the Home/Business Depot and Canadian Tire parking lots and then east across Keele Street. Here we found the beer check and (to our initial delight) discovered that the hares had imported some fine brew from the great Nuclear Power/Jerry Springer Country to the south. While some of the pack pondered the dangers of mixing Rednecks, armed warheads and the phrase: "Watch this!", Moonman and FLAB proudly described how they had picked up the cheap beer on some side road while returning from Cory (the site of the Eerie H3 weekend). However the pack did not share their enthusiasm. We had quickly discovered that beer brewed by digitally challenged individuals (i.e. people with less than the full compliment of fingers on each hand) tastes strange. (Maybe that’s what happened to the missing fingers.) But being the discerning individuals hashers are known to be, we consumed it anyway.

Suddenly the pack was interrupted by the late arrival of New Shoez. He claimed that he had been delayed by some poor short-cutting choices. However the Hogtown pack knew that a badly bruised butt was the real reason for New Shoez’s tardiness. It was common knowledge that in exchange for room and board, New Shoez was permitting Birdbrian to use his ass as a target for practicing his PghH3 Schpanking technique. If nothing else, our GM is certainly a perfectionist!

After finishing the American piss provided by our hares, we once again set out on trail. We encountered railroad tracks (but no train) and soon found ourselves back at the hares’ house. Having spent the better part of half-an-hour inhaling the noxious fumes produced by the meat-processing facilities, the hares naturally assumed that the pack would have an appetite for hot dogs and hamburgers. Fortunately FLAB had made a large batch of salsa and most of the pack chose to get their nourishment from this food source and left the BBQ’d lips and asses untouched.

Birdbrian handed out down downs to the following nitwits:

FLAB and Moonman – for being the hares
Didgeridoo and Just Mary – for back-sliding
Just Mary – for wearing a hat while doing a down down
New Shoez and Moonman – for stealing stuff in Eerie
Shadow – for losing his tags in Eerie
H2HO – for saying "You can’t say Cunt in Canada"
Trix R 4 Prix, Moonman and Shadow – because they all wore the same hash shirt
Didgeridoo and Prince Valium – because they’re moving to Germany
Moonman – for living up to his name and randomly mooning people on the street
Easy Bush – for stealing fruit from a tree
Shadow and Mrs. Robinson – for auto-hashing
Sex Toy – for being perfect
New Shoez – for being an FRB who was DFL at the BC
New Shoez – Rebound – for making weekend accusations (what goes on the road…)
FLAB – for pimping pussy on trail
Mrs. Robinson and Giggles – because they were looking for pussy on trail
Dr. DooLittle – because it was her b-day

On On
H2Ho