On-in,

I do not wish to alarm you but this trail upset my stomach to the point I will be on sabbatical next weekend in an effort to recover from a bout of PTSD-Post-Trail Syndrome Displeasure. In fact, just this morning, I booked a trip to beautiful Santa Barbara where I will spend next weekend.

However, prior to attempting to recover my health, I will discharge my duty as Scribe, one of the many things I intend to discharge soon, and recount the failure that was Trail 595 in hopes it shan’t be repeated again.

Things began pleasantly enough. We ensconced ourselves at The One-Double-Oh-Seven Club and began our efforts to deplete the bar. As is typical of late, the pack began small but grew to a respectable sixteen hounds and two lousy hares by on-out time. One-half of our hare-pair, My Little Bony, is on the downhill side of a seven day drunk. The only laudable action he performed tonight was to stumble to his nearby house and let his housemate’s girlfriend in. Personally, I wish he’d stayed the hell home but, miraculously, he found his way back to the Double-Oh. Banana Basher drank for two while the Bony one was away. Their Instructions of Trail were almost non-existent except for making the claim that a Beer Check existed. That’s all I ever want to hear from these two jokers anyway. They outed themselves into the alley between the Double-On and The Bicycle Trip leaving a hare arrow in their wake. These two appear to have a propensity for alleys. Continue reading Hash 595: Seabright at it’s WORST!! →