Of course we were all excited to celebrate the
40th anniversary of the first beer-can to fly by Mercury,
the red planet! Who doesn't love the image of a very large beer-can
squirting propellant through outer space, the reddish hue of a Pale
Ale, or better yet, an Irish Red Ale. We owe thanks to Veni VD Vici
for graciously hosting the event at his building's quincho, which was
suspiciously close to a stable orbital trajectory altitude and at
least as cold once again, promoting the camaraderie and esprit de
corps necessary to survive these little trials while making merry. To
be fair, the RA is personally responsible for the cold, so no points
lost for Veni VD Vici.
After a brief introduction, the dropping of the
bags, and a good deal of organizational finesse from Prune, who
handled the baggage claim with not a single backpack ending up
accidentally in Muncie, IN, we offed to reconnoiter a truly
treacherous trail laid by our visiting dignitary from NC, Glitter
Puss, and his valiant ward Just Joao.
And what a trail it was. One would think that in a
posh neighborhood in an old Latin city, where many a century the
sidewalks have seen only lightly dusted spats on elegant shoes
promenading right beside the genteel clacking of fine mahogany
walking-sticks, a trail could be nothing if not placid, but Glitter Puss and Just Joao had something else entirely in store for us. It
was like entering the Minoan Labirynth. More checkpoints than trail
markers, constant uncertainty, and repeated expeditions in directions
that led to nowhere! It was a Hitchcock thriller – the upsetting
part!
Thank our pagan gods for the beer-stop. It was good,
and there was beer. A second stop had to be pruned from the march due to
time constraints and the loss of many souls in the treachery of the
tortuous trail through the vast bourgeois savannah that lay between
us and more cold beers, but hashers are made of strong stuff, and so the sacrifice was handled with very little crying and whining.
Many having forsaken the faith and made their way
back to home base for safety and a little beer, we gathered for the
circle, which was led with humor and grace by Sir Acting Semen, with
your humble servant, Multiple Entry, performing duties pertaining to
the faith. Many down-downs were administered in the wake of some
lacking hasherdashery, minor indiscipline, and a most
terrible(excellent, that is) trail, which garnered a spectacularly
low(good) score on account of its unusual treachery and other proper
hash behaviors.
Piss-pouring was handled with grace and aplomb by
Prune, Veni VD Vici, and Sir Acting Semen, as virgins were introduced,
and rules explained. At first some didn't get it, but they came
around.
See how Our Lager makes everything better?
A baptism eventually took place: welcome, one and
all, One Erection to the fold. We had a good view of the latest
centerpiece in the architectural lanscape that is Santiago, the
Costanera Center, tallest building in Latin America, if you can
believe those measurements... Worn down by the relentless
interrogation that is part and parcel for the induction into such an
elite and selective group as the H3, our newest disciple confessed,
under duress, that she once had a very intimate meeting in that very
building with every member of the musical luminaries known as One
Direction. She confided that between the lot, theirs perhaps
constituted one single adult-sized erection, and so that became her knighted name.
We concluded amidst much rejoicing for the
capitulation of the circle, as Archisexual Dancer and Last to Come
tended the grille and provided the stuff of life: Let them eat
Choripan!
Obviously, no one gets along in this group...
Once again a big thanks to Veni VD Vici for
hosting, Sir Acting Semen for his flawless General Mismanagement,
Glitter Puss and Just Joao for bravely forging a trail where none
had been forged, Prune and Mariachi Masturbator for baggage handling
that involved no unintended reroutings to Muncie, IN, Prune, once again,
for organizational and Piss Pouring grace under pressure, Moon Job
for being the responsible one with assiduous record-keeping re.
namings, hash cash, etc., Bi-weekly Deposit and Archisexual Dancer
for beer-meistering, possibly the most important and pivotal
contribution to making us worship our lager, Last to Come for the
excellent photography, and once again, Prune and Stroke My Bono for
handling hasherdashery duties.
In the end, the group dispersed into multiple
after-parties, with all invited to every one and sad to only have the
ability to attend one at a time. Some may still possibly be there...
