Pre-fib...
Since, as you all know, I type this blog with my tongue, I will probably limit the copy due to a sudden case of strep. I know, I know. Strep throat, not strep tongue - thank you Mr. and Ms. Science. But the ache limits my agility. The case appeared and went full-on in less than 24 hours. Doc Holiday was real impressed, and said so before he pistol whipped me and attached the leeches. Love this new HMO.
Now for the real bullshit.

LAND HO!

Above: After city officials squandered local resources on motorists, Spanish galleons, summoned across time by Houston mediums, transported stranded Hashers down White Oak Bayou on Sunday, sailing directly over favorite Hash territory, and drinking establishments. Exclaimed one hound, who wished to remain anonymous, "Look! I can see my house from here!"

SURF'S UP, MOONDOGGIES~
or, "How Big Was the Hole?"
In whitewater talk, a hole is the space in front of, or between big ass waves. SO here's a tonesetting joke:
"How many whitewater paddlers does it take to screw in a lightbulb?" "Just one; and 10 more to talk about how big the hole was..."

As y'all may know, Houston was smited this weekend with floods and locusts. Damn the press - they always leave out the locust part. Bad for crop $tocks. That's why blogging is so important in the face of all this deception... ANYWAYS, after the first day of rain (before reaching the levels pictured above), the bayous were canoe/kayak-able, if you don't mind 4 foot standing wave trains and gnarly trees and garbage wrapped around the sometimes narrow bridge pilings, and hitchhiking/suicidal fish. The fish tried to kill me at the very end, but I didn't fret, 'cause this ZZ Top-lookin' guy with a Big Staff came and parted the waters while I escaped. Lucky I wasn't Hungover... But I can only lie for myself. Since this isn't Hash Trash, my fellow paddlers, should they choose to reveal themselves, will have to embellish their own ride - but they have a better story!