This is a very important announcement proclaiming that there is no Trash this week. If you read a document identifying itself as the Trash (or trash-- capitalization in this case makes no difference) you would be making a very grave mistake, as if you were Mary Tyler Whore leaving her backpack in the presence of Just Doesn't Get It. You would be no better than Dickweed choosing to run trail, or Zippercised choosing to travel further south than Cesar Chavez. Your fate, indeed, would be in your own hands, Whorifists, or other grasping appendages that you may have at your disposal.

If you were to find such a document, it might seek to tell you about a trail set by hashers claiming themselves to by Miss Delivery and Wrinklepecker. These people, if they did set such a trail, which they did not, were definitely not Miss Delivery and Wrinklepecker. Wrinklepecker was instead at that time leading a children's book session along with Blowqueen, and Miss Delivery was inventorying donations to the local animal cemetery. Reliable sources have assured many responsible parties that there were no flour marks anywhere near Crocker Amazon, and if there were they were clearly used in Just Ben's game of soccer, which is understandable as he does not know how soccer is played.

If you were to check public GPS logging websites, which is always a mistake that only r*cists such as Do Her Well would make, you might think that you see a group of people identifiable as hashers in the vicinity where you might think trail would go. All of this can be easily explained by well-known facts. Fact 1: Who's Your Daddy lost his GPS watch inside of a coyote. Fact 2: Don't Tell My Wife About The Big Cock Chains did just that last week and has been avoiding her ever since. Fact 3: Chicken Bone Her really likes The Broken Record. Fact 4: Udder Moron heard that San Bruno Mountain had the best reception for CSPAN. Fact 5: Brown Eye is conducting an elaborate mating ritual and has volunteered to be studied so long as the documentary is narrated by David Attenborough. Fact 6: Now I Know My STDs.

While we are making announcements, we should clarify for Just Arno some additional, indeed, alternative facts regarding names. Just Arno should know that, much as you can cheat at a marathon and get away with it in this day and age of vast communicative technology, you can also create your own hash name.

Step 1: Create your own hash name. Most of you will get stuck on this step. 

Step 2: Hoo boy, if you thought step 1 was tough, Just Liz, brace yourself, because now you have to create your own imaginary hash. It is advisable that your imaginary hash is located in an imaginary place like Fremont. It is very important that your hash is full of people with silly names like Geordi La Foreskin. Now that we think of it, it is possible that the hash Geordi La Foreskin comes from does not actually exist, and that all people who claim to be members of the Knickerbocker hash are actually being bribed sexually by Geordi in order to prop up his falsehood. If this is the truth, it would be a very large falsehood indeed-- it might actually rate as a cumspiracy.

Step 3: Serve as a member of your imaginary hash for quite some time. You might even stay long enough to become GM of your imaginary hash, after which you will never be seen by your imaginary friends again.

Step 4: Disappear for a while. This is not essential to your plan, but it makes it easier on the rest of us.

Step 5: Emerge back at the hash and announce your new name and new identity. Tell us a detailed story about how you were named and all the people involved. Bore us with the technical details, and stack them one on another so that if something is proven wrong, the whole thing comes crashing down. ('What do you mean, you've been to Fremont?') Finally, be sure to swear to your story under oath both orally and in writing, though mostly orally to The Perfect Woman.

Or you can be like Just Lauren and Leave It To Cleavage.

Incoming: Many lawyers including the revered Hand Pump, Esquire, have informed the drafters of this document that perhaps it could at this stage be taken as Trash. Roman Showers would caution readers not to go one sentence further. It has recently been made illegal by Mismanagement to read, think of, or comprehend anything that might be Trash, retroactive until at least seven years ago, because that is what Circle Jerk told mismanagement what the half-life of retroactivity is.*

In order to keep Three Fingers out of jail, we shall close with a general health announcement to prove once and for all that this document is fully invested in providing for the common welfare and is not spreading rumors, lies, perfidy, or Refuse of any sort. Let it be known that the following items are true and verifiable, or at least that Muff Daddy told the authors of this document some of these things.

Item 1: Certain hashers whose names begin with 'C' and rhyme with 'ockamole' require regular hickeys to stay alive.

Item 2: It has been reported in error that Primal Vagina is having a sober month and has forsaken alcohol. She is actually sober in the sense that the sorry state of this world has left her unable to express joy.

Item 3: Boob Slap has been added to the DSM as a cure for female hysteria.

Item 4: Ru Ru Rimmin did not pay Dr. Bombardier for his last prostate exam.

Item 5: Dick Ass Mother Fucker was recently discovered to be a section of the pancreas.

Item 6: After a disturbing encounter with a bit of dark matter that escaped from Stanford, Douchicorn and Just Stephanie exchanged identities and are now inhabiting each others' bodies. Say hi to Just Stephanie next time you see him.

Thank you for your attention and please forthhence distract yourselves with reading the back of your shampoo bottle the next time the urge to go outside consumes you.

*The half-life of retroactivity, for our more studious readers, is equivalent to the length of time that ABBAH has been letting his German friend stay at the castle, but if you haven't wiretapped the castle like Backside Banger has, it can also be calculated by dividing the length of Masterbaster's leash with the square root of Little Sissy Pants Hasher Boy's attention span.