In the beginning, G created the hash on the earth, and there was shiggy, and all were merry. Then, after a few hits from his ocean-waterpipe, G was stoned and pondering his next idea. Then he said,"Let there be an InterHash", and the spirit of G moved upon them, and the InterHash was conceived. And G saw InterHash, and that it was good, and the people of Texas were merry and very gay. Henceforth, Texas InterHash was anally celebrated in the most hole-y ways all over Texas, and shenanigans were had by all. G declared that the first 35 years of InterHash would be considered day one, because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
Then G spoke and said "For next year's InterHash, let it be that of an undefiled kennel, one which has not yet allowed my Spirit to cum inside them." And the GM meeting said "Whoa is G, the hole-y one, blessed be his word.". G saw the GMs, and that they were good. And G divided the kennels into those that had held InterHash and those that had not. And G christened those who had held InterHash before Ancients, and those who had not Virgins and he was happy. And the Ancients and the Virgins were parted: with many Ancients on one side and a sole sacrificial Virgin kennel on the other. And the ancients looked unto the virgin and said, "Not it!" And G made the splitting of the Ancients and the Virgin the second day because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
And Cocktor Spork spoke to his barrel of monkeys and said "For G has spoken, we are the chosen people. We shall go forth and be merry and very gay, and throw a celebration for G that is hole-y." And so Cocktor Spork went forth to search for a basilica that could hold the hole-y, and could provide - nay, supply - all that is needed. Cocktor Spork traveled back to the land of wealth and money in The Woodlands and began planning the reënactment of the Court of Caligula. He searched high, and he searched sober, but nothing could be found. And Cocktor Spork wept, and G saw this and said "Dafaq, dude, get it together."Then G said, "That's about enough of that bullshit, let's call it a day."And G ended that period, and called it day three, because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
And forward went Cocktor Spork, looking for a venue that could hold all who would want to cum, and would not in any way limit our hole-y celebration. It began with two or three properties, and then it became dozens, all of which turned the virgin kennel away. "There are too many of you," said one portly land-owner, "you won't be able to squeeze in." And Cocktor Spork laughed and laughed and said "You'd be surprised the large things we can fit into tight spaces." The landowner was not amused. And so, Cocktor Spork continued looking with the help of his disciples, but their efforts were fruitless. "You want to drink wherever you want, whenever you want? You'll never find a place like that!" said a red-hatted man holding a Coors Light can and the better part of 7 teeth, all to himself,"What does this look like, a Casino?" And Cocktor Spork continued his journey, wandering aimlessly through the tundra of southeast Texas within an hour of The Woodlands. And G looked down and said"Try the fuck harder, this is crap. You know what, screw this day, it's over."And G ended that period, and called it day four, because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
The months passed, the search continued, and the disappointments became many. Site visit after site visit, phone call after phone call, e-mail after e-mail, sexual favor after sexual favor, nothing worked out. No person wanted us. No place could hold us. No jurisdiction could handle us. Then came some solid leads, out of nowhere, like a flash. "Go forth!" said G. The relationships began to foster, and all were merry, and it appeared there would be a venue booked before October. "Yay!" yelled Cocktor Spork, "Fucking finally!" Then, without warning, the new venues disappeared into nowhere, like the great balls of Jerico... or was it Jared Leto, who remembers?... "all opportunity shriveled to naught with a final pinprick into his arm". They stopped returning calls. They kept pushing back visit dates. They stopped responding to e-mails. Things seemed like they were hopeless, and we would have to hold this whole thing at an abandoned grocery store somewhere. And G looked down and said "Okay, look, this is some bullshit. Stop going for perfection, and just find a fucking location." And G ended that period, and called it day five, because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
Months in, while speaking with the Disciples, a location was mentioned that Cocktor Spork had heard of before. "Nay," said Cocktor Spork, "I want somewhere unsoiled! I want somewhere pure and unadulterated!" The conversations continued, and the weeks went on, and like Sodom and Gemora, Cocktor Spork was blessed with one of Southeast Texas' finest angels (and if anyone asks, she is of age). He inspected her bossoms and surveyed her plot and it was good. He saw the lakes that looked like boobs, and they were G-worthy. And G spoke and said "Fucking finally. Now, book this bitch and get your shit going. You are stressing me out, let's do this!" Cocktor Spork replied, "Okay, Let's fucking do this!" And G ended that period, and called it day six, because he fucking felt like it, and whoa is G.
Then Cocktor Spork spoke unto G, or the other way around, and they decided when the seventh day would fall. And it was decided, the Hole-y celebration would be held the third weekend of April, during the April Holiblaze, and shall begin on Friday, April 19th. The celebration would continue onto Saturday, April 20th, because, well, it's the fucking Monkeys, and it's 4/20 weekend. Hello. The seventh day would end on Sunday, April 21st. And G spoke unto the hash and said, "Yes, go unto the InterHash and be merry and very gay April 19th - April 21st." Then G spoke and said, "And it shall be held at Liberty Manor in Dayton, Texas, where thine barrel of monkeys and misfits can be merry in the land of burners and kinksters, and it shall be good." Whoa is G.
Then, without warning, the people revolted."NAY!" said the pot-stirrers, "It cannot be that weekend! It is Easter weekend, it cannot be!" Then Cocktor Spork spoke unto them and said:
"Really, though? Really? We held a hash on Xmas Day, and they said no one would cum, but they came en masse. Then we held an event on Thanksgiving weekend, and they said no one would cum, and we sold 200 regos in 24 hours. Then we held an event on Halloween weekend, and they said no one would cum, but again, dead fucking wrong, sold out."
Then G spoke unto them and said,"Really people, it's on Sunday, what do you need the whole weekend for? Leave Sunday morning, go and pretend to like you family, then go home and call it a day like a normal person. I think you can handle that."
Then the Jews said, "NU, it is during Passover, we cannot!" Then Cocktor Spork spoke unto them and said, "Look, Hebrews, I feel you. I too, am Jew. That being said, in looking at all the weekends, all the options, our choices were limited. Other events, both campouts and non, biking events, slutty events, all the events, this was the weekend that we needed. It was not an easy decision, but it was one we had to make. We, the Jews, will do what we can, and we will make it fucking work."
And all was settled. The venue was booked. The date was selected. Things began happening, and everyone was merry and very gay.
