Somewhere in that magical time between the last murmurs of conversation and the first rays of Sunday creeping over Lake Michigan, the weight of the Hunt finally hit. GASH – and Scav generally – isn’t something people get to be a part of every day. Standing on the back fire escape, sucking down one last cigarette in the desperate push to make it to morning, I looked in through the doors and saw the evening’s skeleton crew, working quietly alongside one another. It was a perfect kind of peace. The sun was just beginning to bloom over the lake, the arm seats on the couches were all occupied by dozing team members, and my friends – my family – passed the time in serene silence. 

Scav happens but once a year – and for those of us on GASH, that’s not even a certainty. Every year, life comes creeping in under the door, nibbling away at our time, our will, our endurance. The excuses multiply. Each of us will have a “last Scav” somewhere down the road. I don’t know where we’ll all be in twenty years, but I am so glad we’re all here, now.



According to John, they first went to acquire sand at Ace Hardware. Finding only enormous bags available, they went to the Point, where they found far too much sand, and had no way of getting it home. When they finally scooped it into a coffee mug and got back to HQ, it was too wet, and smelled of coffee. So they did the logical thing, and baked it. I hear Sleep HQ smelled lovely.

True story


They offered to help us paint. We almost took them up on it before we realized… no.


Why not send Zoidberg?



We thought the benzene did it, until he started flailing at Gerbil’s fingers as he went in for the colonectopy. He then lived through the procedure, only to finally pass when we replaced his bodily fluids with acid. Rest in peace, little roach. You were a fierce opponent.


William the cockroach held on for a full forty-eight hours without oxygen. Finally Gerbil gave up and turned to… darker methods. We’re beginning to wonder if the item is really just about how hard these little bastards are to kill.

Poor turret.


The indignity of it all.