Of course, I wasn't on site as early as the Hares, who had
been scurrying about since 5 in the morning to prepare for the
Hash and its Hares, no, heirs and assigns. HARD DRIVE greeted
me with a hearty, "What the fuck are you doing here so early?"
Look, enough of this clockwatching, OK? If I'm actually on
time, well, I'm not any happier than you are. SPREAD SHEETS
staggered around in a haze complaining about not feeling well.
I thought that was code for "on the rag," but LICK IT OFF, BABY
corrected me: men are not allowed to make an OTR call. Early
on, there weren't many kids. CUNNING RUNT thought she had
sighted the first Hashling shortly before ten, but it was only
the returning MILK MONEY, still young and innocent (looking) as
a gold medal gymnast. SWEET CHEEKS was grooving on a good hair
day. Usually she looks like a late Friday night, but don't tell
her that: she's getting paranoid about it.
But I had problems of my own. I was hideously unprepared
for the event. Not only had I not brought any family (the
doctors say that FATHER SOX will need at least six more months
to recover from his last encounter with the Hash), but I had
also missed out on the underlying theme to the run: tacky boxer
shorts. Luckily, BRIAN was wearing five pairs of boxers, so it
didn't take much to talk him out of his drawers. If only it
were so easier with that Boy Scout troop.
Mismanagement was misfiring on all cylinders. PIT STOP was
pissed off because she had just returned from a business trip
and hadn't updated the Hash roster. POOP DECK disappeared to
buy last minute supplies (like beer and flour). NO CLASS didn't
know where hubby STEAMER was, but she did tell me that he was
dressed. Since they were extremely late to the Hash, I gather
that clothing was a rather late addition to their morning.
Newlyweds! HareRaiser RUT RO carried the day, explaining the
cryptic Hash markings to a large gathering of virgins, visitors
and the clueless masses.
The Hares were set loose, DR. JEKYLL on foot, the newly-
recast CUNNING RUNT on BIG BERTHA - a bicycle. CROSS HARES
wondered if the RUNT's new cast had cleats on it for traction on
the pedals, but as she careened toward a bridge only seconds
after throwing first flour, it was clear that she hadn't thought
that far ahead. BURNT SOX, POOP DECK and HARD DRIVE led a manic
Father Abraham before setting the Hounds loose on trail. Note
that there were two trails: A grown-up trail, marked with the
usual blotches of flour, and a kiddie trail, marked with a
combination of flour and Trix. Why? Because Trix are for kids,
silly rabbit! On-on.
The trail cut past a swimming pool and into some woods.
Ahh! I love the smell of poison ivy in the morning. Through
these woods, the trail rose up a hill, then followed a path that
led to a BT. I know. I scouted that one, while the pack dove
back into the woods and back onto trail. Out of the woods, I
lost sight of the Hounds until I saw long, tall CHRISTINE
ambling up a residential street. Back out on the street, I
veered off trail to shortcut the FRBs, and halfwits FAMILY
JEWELS and HAWAIIAN PUKE tagged along after me. The second rule
of Hashing: Never follow BURNT SOX.
Reoriented, I soon found the Hounds quenching their thirsts
at a water check...or all the Hounds save one: the mighty BYTE
LIGHTING, who sprinted past the water check, over a fence, and
down a long paved road, to a BT. At least thirty people
followed him, ignoring the first rule of Hashing: Never follow
BYTE LIGHTNING. The efficient yet politically incorrect might
say that we only need one rule, but that's another story,
another Trash.
In time, Dirt Road visitor FIRST TIME ONLY, dog in tow,
found trail back into the woods. The pack got held up at a
creek running through a briar patch. During the resulting
confusion, TOXIC COCK revealed to visitor JOHN the third rule of
the Hash: Nobody likes TOXIC COCK. That's not true, though,
because other Hashers try so hard to be like him. When TOXIC
COCK slipped and fell into a creek, BYTE LIGHTNING mimicked him
and slipped and fell into the same troubling waters.
Synchronized Hashing--a new Olympic event? I'd rather be on
the same team as FRIENDLY THIGHS and CHRISTINE, who announced
"I'm going down" as they tripped their way through the brush.
True to form, CAPTAIN TITANIC managed emerge from the marshy
muck with dry feet. How does he do it?
CROSS HARES, BYTE LIGHTING & I followed trail across a
beautiful, rising, "Sound of Music-Like" series of hills,
popping out at a shopping center on Reston Parkway, where we got
lost again. By this time, the pack was quite ready to drown its
sorrows and ran straight along the Parkway to the On In, back at
the beautiful park. S'NOT gets a gold star for coloring inside
the lines since he was able to follow trail to the finish. The
rest of us were happy with beer.
Yes, there was beer, but nowhere to drink it. The walkers
and short-trailers, led by BAR MAID and BLACK BOX, had returned
the scenic gazebo to find that we had been displaced by some
asshole jerkoffs had actually reserved the picnic area that we
had intended to use. TICK DICK saved the day by quickly finding
a new site on Temporary Road (does anyone see a problem with a
place called "Temporary Road"?), and then he and CUNNING RUNT
gave us contradictory directions to the new ON IN. As soon as
DFL'ers DESK TOP DICK and THE FAT LADY came in, we made like
Hash-a-go-go.
Beer was soon flowing, kids were running around screaming,
and food was on the grill. CUNNING RUNT, gleefully waiving
around a burned phallic dog, riddled us, "What's the difference
between purple and pink?" The gut-clenching answer: "How tight
the grip is." ONLY ON TOP and FUCK ME pointed out an MVH3
failure: we have been giving directions by automobile to the
Hash. They were late to the start because they rode bikes and
couldn't follow the Hotline directions, which of course were
given for cars. From now on, Hares are encouraged to give
directions by car, bicycle, and helicopter, and transporter
coordinates if possible. MISSING LINK took offense when I asked
him if had been on trail at all during the run. As if. I
"butt"-ed in on a conversation with Great Falls visitors KIM,
KIT, LISA, CHRISTINE, MIKE & HOLLOW POINT and made an ass of
myself in the end. I told QUICK DRAWERS' wife that I hadn't
seen her in a while, and she said that she had enough of us
during our last visit to the DRAWERS' estate last winter. Who
can blame her? BLACK BOX reported that the Trix trail was too
short and lonely; most of the kids had taken the long trail!
FURRY LIPS, as usual, insulted me, only to burst into tears when
I told him that he really was related to RAS. I hate to play
tough with kids, but sometimes it's gotta be done.
Without DUAL AIR BAGS' constant carping that it's getting
late, we almost forgot to have a circle. The tough new BURNT
SOX immediately cited HAWAIIAN PUKE and FRENCH TOASTED for a
private party violation: disrespect for the RA will no longer
be tolerated. We then dishonored the Hares to a round of "Row,
Row, Row Your Boat", the RA's way of reminding the crowd that
this was a family hash. Through the rest of the Hash, we did
our best to censor dirty words from our songs. In this spirit
of family values, we honored our anniversarians STEAMER (75
runs), SPREAD SHEETS (95 and not on the rag), and STAINED
SHEETS, ESQ. (275 runs). We found a whole convent of virgins to
welcome: MIKE (so eager to drink that he got to do it twice),
STEPHANIE (too prudent to admit that her father made her come),
KIM, JOHN, CANDACE, DESK TOP DICK, SLIPPERY POLE, POLE CLIMBER
and EAT ME RAW. Birthday visitor TICK DICK also showed his
face. YES DEAR, BLACK BOX, RAS, BAR MAID, S'NOT, MILK MONEY,
STEAMER, FURRY LIPS, WILBUR, KIT, BEER NUTS, CUNNING RUNT, DUMB
BLONDE, & SEXUAL HER-ASS-MENT were the acknowledged returners.
Violations: the Hares for the eviction from the ON IN, a
mechanical advantage, and the RUNT's new cast. How she'll drink
out of that, I don't know. FRIENDLY THIGHS apparently was
spotted engaged alone in safe sex on trail. Hey--why didn't we
give FAMILY JEWELS a Family Day down-down? Asleep at the beer,
again. Late sign-ins were the wayward bikers ONLY ON TOP & FUCK
ME and crazed honeymooners STEAMER & NO CLASS. RAS's tool kit
boxers were acclaimed as the best boxers of the day, even if his
tools are small and he still doesn't know how to use them.
Note that the Haberdashery will be ordering stylin' MVH3
baseball cap, with the beer-tossin' Hare logo. See LICK IT OFF,
BABY and NO CLASS for info (but make sure they're not on the rag
first). Ok. Sing the song and go home. Please.
After we broke up, virgin CANDACE (the lovely young lass
who'd been sucking face with BRIAN all day) marched up to me and
demanded, "Take off your underwear." I started to propose a
trade in kind, but as always I was way off trail. She just
wanted her boyfriend's boxers back.
ON-ON,
BURNT SOX