‘Twas Thanksgiving Day and all through the
town
the smell of turkey was wafting around.
As hashers awoke from their wild nights of sex,
they thought, "should I go to Little Digit's run?"
Then decided, "what the heck!"
So onward toward Reston their cars they did drive
Hoping beyond hope, that the run they'd survive.
Inside LD's house, the hashers stood around
while the hare did bound off with flour by the pound.
PoopDeck gave instructions to which no attention was paid
Then 'twas off into the cold with a look quite depraved.
Then what to my wondering eyes did appear,
French Toasted already on trail, oh, dear.
He said that he thought we had already gone.
So I said, "as you see, you were really quite wrong!"
Tho' it was a combined group of Great Falls and
Mount Vernon hashers,
The MVH3ers kicked all the GFer's ashes.
Now, I realize that this hashing is not a real race,
but believe it or not beloved Poop set the pace!
Round on the Reston roads we did rumble,
'til into the woods, down a damned big hill we did tumble.
'Crossed a small stream, down a dirt trail
Up a big f__in' hill at the pace of a snail.
Deeper and deeper into woods we did go
The little bastard was leading us further away, don't you know.
The FRB's were caught by the hare's sick humor
He lead them up the steepest of hills to a BT to their horror!
Back down the mountain, the hashers did bound
you could hear them all weezin; 'twas the saddest of sounds.
Then on down the path to a no trespassing sign,
instructions had been clear, this was not benign.
Then much to the packs' own delight and thrill
Dr. Jekyll led only two idiots into a stream of icy chill
The pack was alerted by the screaming sound;
they avoided the water 'til another route was found.
Then onto Hunter Station which loomed like a mountain,
tired hashers were dropping like a theater curtain.
At the crest, a check lead Dr. J the wrong way
You see he went DOWN the hill; it just wasn't his day.
True trail went right back into the woods
we still weren't close to the house;
it wasn't looking to good.
The meanest of tricks, our hare did now lay,
'twas an icy run through a culvert that froze our feet all the way.
Finally, around Lake Audubon we did run,
back to his house, dry socks, cold beer and some fun.
The hashers imbibed on a most sumptuous feast,
oatmeal, bagels, good beer, what a treat!
To all of you turkeys who didn't bother to come.
You missed a good time
AND ONE HELL OF A RUN!