Run 522
It seems that my friend and fellow hasher, Yes Dear has drawn the hashing GodÆs unpredictable yet awesome wrath. If the Scribes Run was any sort of prediction of what this future haring experience was to be like, he could have stayed home and saved himself the anguish of haring with hareball, apparently another hasher in need of virgin chalk talk, and Slick, who left Yes Dear to mark what seemed to be a 65 mile trail by himself. I donÆt know what happened early Saturday morning. Maybe no one will ever know, but as I saw Yes Dear running off on the hares away call, I remember thinking to myself, thank God IÆm not haring.
There were quite a few hashers thinking the very same thing. As the pack followed the trail into the woods Harddrive and Stained Sheets were relentlessly taunting me, prompting me to threaten a couple of strategically placed hares arrows at any number of checks that would lead them into f*ing Pennsylvania. Hell, we were only a couples of miles from the border anyway. As there were no checks I was prevented from sending them off anywhere. Trail led us across 270 somewhere in New Hampshire and down into the woods. We then went under 270 through a tunnel and some weiner had the bad taste to splash sewage all over my legs as he ran past me. I think it was Tore Ass but IÆm not sure maybe it was Roto. They looked so much alike that day, it was hard to tell them apart. He did eventually do a down-down for this very reason. Coincidence, I think not.
Poop Deck and I came out of the tunnel and were trudging through the woods when we were led astray by newly-named hashers Monthly Deposit and Tickle Me Ivory. We were eventually led back to true trail by Bavarian Bush. At about this time Cheap Slut was sited for destroying personal property by one of ClarksburgÆs finest as he attempted to climb a fence which promptly crumbled under his weight. Last we heard the officer was leading CS away in hand-cuffs muttering something about a plunger.
The pack caught the walkers on trail and this is where I stayed. Black Box and Hot Legs led the walkers on what seemed to be and endless trail to the on-in. Sweet Cheeks did tell us all a story about a dildo she found that seemed to tickle her throat and No Class agreed that if you have an itch that would certainly be the way to scratch it!
The on-in was held in an area underneath the shade of the tall Clarksburg pines. We do have plenty of pine trees in Virginia but they didnÆt seem to work for this group of hares! Many anniversaries: Bad Dog-5, Deb Berry-5, Scoop-25, See Dick Run-50 and Bavarian Bush-215. And the winner of the get a life award is Blank Check with 295 runs.
Visitors were Section 8 from who knows where. Returners were Mad Dog, Mr. Interhash 95, Bobbit, Jim Marby and we did have a few namings, mentioned earlier, and a few renamings - Some Wet Bitch was renamed Perk-o-Set (IÆm frankly a little jealous of this!) and Scoop was renamed flour child. The juryÆs still out on that one.
We had plenty of violations handed out. Of course, the hares got a couple of down-downs. Willlburr was late so he had to drink. That really upset him, IÆm sure. Burnt Sox and Seven Minutes were also late. They had to drink too, big surprise. Cunning Runt killed a bee. Nice. And Fly the Friendly Thighs had some sort of sex towel. Big Bird Turd was a self-designated greeter and Fire and Ice lost a whistle. Hollow Point gave his whistle up. (Is that code for had sex?) Black Box had to drink for Screws EverybodyÆs new car. Lame. And Blue Balls didnÆt show all her tan lines. There were numerous others equally as lame so I wonÆt bother wasting time with them.
The hashit went to someone but I canÆt remember who through my antihistamine haze. On-On before I get too loopy an start writing my memoirs.