We met on a fairly clear and cool morning at that elementary school in Burke. What was the name? Let's see… I can't exactly remember but I do remember having started at least one previous Burnt Sox run there. It was Burnt Sox and Bavarian Bush and something about flags. I remember that the trail had two checks within yards of the start that led the pack astray. Only Hard Drive and a few others managed to run the entire trail. The balance of the pack managed to find their way to Mama and Papa Sox's house for the circle. Hmmm… let's see… who else is Haring today… Stained Sheetz… hooo boy. Now I'm seriously worried about the trail. And Roto Router. Oh, man. What do these derelicts have in store for us today? I wonder. Could these Hares manage to work in some combination of Roto's and Sox's parent's houses in the trail? Just a thought…

The pack gathered and gathered. Except noticeably absent was Byte Lightning. Shortly after the run began, we understood why: In the first ¼ mile, we ran past a local eatery named "Ho's Dynasty." It's clear that "Ho's Dynasty" is where Byte plans to earn his first $million. Just not any time soon. Of course, soon after we began, Byte departed his dynasty and joined the valiant pack on trail. But I'm getting ahead of myself.

After the usual social small talk, was 'Ather Abraham. There was some sort of announcement about long and short trails. And no one had any clear idea about either. The way it's supposed to be. The pack began walking. Then running. The Hares managed to drag us kicking and screaming through all the local shiggy. And neighborhoods. Then Pinky Penis and *69 appeared by the side of the road and pulled over to join us on trail. Hmmm… Can you say late sign in? How about AutoHashing?

I remember enjoying myself especially since the hares kept the pack together so nicely. I saw the usual FRB suspects several times while I navigated myself and Rina on Flour. And I also saw the usual back of the pack as we moved forward on trail. Then disaster struck.

I reached the water stop, faithfully (wo)manned by NightCrawler. There, in the back of Roto's ancient pick 'em up truck were two empty beer cans. Now I know that this was an MVH3 run so no FRB stopped and drank water let alone beer. So, those cans were the Hares signature "In your face" to the pack. Many of the back of the pack stopped to sip-mostly water-and we all moved on.

At this point, Big Bird Turd and Lucy and myself and Rina were running along through a small woods when out of the blue a mid-sized black dog dashed madly past to catch up to the front of the pack. BBT and I knew that was trouble waiting for our dogs. And sure enough it was. Except when closer, we recognized the guilty hound as Roto's faithful mutt, Ellie. By this time we had gathered a small crowd, and corralled Ellie. Dual Air Bags and Hawaiian Puke donated their whistle strings which we tied together for a leash, then traded Rina's leash for Ellie and put Rina on the string leash. Then Ellie took off dragging DAB. After a short break to trade dogs around we were off again. Can you say, "Roto" and "Hashit" in the same breath?

It took a bit of time to divine the trail at this point and we were now well behind the pack. Oh well. Then, suddenly the walkers appeared with Black Box waving Ellie's true leash around. So we all made the appropriate modifications to leashes and dogs and were off. Except by the time the dust settled, Full Metal Balls ended up with Ellie. Can you say, "Roto" and "Hashit" in the same breath even louder?

Then the split between short and long trail appeared. I could tell Roto's influence since there were two separate chalk statements preceding the split warning the pack of the impending decision. As near as I could tell, most took the short trail. I was going to do the same. But then appeared Pussy In The Hat, Just Mike and another Bimbo to join Hawaiian Puke and I. DAB took short, but the Bimbos all took long and that female peer pressure convinced me to do the same.

The next thing I remember was about 20 minutes of pleasant trailing with Mr Puke culminating with a decision to actually climb in the back of the pick up truck and ride to the finish with Dirty 'n Hairy and MudBuns. Except the driver told us to get out since we were at the finish already. They were returning to start. So we dutifully climbed out and hobbled in to the finish to find Roto's dog Ellie already banished to his truck where she was polishing off one of the hams the Hares had provided for food. Can you say, "Roto" and "Hashit" in the same breath at the top of your lungs? HASHIT HASHIT HASHIT!!!

Anyway, the pack all gathered in Burnt Sox's parents yard where the hosts had the good sense to depart for places far away. So we could drink, eat, sing, and make merry. After the Hares drank, there were two Birthdays: myself and Bramble Bush. When I finished, *69 queried me on my birthday. Then she informed me that it was her 40th! So she also drank.

The notes I have are spotty, but relate a tale of media slutness among two of our more experienced hashers: Byte and Dr Jeckyll. They were quoted in the Washington Runner as having won and come in second, respectively, the recently completed RED DRESS RUN. Can you imagine? Hashers being associated with the "R" word? Especially attired in red? So drink they did.

Other violations included Byte, again, with HymenDickOver for racing. Dr Strangelove proudly drank from his new shoes. Just Gary and several others stepped forward for a private party. Just Donna drank for some fashion statement. Byte Me Elmo and Czech My Shorts drank for sex on trail. Now Czech my short's story was entertaining. You see, I drank several times: birthday, grandmaster, etc, etc, etc. Of course, when one Check drinks all Czechs drink. So Czech My Shorts drank repeatedly. Much to the amusement of the pack.

Pinky Penis and *69 drank for their previously mentioned violations. Indecent Proposal drank for joining the ranks of Hash nurses. (I need aid quickly!) Pay Per View drank for actually wearing underwear. Late sign ins included Milk Money and Pulls Out Early. Then Cunning Runt drank for whining about being unable to find her hash bag. Except when the evidence was exposed her hash bag was some huge (bigger than my steamer trunk), brightly colored (bright red), bag with FRANK SHORTER's name emblazoned all over it. So, drink she did.

The whistle check caught me (and Czech My Shorts) among several others and the pack was whisked away by foot to the start to return home to await another glorious day of hashing.

Except several serious derelicts who adjourned inside Sox's parent's house to drink beer and regale ourselves about trail and other tall tales. Let's see, there were myself, Roto, RutRo, Stained Sheetz, and Bad Dog. The conversation moved forward pleasantly enough when one of those members proudly noted that he had run over 100 hashes in the DC area. The estimate covered hashes with MVH3, WH4, GFH3, OTH3, and even others. But, the member noted that although he had run all those hashes, he didn't have time to Hare at all. Too many Hashes to run. Is there a logic flaw here? Can you say HASHIT?

Speaking of which, I don't remember who got it, except it wasn't Roto. There's just no justice.

OnOn. BC