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June 30, 2001
Hash # 201 – The Classiest Hash Ever
Hain't we got all the fools in town on our side? And ain't that a big
enough majority in any town?
It was a nice sunny day with cumulus clouds a-building as I rolled into deShay’s parking lot at 3:00 pm. No hares. No hashers. The website was down (a crime here Stinkie) so I was flying on instinct. Unfortunately instinct is still on the winter schedule. ( I know, I know – if you’d fucking come more often you’d know what time this shit starts. Blah, Blah, Blah.) I made a panic call to Grand Opening who cracked open the balky server and got the true time – 4pm. So, I went into deShay’s for a beer. $5.25 cents later, I am on the porch drinking a Harps. At this point I knew we weren’t Beer-Nearing or On-Ining here. For God’s sake - $5.25. (Yes, I tipped the bartender. I wouldn’t if I’d know what was going to happen.) Hashers showed and the beer flowed. Here’s who showed: $3.00 A Minute
Hot Tub had a keg standing tall in the back of his truck and jello shots on the tailgate. Most hashers discarded their formal wear in observance of the heat. Although Hot Wax Me Off looked mighty fetching with a black feather boa. Pubic Offender finally showed in a nice black jacket and top hat. One look at the hat and I figured dead trail for sure. But his legs were awfully scratched up with fresh bloodage and his shoes were a wreck. Visibly nervous, he began the chalk talk without Damaged Goods. She finally showed wearing a tight black dress. Again, I thought, “Dead Trail for sure.” But, those were awfully fresh scratches on PO. PO said that there was an envelope to be opened when they’d been gone 10 minutes. Away the hares ! Running west, they crossed Montgomery road and disappeared. Sixty or so hashers did a perfunctory Father Abraham while the Songmeister pulled someone into the circle for some dry humping. 10 minutes passed and the magic envelope was opened. GO TO THE
BAR IN DESHA’S AND EVERYONE GETS ONE DRINK OFF THE ‘TOP SHELF’ it said.
On out into the street where I saw Hot Tub, who knows there’s no such thing as ‘free’, already crossing Montgomery Road on trail. The pack took a little more convincing than I did and we were already across Montgomery Road before they swarmed out of deSha’s. (That was the last I was going to see of the pack for a while.) We followed trail west through parking lots and onto some school grounds where it quit deader than hell. Hot Tub, Gimp and I ran on down the hill to Snider Road and headed left towards Cornell. We were doing the infamous Ranger’s Great Circle Route and trying to cut the trail. We hit Cornell and made another left to Montgomery. Nothing. The Gate of Heaven cemetery’s gates were invitingly open. Hot Tub glanced back as we passed through to the other side and said, “Gimp’s still back there and he’s going the other way” “That means nothing to me,” I said. We ran along the tree line hoping to bounce the hares coming out of a wooded ravine on our left. Finally, the tree line petered out at the back of the cemetery and we finally cut another left (north) and ran along the edge of a monstrous open field – still hoping to see a black top hat bouncing along in the high weeds. At the end of the field, we took another left (west) into the back of Harper’s Point, completing the Great Circle route and having the satisfaction of running 15 miles and knowing that we were duly and truly fucked on this one. Back across Montgomery Road we ran to pick up the trail again. (I really hate this part.) This time we lucked out and found a pack arrow that pointed into the bushes where it looked like a herd of elephants had recently passed. Following the broken bushes, giant turds, and flour we ran through the savannah and struck Kemper Road and went left, northwest for those following this on Map quest. On and on we went running along the roadside following the pack arrows. We crossed Snider Road and the trail quit again. Fuck. Against my protests, Hot Tub climbed a hill next to a high school and found the trail. I was willing to find a bar and buy the first two rounds. We ran along the fence through the nettles and low hanging shiggy next to I-71 and found a Turkey Eagle split. The Eagle trail was two laps around the high school’s track. There was guy running along on the track down there and he didn’t look too happy about it. We passed on the Eagle and took the Turkey. On-on through the weeds and bushes. Hot Tub Slut maddeningly stopping, waiting, and taking off as soon as I caught him. We hit Snider Road again and went north on Snider along the side of the road. No whistles. Dead fucking last for sure. God bless the pack arrow layers. The trail then went into a Sports Complex and out the back – towards I-71 again. I was beginning to think about drinking creek water and going for my shots later in the evening. Down, down, downhill the trail went into the woods, and sure enough, to a big tunnel under I-71. There placed in the streambed, stretching the whole length of the tunnel, were a couple of dozen lit Victoria’s Secret candles. How do I know they were Victoria’s Secret? Because Grand Opening’s got some and when they’re lit you know you’re not going to be watching the Tonight show that night. So, with these pre-conditioned responses and memories in my head, Hot Tub and I ran on through the tunnel of love. Coming out the other side, we surprised a hasher doing something unnatural in the bushes. He recovered quickly by saying accusingly, “How you going to write the Hash Trash if you’re not going to run with the pack?” I told him I’d give it a try anyway and I think he’d have to agree I’m doing a pretty good job so far. The beer near was on up the hillside next to the freeway in the boiling hot sun and, of course the beer and water was gone. They did pass us some neon green margaritas and said just pick that stuff out of it before you drink. Someone else advised us to just strain it through our teeth. Mean stuff. If I’d finished it, I’d be still lying up there with the dead deer carcass that was next to the beer near. (That’s been done before.) The pack then ran back down the hill to the creek and then proceeded to run about 15 miles up the creek and under a power line right-of-way for another 10. Some of which I spent running behind a virgin with long, auburn hair. (Sometimes running with the pack is a good thing.) We climbed a hill where at the top FN stopped, retied her shoes, posing for us wankers down below. We ran through an apartment complex and downhill on the other side to some damn road. We then went up the damn road where we veered off the road and crashed into the bushes again. We eventually came to the second functioning beer near. Coming into a clearing, we came under a beautiful canopy of crepe paper strung from twine strung from trees. Best Blow threw a handful of confetti in my face. I ducked and was trying to settle the score when he bribed me with a glass of champagne. With mixed emotions, I drank, he drank, and we all drank. Sixty confetti-covered hashers standing around coolers with champagne, beer, ice water and piles of Victoria’s Secret catalogs on the ground way the hell out in nowhere. Gimp was down at the end of the crowd looking pleased with himself. He was taking a nap at the head of the trail when one of the hares stepped on him. He got a hare snare and had to help carry the coolers down to the beer near. I guess it was a live trail after all. Damn, those two hares can run! The trail then led another 5 miles back to the Harper’s Point clubhouse. It was like a little bit of heaven - air conditioning, beer, ice water, cigars, strawberries, and chocolate. Butt Digger insisted I put some chocolate in my mouth and then mash a strawberry in there with it. I must not have the right neuro-receptors and synapses cause it didn’t make me moan and clutch myself like it did her. The circle opened in the end of the room without tobacco smoke and the virgins were introduced and moaned over. Most of the virgins, having had enough punishment, left to go hang out with people who wouldn’t hurt them so bad. It was hard to hear because some earnestly loud motherfucker hasher who obviously wants Pecker Checker’s job was standing next to me so some of this might be wrong. Pecker Checker was a latecummer and that didn’t make any difference to him, at one point trying to make the virgins drink for a private party. The pack cooled him off with a down down. Pubic Offender was accused of using a mark not mentioned in the chalk talk. He made strong denials but mob rule was in force and he was handed his cup anyway. When one hare drinks…. With a pained expression he was then serenaded to “Beat by a girl. Beat by a girl.” The hares were hauled up for judgment. Gimp for effectively co-haring joined them. Again Pubic Offender was beat by a girl. Visitors were next. Hair PPPPi from Charlotte HHH and our glorious Fish N Sniff also now from Charlotte HHH. Given the choice of tits or singing (the guys around the bar were watching this decision closely) they chose singing. They sang ‘More Beer’ and were roundly booed by the pack. Mother Given names and private parties were the next crimes. Pecker Checker did a waterfall down down for late cumming and no whistle. Analversaries – Stinky Wink’s got them – I’ve got no idea. Birthday girl - Beat It did a down down for a false accusation for BFH not drinking for his birthday. Fish N Sniff invited everyone to a party at their cabin on the mighty O-Hi-O but then spoiled it by telling everyone they’d have to behave because non-hashers (probably family) would be there. Mystic tried to bring down the mighty Anal Vice for being out of order but was instead forced to chug one herself. Fucking Nothing had to drink for screwing up a date on an announcement. Maybe she meant May of 2002. Fish N Sniff again got out into the middle of the circle to invite everyone to the August 4th “Lake Quake” down in Charlotte. She didn’t tell anyone they’d have to behave this time. “Get there early,” she said, “and you can sleep on our couch.” Pubic Offender, apologizing for the incident at deShay’s, passed out undergarments. It looked like a blue light special as hashers hauled out boxers, checked the size and surreptitiously slipped them back into the box and tried another pair. Having brought it up, Pubic Offender then drank for the deShay’s problem. A guy named Chuck climbed down off his barstool and judged the fucked up shoes contest. Butt Digger’s won. They looked like she’d shoved them down the garbage disposal. Gourmet won the black tie contest. If I’d know the prize was going to be a bottle of 12-year-old scotch, I’d have tried a little harder. Pubic Offender then stood up and apologized for deShay’s for the third time and said he’d ordered 12 pizza’s to make up for it. A big hurrah on that one. Eager Beaver and Anal Vice huddled with BFH in attendance and did some quickie down down’s. Eager for her analversary on Hash # 193, and Anal Vice for forgetting it. Out back for a Picture Check! (I’m in the back row giving the peace sign.) Hair Pppppi asks me to note that one of the virgins ‘Sarah’ complained that the hash ended too soon. For God’s sake. Then calamity! Gourmet leans on the giant plywood sign and it falls and strikes a virgin! Whether it was the energetic Sarah or not, I don’t know. Unalicker and Smegma were tending to her wounds and she cried out, “Don’t mess with my Achilles heel! I’m a runner!” Soon her protesting cries were all but muffled by the harriers who swarmed over her to help lick her wounds. The circle was then opened to welcome RU Deep and Gas Hole’s girlfriend. Twenty-toes was the song. The whining injured virgin was bribed to silence by giving her a big bottle of wine. AV tried to call a name down from the heavens for the injured virgin but either the gods cared for naught, there was too many participants, or not enough or too much beer. Maybe she got named after I left. Well gentle readers, the Hawaiian Luau party was getting started and I told the guys, that the food and that music surely ain’t for you. As I was leaving, Golden Showers and Hot Tub Slut were lazing about in the hot tub looking over the fine batch of concubines lolling about on the edge and speculating whom to pick. Golden Showers spoiled the moment by dropping the pizza he was holding into the water. I hope that was mushrooms rolling around in the water. On home to Newport, KY for me, where some of the locals have long known that on the 4th of July, bullets are a lot cheaper and more versatile than firecrackers. On-On Aching Ass P.S. It was later reported to me that after I left there was almost
an authentic reenactment of a Hawaiian luau dance with the Harrierettes
but the Hamilton County Sheriff Deputies showed up to cool things down.
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