"I hurt.  I just Hurt"--Hoof-N-Mouth

“I hope I am in Cincinnati when the world comes to an end because it takes about ten years for that city to learn about anything new.”  --Mark Twain

Hashers able to move and float after Gimp and Fudmucker’s bushwacking hash, the vampire hash, and the midnight you know what (for people who do not have better offers to be naked at midnight):

Porkless
More Legs (did you know she has done about 700 hashes?!)
Screamer
FLOWER (and you thought PO's legs were scraped to hell!)
Short Round
Hot Tub Slut
SCH4nort
Dah Gimp
Fudmucker
Golden Showers
HoofNMouth
Pubic Offender  (smart enough not to attend Saturday's mutilation)
Petri Dish and Spit (ditto)

OK, so Petri called me at 9am and asked if I wanted to go to the canoe hash today.  She was able to decipher from my unshaved tongue and semi-conscious half brain that, yes, I was still stupid enough to want to go to a hash.  I figured I would not have to run or go through poison ivy and stinging neddles or step over dead road kill. NOT!

First of all, the two of us got pulled over by officer friendly in Waynesville for driving 72mph.  Fortunately, Petri was wearing her bikini top so he let us go with a warning.  (Thanks again, Beer God and Cleavage Godess!)  We showed up at the canoe livery looking for hungover hashers but did not see any.  I asked the manager if anyone from the Hash House Harriers had been there or was on the schedule.  He politely replied that the group was not scheduled and took the opportunity to remind me that they did not allow drugs.  “Um, ah, well, ah,  they are a running club,” I said.  He intelligently retorted, “Then why are they going on a canoe trip?”  I intelligently said, “I dunno.” Then I decided it would be a good time for me and Petri to drive to the camp area at 11:20, figuring it had been a really good time the night before or they were still lost or arrested.  I was relieved to see a buzzard circling in the area of the camp ground, but we did not find the pack near it.

We then went back to the canoe livery and saw the pack hobbling onto a  school bus at noon (note to self: events scheduled the day after the first day of a hash weekend actually start one hour after the scheduled start time.) Three minutes after we entered the water, the leaders decided to stop and rest.  (Obviously, Saturday’s events were a success.)  There we had a beach party and hyper hash. Of course, a majority of the fairer sex (read: smarter) decided to stay on the sand bar while the real women and half brains held a hyper.  True to pack legend, someone figured that 10 of us were hashing.  Fud went away and drew a number between one and ten in the sand.  We counted off and it turns out that Fud selected the number ten, yet only nine of us were participating and no one picked ten.  (Obviously, the mathemeticians in the pack graduated prior to scholastic proficiency tests!  Alas, they can still be president when they grow up.)  SCH4nort was deemed the hare.  As a new hasher, she did not yet seem to understand that it is not a good idea to spend the first four minutes traveling in a circle within eyesight of the pack.  She also proved that she can not identify poison ivy or stinging neddles.  However, to credit her cleverness, she doubled back and LAID a Beer Near on the sand bar.  To make a long story short, she shortly there after aqua-hashed and was snared by Golden Showers.  Then More Legs snared him.  Then, as usual, Slut caught her.  We ran through a corn field, over a road, over an unidentified dead critter, and on the bike trail.

Then we all got in the canoes and had the usual splash fights.  Here are the high lights:

Hoof still was wishing she was dead.

Somebody forgot to wear deodorant.

Gimp stole the canoe belonging to Fud, Screamer and Hoof.

I left my shoes at the hyper and had to do a down-down for that, during which time SCH4nort shorted me (fishing lure pattern boxers, ladies!)and then “boxered” me.

Other canoeists gave us beer when we told them we were from a church group.

Screamer won the areola contest she allegedly held with Hood and SCH4nort.  (She did not want me to print this, so, of course, I had too after such a request.  Ok, I am also a little jealous I was not present.)

We had the circle at the home of More Leg’s brother (right next to the cemetery beer near of last fall’s totally awesome pumkin bash hared by Ball Banger).

Golden Showers, true to the Dayton element, decided to take a leak just outside of their house even though they had offered their bathroom for our use.

The pack whined that the watermellon was not spiked (trust me, even though last night’s kegs were not kicked, these people did not need any more alcohol.  Thank the Beer God that route 71 is a straight line!)
 

On-out,
P.O.

P.S. In the TV series “Cheers” Norm walks in to the bar and says, “Sammy, give me a beer, I lost my job today.”  Sammy sympatheticly says, “Oh, Norm, I am sorry to hear that.”  Norm replies with a big smile, “I mean give me a beer, I am unemployed!”