ReHash #244
Saturday, 27.JULY.2002, 4:00 p.m. EDST
Hares: Sixty Nina / Stinky Winkie / Cums After 1st Jerk
Location: Complete Petmart, Anderson Township, OH

The Last Damn Time I Go Hashing In Anderson And Not Expect Shiggy Hash

There we were….I would start with this line except it would be a LIE!  You see, no one was sure of where “there” was and “we” was never everyone at the same time.  So:

Somewhere were some hashers at one point or another in the Sluice Splash Hash of Anderson….Just about everyone and his whistle was there in the Petsmart parking lot right a 4:00.  I drove up on time, which was early for me.  Thinking that I was really early, I was confused to see so many hashers present and naturally suspected a trap.  As it turns out, my hunch was correct.

Our Wiley Hares were there handing out, well, nothing.  But there they were:  Stinky Nina, Jerks on the First Sixty, and Winky Cums or something like that.  It gets so confusing when we split the hash down the middle with one group haring and the other getting lost.  (Editors Note:  Tonight as I write, others fortunate enough to be in Sin City at the Gispert Memorial Hash can hoist tankards to the corporal and Ponder the Immensities, such as how many hares a hash make or why I ever decided to work in Indy.)  Okay, okay!  Our wiley (with a small “w”) hares were Sixty Nina, Stinky Winky, and Cums on the First Jerk.  

There in the crowd was an old face that had not been around for a year:  Dumber Than Shit (DTS for those of you reading in Iowa).  He seemed too calm and reassured to not be up to something.  Then again, he may have been living up to his name, cumming to Sluice Slog 2002 without rubbers (on his feet) and a compass.  In retrospect, he reminds me of the last 30 Tennesseeans running through the gate of the Alamo just before the first cannon shot.  Gashole traded Indy bar information and leg shaving tips with me.  PO duly shirked his scribe responsibility to some idiot who deserves a DTS-like moniker for writing these rehashes.  He also hit on our virgin Jennifer, groped her with his eyes, begged a conversation from her, propositioned her before the first check, called her twice while on trail from borrowed phones, and carved her initials in a culvert.  Needless to say:  it worked.  

Since I was not officially scribing for the chalk talk, I do not have good coverage of who was a visitor, etc.  However, I can say that it did happen.  There was pseudo-notice for A-B activities with some bags going into a truck with a tell-tale keg-on-ice feature.  Being a bit more DTS for the day, I did not inquire about the B-ness of the trail’s end.  Hot Tub Slut was handing out Splish Splash notices in case no one made it to the B.  TB barely arrived late but heard nothing about the B.  Baking in the broad beaming daylight and all looking a bit buttery, we broke up the circle after a bout of Father Abraham.  There was a bit about boob checks before that, but nothing on the B.  Hares:  Before beginning, be sure to brief both the boys and babes of the hash (or bash) on Bs, please.  

We headed out and immediately got split up.  After a single check and a right turn, we found another, most deadly check.  It was the Check of Death, that which leads to endless trekking through the Creeks of Anderson.  At this point when no one was looking, Neon requested that I put something down her bra.  Turns out that it was only a water bottle and only down the back, so I did.  Had it been the usual request she makes for someone to reach down her bra and well....I would have had to decline.  She’s such a hussy out there on trail when all us guys’ ability to fend for ourselves is compromised.  

After a bit of confusion, dispersion of the pack, and much West Nile virus exposure, we stumbled upon a misplaced cry of YBF.  It was indeed not a YBF.  After much confusion, shiggy trampling, and poison ivy massages, some hashers moved on.  Others followed.  Others got lost up the side of the creek.  Some probably never entered the creek or simply walked out and around, while still others looted a few bungalows and had their way with the locals.  I found a cave in the deeper recesses of my mind and crawled into it.  Down the creek, some of us (Neon and $3), reduced to cannibalism, stumbled upon Gourmet and ate him.  Gashole quickly followed.  By the time others came off the side of the creek, we were too full and desperately needed a BEER to wash down our recent repast.  

Fortunately, our wiley hares foresaw our predicament and provided some.  Arriving at the first BN, we found a number of hashers with critical information.  AV notified us that Gimp (making a rare appearance on trail), Fudge—FRB Extraordinaire, Pecker Checker (he can still run with the new Ball and Chain), and Una (FRBette) had run through the BN.  PO hit on Virgin Jennifer again.  Pecker somehow reappeared and made her bleed!  Oh, my!  Details of how that happened escape me.  Sucks indicated that her students call her Mrs. Sucks and told of hiding in the lavatory a la Alice Cooper to smoke.  PO, overhearing this, inadvertently inquired “Weed or dope?”  After we had had our fill of yummy CannaBeer for Cannibals and Pecker pulled up the beer too early for some of the later hashers (crime), we headed out of the ditch.  

After much confusion and separation, we were back into the creek.  Turn, twist, link up with wayward hashers off trail, more confusion, twist, turn, stumble back, everyone out of the creek if you just want to blow off the trail and go around on the road, you goobs down in the ditch continue to search for the real trail.  Lube, Special Blow, and Hot Wax Me Off dutifully followed trail to culvert number two, or three, or eight, in the wake of a few BN blow-through criminals who had left a few pack arrows for us.  After much wailing and grinding of teeth in the murky water, we came upon a small dinghy.  Not a hasher’s thingy, but a rubber boat without a paddle, which we declared as a crime on the part of the hares for not giving hashers every opportunity to use aids, so to speak.  Choosing the wiser course to not cross the pond before us, we left the dinghy and hugged the wall to get around.  (That just doesn’t read right.)

The pack was by this time nowhere to be found.  We headed up the creek, made a turn up another creek, and found the source of it.  There was a hole in the ground with refrigerated air blowing out.  It was either the Mouth of Hell (Seventh Circle, I think) or it was artificially cooled by the Toilets of Anderson that reside in refrigerated homes.  Being hashers, we crawled through the sluice to stay on trail.  About this time, I noticed that I had broken my name tag, which now read Lube My Joh.

Breaking out into a suburban sprawl, we headed up the road to be met by Pecker autohashing with Lil Hole and maybe someone else (I had lost my pen after losing my mind, so I cannot give you perfect details).  He had once again pulled up the beer from the BN before everyone had been there.  The others stopped for the moveable beer feast and autohashed the rest of the way, but I moved on to see where the fabled BN2 was.  A few more turns, lost trail, and I was on Clough Road.  This name is pronounced CLUFF if you’re from southern Michigan, CLOE if you’re from Boston or Berlin where it appropriately means “toilet”, and CLUE if you were hashing that day.  The clue was ‘this way back,’ regardless of the lost trail.  I heard the whistles of the three hashers who stayed on trail at this point, but saw that the multitudes had opted for the road.  Catching them nearly back to the A, I witnesses a mutiny as Mystic and others led a final half-mile charge on the Petsmart parking lot sans hash.  

Doubling back with some others, 3X comes to mind, we found the Three Marsh-keteers, Una and others, breaking out of the last ditch and heading into the B.  Late cummer Wedgie had somehow caught up and had followed trail from the BN2.  Up a small hill we found our first hare and more competitive trail marking by The Unalicker.  She now signs all of her pack arrows with not only her name but a little squiggle underneath.  Nina headed over to the B to give supplication and directions to the restless natives.  Those of us lucky enough to have found the B feasted on fresh fruit and beer.

$3 was “creeky” after being in all the creeks.  Fecal feeliacked her.  I confessed to losing my pen, but Scooby Do Me lost his sole.  

The circle eventually gathered and I was given another pen by Stinky.  However, my note-taking did not get much better.  We had a hearty shitty trail catcalling session for the hares.  Hare crimes included double arrows and I think for 5 Mile Road being shorter than the trail.  Late cummers included Wedgie, Ralph NHN, Best Blow, Chunkie, Una, and Gimp.  Mother Given Names were Neon and Una.  Beer abusers were Fudge, Sucks But Doesn’t Swallow.  Hot Tub Slut had a cumpetitive shirt and, of course, tried to talk his way out.  The false YBF was, I think, by Skid Mark, at least that is my note.  Got Crabs was late to the circle and headgear.  There was a false accusation on Gimp that ended in a down down for someone else.  Unalicker drank for being the first girl on in and bragging again about being the first at BNs.  She got the FRB crutch.  Lil Hole drank for sitting, in spite of injuries.  Hot Tub drank for allowing an injury on trail with such a wanker waiver.  Pecker drank for dangling in circle.  He then pulled in other for bitching.  Lube was nearly renamed Broken Johnson for breaking his tag.  The Unalicker was nearly renamed ESL for English as a Second Language (needs little explanation).   Analversaries were called out with Stinky becoming a centurion.  Anal gave him a bad mug (wrong info engraved) and drank.  All centurions drank but without mugs were Gimp, Mystic, AV, and Organ Grinder who also lost his name tag.  Anal Vice was awarded an overdue 200th coat prize that was swanky.  Mystic did a sympathetic down down.  There was a down down for all woman victimized by Pecker:  Lil Hole, Neon, Sucks (I think), Jennifer, Butt Digger, and Nina.  Mud Puppy had his first hash with us.  Birth analversaries were Wedgie, Hot Wax, Gimp, Neon (for giving birth).  Yawning in the circle:  $3 a Minute after getting that feeliacing.  Announcements went out for Gispert Memorial, Splish Splash.  

The circle collapsed after some yelping and snapping at ankles.  Some of us retired to the Anderson fair.  In all, a very challenging trail and quite a long circle with only the two deaths in the first creek.  So remember, next time you are in Anderson, be ready for anything, or nothing if you get lost or come late to the Beer Nears.  But don’t expect Wiley.

Attendees:

$3.00 A Minute
Anal Vice
Beat It
Best Blow
Blue Balls
Butt Digger
Cums After 1st Jerk
Dah Gimp
Drop Shorts
Dumber than Shit
Eats It Raw
Fudge Tracker
Gas Hole
Got Crabs?
Gourmet
Hot Tub Slut
Hot Wax Me Off
I Repo Shit
Jeff NHN Morris
Jennifer NHN Wagner
John NHN Simmons
Little Ho' On The Side
Lube My Johnson
Mud Puppy
Mystic Blow
Neon Knockers
Organ Grinder
Pecker Checker
Poo Packer
Pubic Offender
Ralph NHN Paczkowski
Scooby Doo Em
Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac
Sixty Nina
Skid Marks
Special Blow
Stinky Winkie
stroX coX baXwards
Sucks But Doesn't Swallow
The Unalicker
Tight Box
Wedgie
When Hairy Met Chunky