Okay, all you wankers that have been giving me shit about the "long" reHashes, here's yers: Buncha Hashers showed up at the Thriftway at the prescribed time. We ran some. Beer Near, ooh, nice view! We ran some more. Something about a Yahtzee Check. Circle won awards for most crimes. Dinner at BFH's place. Coupla namings. Hum-dinger of a party. On-OUT. STOP READING NOW, everything beyond this point is extraneous, and you'll be bored to tears and annoyed with (not to mention confused by) the verbosity. So just put it away (the reHash, and what ever else you have out) and go to bed.

Now. For the rest of you... I shall attempt to limit my verbiage selection to relevant facts and occurrences, to remain perspicuous, concise, and terse, and, of course, to remain devoid of superfluity (oh, wait, that would be "terse", wouldn't it? Wouldn't it... Wooden Tit? Sounds like a Hash Name.). Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, what I have to put up with.

CHAPTER 1

There was little evidence of Hashers when I arrived at the Newport, Kentucky Thriftway parking lot. I suspected the swell blue Neon was the Hare's since it had Ohio plates, but wondered where his real car was (something about a timing chain and he didn't want to discuss that, at least not without a beer in his hand, and... okay, okay, OKAY, I see, just What the Hell does this have to do with the damn Hash... okay, never mind). Anyway, I was quick to break out the roster and open the cooler, just to attract Hashers, kind of like flies to shit (or should that be bees to honey?) - whatever, it worked! Not one minute after the cooler was opened, a Hasher showed up - all the way from Lexington... welcome, Maggot!

Next, and very close behind, was Red Hott Creamy Fudge (known to Dayton Hashers as Red Hott Twatter, aka here Red Hott - not to displace RHCP - aka Creamy Fudge, aka Creamy - this woman needs a simpler name!) Tight Sphincter and Not Tight Enough (known in Dayton circles as Mystic Blow) rolled in back to back (or back to front? or... okay, bumper to bumper). Next, running in was Multiple Genitalia, all the way from the Tucson Javalena Hash House - welcome MG! - and no, he ran only from the Omni Netherland, NOT all the way from Tucson.

Now Hashers started cumming so fast and furious that I'm not particularly sure of who came after whom, but I'll recite according to the roster: No Balls (known to the DH3 as No Balls) rolled in followed by Vommitt Dog (lord knows what he's known as in Dent). Tight Sphincter's virgins, Marc Jewett and Rob Kneip (welcome! welcome!!) came next (traveling together, hmmm). Next was Fa-mun-da (two in a row! keep it up, Fa-mun-da!), then Organ Grinder, who sported shoes that emitted a bright, shiny glare that just screamed NEWNEWNEW!! Then there was John Meier, Stuff That Sucks, Ultra Hienie, and our Founder and Religious Advisor, Red Hot Chili Pecker (yeah, Red Hot, Red Hott, there IS a difference) sans Nameless Bitch - however, he did have his Golden in drag. Freshly named at #34, Pecker Checker came next accompanied by Kathy Sain and his offspring unit, the latter of whom was quite comfortable of bicycling the trail with us. We were delighted to see Spewing Reptile and Tight Grip because we never know when they're going to disappear forever (and by the way, Spewing and Tight... just when IS the Wedding Hash?? not to mention the Engagement Hash?!!? ...there are all SORTS of opportunities to Hare cumming to a Kennel near you SOON!). Dog In Drag (sans dog in drag - thank goodness RHCP had his) and Tight Lips arrived at the top of the hour, and Blo Moe, as usual was fashionable late - in fact, I didn't see him until we were on trail, though he claims he was there in plenty of time to start with the pack...

Sometime during all this, the Hare showed up on foot. We were told that this was A to B, so the B-Van (B-Neon) should be stocked with dry clothes, etc., but that B wasn't really very far from A. In hindsight, every algebra student knows that A and B are always variables and change with every equation - so who the hell knows which A and B BFH was talking about at that point in time. They actually MIGHT have been close together...

After a quick Chalk Talk session, the Hare was off, northbound on York, Hash Stick in hand. The pack, having promised the full ten minutes, loitered about for at least seven minutes before becoming impatient (Anal Vice decided to forego an attempt at Father Abraham after his last embarrassment - I am working on the difference between right and left, and when I've fingered it out, we'll try it again, I promise) and maybe eight before "On-On" shouts, whistles, and horns resounded off the skyscrapers of downtown Newport.

Somehow the pack managed to get to the corner of 5th and Saratoga having seen only one Hash mark, and, being alert individuals, managed to find a check there (Multiple Genitalia found a "decision point", whatever the hell that is - actually, I kind of like the term and might adopt it into my Hashing vocabulary, being Anal, and all). MG checked straight, RHCP went right, Ultra Hienie and Vommitt headed left, to the north. RHCP was first to sound On-On from southbound Saratoga - too bad the echoing On-Ons from the remainder of the pack drowned out Ultra's and Vommitt's On-On signals from Saratoga north - toward Ohio - DUH. Anyway, on south we ran until trail was found heading west on 10th, then north on York, and suddenly - what before our wondering eyes should appear (sorry, I know I've used that line before), the Newport ThriftFuckingWay. Stop me when this sounds like a Circle Jerk.

Anal (and probably others at this point) knew where we'd been duped - especially having not seen Vommitt Dog and Ultra Hienie since that unfortunate right turn onto Saratoga - and took off like a Hound on scent for Saratoga Street and the L&N bridge. Surprise, surprise... trail!! We crossed at full-tilt-boogie to the Ohio side, Anal found a BC just past the Sawyer Point overlook - no, this time we didn't have to go back to the south side of the bridge - MG and Blo Moe (was that you, Blo Moe) found trail onto the overlook - which overlooked (that's what it's supposed to do) the Biggest Fucking Check (Decision Point) - courtesy of Big Fucking Ham, of course - that any of us had ever seen - the X occupied the entire diameter of the circle in which the Cincinnatus statue stands. Hashers stood in awe! Civilians were asking, "Hunh?"

After a brief pause for genuflecting to and general canonization of the Holy Check (Decision Point), MG found trail heading east along the river. Trail was lost briefly beneath the I-471 bridge, but MG regained scent along the river. By this time Anal Vice had begun sniffing along the railroad tracks - and when On-On whistles were heard heading east again, toward the Boat House... Well, it was like a religious experience (something to do with the aforementioned Holy Decision Point, perhaps) - it came to me like a bolt from the sky: BN IS AT THE CITY VIEW TAVERN!! (why didn't you think of that before the Circle Jerk, you moron? Well, yes, I should have known, or at least suspected, based on conversations with BFH regarding my last trail and his last trail. But nooooooo, you weren't thinking, were you? Hey, cut me a break, at least it came to me before we got there...).

So Anal beat feet down the railroad tracks, and sounded ON-ON loudly upon reaching the entry to the Boat House. This prompted curious queries ("What cha doin?" "Everything okay?") from the valet (ballet? men in tutus?) parkers, which were answered by the briefest explanations: "Fine, we're Hashing - ask that bunch of people about to come around the other side of the building!" On-UP through the mud, steep hill climb with shoes that weighed as much as my legs! Someplace around this point I heard Ultra Hienie's whistle - which confirmed my enlightenment and set my senses on "beer!". On-UP, ON-UP,UP! (UP-UP? Wait a minute, that IS a Hash Name!) On Dasher, on Dancer, on Cupid, on Vixen; on Tight(s) and Not Tight, on Fa-mun-da, on Red Hott, on Organ; on Stuff, on Pecker, on No Balls, on Blo Moe... dash away, dash away, dash away all! Through the shig, up the stairs, across Columbia Parkway, to Oregon Street we all ran, to the Beer Near we chased, to the City View, man. (Okay, so I'm not much of a poet. But at least I know it. And my feet show it. ‘Cause they're Longfellows! Sorry - old as Grandma's feet, and just as corny. Sorry again.)

We were happily greeted by the bartender - Gets Her Own, so named at the last City View Hash - which is why I should've known where the hell we were going - whose only disappointment was that we weren't staying. We lollygagged on the deck for probably 25 minutes, consumed several pitchers of beer, marveled at the view and wondered how the tavern got its name, managed to get RHCP and his dog ejected (okay, it IS a food-serving establishment, and we DO want to keep it open!), realized that we'd lost Maggot or he'd lost us (Anal trotted back to Columbia Parkway, but no Maggot - Lexington or otherwise - in site), peed (at least I did), made Gets Her Own PROMISE to show up at a near-future Hash ("it has to be warm weather" - sounds like whining to me!), and finally took off at break neck pace headed on up Oregon.

CHAPTER 2

With RHCP's early departure from the City View, he'd managed to find and mark the next half mile or so of trail for us - after running down stairs at the end of Oregon (across Monastery) (where Dog In Drag and Tight Lips had to leave us for a "previously planned engagement" - which I think had something to do with the hill looming in front of them - and which, in any case, means they owe us down-downs for early departure, missing the second half of the trail and all those checks (DPs), missing the Circle, missing the on-on-on, etc.) and then back UP Wareham, we finally managed to catch him where Ida turns into (poof) Art Museum drive. On through the car park we ran (we're making time now! the beer-fueled second wind is kicking in!) to a Hare-arrow pointing down a stair case toward Gilbert. Strangely, trail appeared to continue straight-on, but we trusted the arrow (turns out the straight-on trail was merely the product of a slightly LOST Hare - that probably should have been a crime).

On down the stairs we ran, carefully watching our footing for uneven steps and loose rocks... little did the front half of the pack know that this safety-mindedness caused us to blow right by the -uh- Yahtzee check. Yeah, yeah. We were supposed to stop and roll one... one... one whatever-the-hey it is you roll in Yahtzee, sign your name, and register what you rolled. But for those safety-conscious individuals among the pack who where watching their footing, such was not to be the case... On-DOWN on-down to Gilbert we flew, past the Yahtzee check we certainly blew. (Ahem. I am to duly note here that Tight Sphincter claims victory in the Yahtzee check dice roll, with a full house, and she wants to know where her prize is.)

The Decision Point (Check) at Gilbert and Elsinore yielded trail heading into downtown on Gilbert. Anal and Blo FRB'd all the way to Court (at the Greyhound station) to find the next Check (DP) - Blo Moe found trail heading west on court then south on Reedy. Amazingly, he also found Maggot (or vice versa) who would otherwise to this day be wandering the bowels of Sin City (Oh, it isn't very pretty what a town like Sin City can do....). At the top of Sentinel at 5th a voluntary ReGroup was called since the pack was strung out from the recent long straightaway, not to mention the Yahtzee check. That lasted about five minutes. Anal became impatient, especially having spotted the next check not far west on 5th.

Soon the hounds were on the chase again, west on 5th, south on Broadway, west on 4th - a DP (Check) every block, need it or not, and enough flour for... for... for what? Cake? Bread? Was it self rising (what else would the Hash use?). Anyway, the chase was on with Anal Vice and Multiple Genitalia as FRBs - at the corner of 4th and Main, Anal attempted entertainment by doing a crash and burn (I have the hole in my knee to prove it! and that was NOT a Hash Crime, Vommitt). On south on Main, on west on Third, on north on Elm, HEY WE'RE ALMOST AT THE HARE'S APARTMENT, on west on McFarland, YEP, THERE'S THE WANK'S BALCONY, on north on Plum, and finally one-half block west on 4th to door BFH's building. RG on the sidewalk... no trail to be found leading anyplace else... so, is RG anything like ON-IN?? Yup, we'd beat the Hare back from retrieving the B-Neon and more down-down beer, but upon his arrival and the ultimate completion of the ReGroup which did, in fact, take a while this time, on-UP to the roof for the Circle!

And a FINE circle it was. Despite my best Barrel Roll imitation, I could not remember all the occasions for drinking and crimes committed, but with Tight Sphincter's brilliant assistance (retentive memory) for which I am deeply indebted, I think we have a pretty decent reconstruction of the course of down-downs:

> BFH, of course, drank for trail. Judgements as interpreted by the circle ranged from Absolute Shitty to Really NICE... Here's to the Hare...

> Our visitors - Maggot from Lexington (unfortunately still Hash-less) and Multiple Genitalia from the Tucson Javalena Hash House - were appropriately welcomed and serenaded.... Why Were They Born....

> Our Virgins were brought forward and instructed in the art of the down-down, then asked for their Mother-given names, as well as for who made them cum. One was Rob Kneip, the other Marc Jewett, both claimed Tight Sphincter as having made them cum! Keep up the good work, TS! They were welcomed and both illustrated Hasher like talent for the down-down. They Ought to be Publicly...

> We had at least two Competitive Tee Shirts in the crowd: John Meier and Multiple Genitalia. No claiming ignorance/innocence just because this is only your third Hash or because you're from out of town...

> Maggot was called back into the circle for the crimes of being lost on trail AND for blowing by the Beer Near. He seemed extremely upset about having to do another down-down.

> Everyone who blew by the Yahtzee Check was called to the center of the circle, making the center of the circle more populous than the circumference. We graciously did our down-down with only the slightest question as to the true criminal nature of blowing by a Yahtzee Check... Anal Vice, No Balls, RHCP, Not Tight Enough, Tight Grip, Spewing Reptile (who earned a quick second for Head Gear), Multiple Genitalia, ...and I apologize because I'm sure I missed a couple here... whew.

> The Mother Given Name offense was recognized has having been committed by those who know better: RHCP, Blo Moe, and Tight Grip...

> Organ Grinder's shoes were examined and determined to have been "new enough" (by Vommitt Dog, go figure) so the mandatory from-the-shoe down-down was awarded. Organ chose to wear most of his shoe-full. I wonder why...

> About this time, Tight Sphincter was observed carrying on a Private Party with her virgins... the virgins were spared (Not At Fault).

> Organ Grinder requested a whistle check... several non-virgins were found to have not brought their whistles (or horns, or whatever): RHCP, Vommitt Dog (who both KNOW better), Fa-mun-da, Kathy Sain.

> At this point, a couple dumb-ass announcements were made about cumming events and the spring/summer schedule (watch for the Cumming Events emails), upon the conclusion of which, Stuff That Sucks and Tight Sphincter took it upon themselves to head for the door. Down-downs were awarded for leaving an open Circle.

With that (and the fact that we were out of down-down beer - 48 cans later) the Circle was closed, and we adjourned downstairs to BFH's for the feast.

CHAPTER 3

Double, double toil and trouble/Fire burn and cauldron bubble./Fillet of a fenny snake/In the cauldron boil and bake./Eye of newt and toe of frog/Wool of bat and tongue of dog/Adder's fork and blind woman's sting/Lizard's leg and howlet's wing/For a charm of powerful trouble/Like a hell-broth boil and bubble... That is to say: the vat of chili was a plenty good! As was the vegetable gumbo! And the rice! And the bread! Enough food for Hashers (never mind the thrashers, whoever the hey they are). No wonder I was full as a tick by the time... well, by the time only an hour or two had gone by, to be honest.

And, of course, as has come to be tradition on a BFH Hash: BFH's home-brewed BFH (Beer For the Hash) - we were (are) all quite impressed - I don't recall the particular varieties (Running Shorts Porter? Ace Bandage Ale? And how about that Old Sock Bock?!), but they were all well consumed - by me, at least, who was/is personally responsible for most of the bottles left strewn about the apartment. (Hardly so. I sampled only lightly from the one or two varieties available... ahem.)

And speaking of bottles... our first naming of the evening was the result of Kathy Sain's (apparent - I heard this all second-hand - ahem, ahem) talents with a bottle. Ostensibly, Kathy is much fonder of bottles than mugs - something about the long neck... Pecker Checker refused to confirm or deny the question of swallowing, but did say that she doesn't like to blow her whistle (but most of us missed the last two words). After a great deal of deduction, extrapolation, interpretation, and evaluation (hey, these things are to be taken seriously!), the Circle was called back to order, and Kathy was called to the center. With grand bravado, Kathy was re-introduced and shall henceforth be known (at least until a renaming) as SDS - Sucks but Doesn't Swallow. SDS accepted her new name with the requisite down-down (HEY, I saw some swallowing going on there!), and was welcomed, addressed with her Hash name. I'm certain she now, even more than before, hallows the day she joined the Hash. Congratulations, SDS!

Following the closure of the Circle, we all crowded back into BFH's galley kitchen to ingest some more much needed chili, gumbo, bread, etc. - a naming really takes it out of you. At points during this encore feeding frenzy, John Meier exclaimed his praise for the bread several times, speaking fondly of the flavor, texture, and consistency, and demanding to know the source. Of course, the second naming of the evening was inevitable at this point. A (very) quick mismanagement meeting deduced, extrapolated, and otherwise used their phenomenal powers of thought (as above) and arrived at an appropriate name. For the third time, the Circle was formed, this time John was called to the center. For his infectious fascination with this bread product, John was re-introduced and shall henceforth be known (at least until a renaming is earned) as FYI - Fucking Yeast Infection (it was originally going to be just Yeast Infection, but we wanted to work in the FYI bit). FYI excitedly accepted his name with a down-down, and was welcomed, addressed with his Hash Name. Congratulations, FYI!

Now the Circle was closed for the final time this evening. More eating, drinking, and carrying on ensued, but soon exhausted Hashers began to drift in their own directions, back to their civilian lives. Soon, only the hard core, hardy few remained: BFH (he couldn't leave anyway), Tight Sphincter, Creamy Fudge, Not Tight Enough, No Balls, Blo Moe, and Anal Vice. After spending some time observing the array of bottles, chili and gumbo bowls, mud, chips, etc. strewn about BFH's apartment, we decided to adjourn back to Newport to a bar close to the Thriftway where our cars waited patiently.

EPILOGUE

From the Thriftway car park, the Captain's Cove was only a two block walk. With our first step in the front door, we each smoked an entire pack of cigarettes, then chose a table close to an open window. We ordered up a round of MGDs - no pitchers available, what kind of bar is this? - and reminisced, remembering fondly the afternoon just passed. Not Tight Enough wanted to go to the Land of Make Believe (will YOU be MY neighbor?) and imagined that the pine trees outside our window were palm trees and that the cars rumbling by outside were boats just out of our sight off the adjacent beach. We all went there briefly, but there was disagreement regarding the neon lights of The Syndicate being off-shore beacons (dang, they're bright!) or cabana lights. Whatever the solution, the fog (cigarette smoke) was now rolling in more heavily, and we soon lost Tight Sphincter and No Balls. Blo Moe was soon to follow, and the remainder of us were close behind.

By the time we returned to the cars (two blocks!), we were thirsty again, so decided to drop by Arnold's for a night cap... en route, I-71 north was too much of a temptation for Not Tight Enough - at least that's what we suppose happened to her. Nevertheless, Creamy Fudge, BFH, and I enjoyed our pints of Guinness and lager, and listened to the bluegrass (I suppose that's what that music was) until the waitress finally shouted, "WE CLOSE IN ONE MINUTE!!" Okay, okay, we can take the hint... nosiree, don't have to tell us twice.

It was now 01:00, and had been at least three hours since we'd consumed large quantities of food. BFH announced that he was HUNGRY!, and boy did meatloaf at the Diner sound good. Well, it didn't sound all that bad to Anal, either, so Creamy had little choice but to come along since we had only the Anal Vice truck at this point. I suppose at this hour of the evening (morning) we should have known that every kitchen in the Main Street district would be closed - we tried the Diner, the Courtyard, and the Barrel House - finally settling into the Barrel House for (another) night cap or two. Well, it was 02:00 when they brought up the lights there, and BFH's pangs still hadn't been satisfied.

So, where ya gonna go after 2 a.m. when ya reeeeeallly have the munchies? Where else - Whitie's! Back to Newport to the local White Castle we sped, to find a line nearly out the door. Needless to say, the twenty(?) minute wait was well worth it - a bag fulla double cheeseburgers (half with pickle, half without!) and three super orders of fries really hit the spot. A meal befitting the day that preceded it was hungrily consumed, and with exhausted smiles on our faces and stomachs, Creamy, BFH, and Anal finally called it a night...

And Anal wonders why, when he regained consciousness on his sofa sometime early the next (or later that) morning, his stomach was in a big chili, gumbo, bread, and White Castle knot... I guess that would be called Hash Gas?

ON-ON and ON-OUT!
Anal Vice
On-Sec SCH4