What to do, what to do? A crisp, invigorating, crystal evening, the billions and billions (apologies to Carl Sagan) stars of the galaxies glimmer and wink brightly even from my city-light polluted back yard, Orion harkens me and my binoculars to linger in his company just a while longer. Ah, an ideal evening to gaze contentedly at the constellations, admire the once-in-a-lifetime splendor of the wake of a passing comet, and lose oneself in the peace that the universe so hauntingly displays.

That, or I could write reHash. Yes, what to do, what to do?

Sorry, Orion, I've never really been into hunting, anyway. And the damn comet! Every time I see that thing, I start wondering about life aboard the UFO that's following it (right?), and go looking for my suitcase, tennis shoes, and purple shroud. (What I wanna know is why a UFO would follow a friggin' comet around the universe. Maybe they're comet chasers, akin to our tornado chasers. Or are they lost? And these Heaven's Gate wackos (wackoes? what is the plural of "wacko"?) are gonna give ‘em directions? - "Oh, you want to go to Andromeda? That's easy, hang a right at Ios, pass Planet X, and it'll be just on your left. Look for Hashers in the car park." And if we knew it was a UFO, it wouldn't really be "unidentified", would it? ...it would be a fucking IFO! (Ya know, those Heaven's Gate people - what're they doing? ...trying to keep up with the Joneses?)

Well, now that I've ruined everybody's star gazing...

As usual, Anal Vice was first to cum, arriving about 14:30 for a 15:00 Hash. (I used to worry about being first, but then I realized that I get to watch everyone else cum... a little perversion, but , ah, all part of bing Anal.) (Fer chrissake, stick to the subject matter. But no subject matter has been established yet. Then GET THE HELL ON WITH IT and quit wondering why your freakin' reHashes turn into ponderous tomes! Can I still talk to myself?) Ding!

TAKE 2:

As usual, Anal Vice was first to arrive at North Avondale Montessori School, showing up at about 14:30 for a 15:00 Hash. This gave me time to prepare all the paperwork (now THAT'S Anal, but SOMEbody has to get that roster sheet ready) for the Hash prior to others making their appearances. (How'm I doing so far?) Just as I was settling in to the soothing strains of Melissa Etheridge, Vommitt Dog pulled into the car park and (quite possibly) saved my speakers.

Vommitt brought information concerning his next lay (trail, that is) - #41, in two weeks, Vommitt Dog's first anal Hat Hash - seek more information at the end of this reHash and in "Next UP". By about ten-to the hour, we were beginning to envision a private run. However, Organ Grinder's arrival quelled our fears, for now we had a Hare and a pack of two!

And the opening of the beer cooler in Organ's trunk was all it took to call the remainder of the Harriers and Harriettes to the Hash! Soon the Montessori School car park was teeming (well, more accurately, was littered) with Hashers. In no particular (other than sign-in) order, besides Vommitt, Organ, and Anal, soon to cum were Sucks But Doesn't Swallow (who brought her eggs), Big Fucking Ham, Sranted Screw and his good friend Wile E., Door Mouse, Steve Barnhart (first time Sin City), Dog In Drag (the co-Hare), Tight Lips (with Dog In Drag and dog in drag), Dah Prince (fresh from Biloxi, first time Sin City), Not Tight Enough, Fucking Yeast Infection and his virgin, Rhonda Hampton, and bringing up the rear, our eminent Grand Master, Irish Stewl (Sr.).

Promptly at the designated time (oh, about 15:20) chalk talk commenced, with Dog and Organ explaining the various and sundry symbols they would be using to lead us astray. Of particular interest, given that tomorrow would be Easter (the first Sunday after the first full moon after the vernal equinox), was the EE check. What could EE mean? We all pondered feverishly, you could smell the friction of all the brain power (or maybe that was just Dah Prince). Ohhhh... Easter Egg Check! Harriers are to regroup, and everybody has to find an egg before proceeding. Sounded like we'd have our eggs checked (woo-HOO!!) at the On-In, if you'd asked me (but nobody asked me). With all trail marks clearly defined, the Hares were southbound at a good clip, disappearing into the woods behind the school...

Instead of just loitering about for the obligatory eight-and-one-half minutes, SBDS suggested we have an egg toss (and you wondered why I'd mentioned her eggs earlier!). There was, however, a variation from the "usual" egg toss - these eggs were to be tossed at high velocity directly at Vommitt... something about revenge for a beer over the head? Amazing, the power of memory - wish I could retain that many brain cells. So anyway, of two eggs tossed, one hit the mark, covering Vommitt in... confetti! I gots ta admit, SBDS has more patience than I, cutting itty bitty little holes in the ends of eggs, getting out all the egg gark, and stuffing in all that confetti. Such talent. Anyway, needless to say, Vommitt was relieved - he thought he'd have egg on his face, thought the yolk would be on him, wondered what the shell he was gonna do - but he was a good egg about it... (Did you really think I'd pass up the easy ones? Or were those the over-easy ones??)

After the egg-toss excitement (yeah, eggcitement), we were all nearly too exhausted to run, but off we were none the less. (Disclaimer here: I'm not even going to pretend that I remember all the names of the streets or who checked where, but I'll do my best to recite trail.)

A first check was found at the entry to the woods behind the school (surprise, suuurpriise), Irish quickly found another on down about twenty or thirty yards. After following Irish to check left (and neither having found anything), Anal returned to the second check to look forward (where no foot path existed - should'a thought of that first). Sure ‘nuff, hare footprints and flour - On-On back around to the front of the School on Clinton Springs Avenue and to another check.

Now, Vommitt checked north on Dickson (I think) while Anal and Irish checked south on Washington and west on Clinton Springs, respectively. Too bad we didn't know that Vommitt had no whistle, the wank. Having exhausted all other directions, and not having seen Vommitt return, soon the remainder of the pack was northbound. After a check at Wedgewood, Irish found On-Four leading north toward Mitchell, but at Mitchell, no flour or check (or anything else, for that matter) was to be found. Irish went checking west on Mitchell, Anal returned to the pack at Wedgewood. By now, BFH and Steve had checked on down Wedgewood and had found only three marks. After much running back-and-forth, to-and-fro, just for the helluvit, we decided to return to Mitchell (hey, there were four Hash marks! - and besides, now we'd lost Irish and NTE as well as Vommitt. The pack was getting a bit too fragmented for it's own good!

At Mitchell, a long left turn (crime material here, if I ever saw it) revealed more flour (On-ON!!) as well as Steve and BFH, who'd cut down Parker(?) to find the next check. From there, Steve went checking west on Mitchell, and BFH went north on Sullivan to find trail and the next check. Anal arrived at the corner of Sullivan and Church and caught scent heading back west on Church (Irish's directional I-checked-this-way "?" marks didn't hurt any, either). Soon Anal found himself whistling the pack On-On along Avon Fields by St. Mary's Cemetery, up onto Red Bud Avenue, and eventually into a park area (Avon Field?) directed by Irish's (or Vommitt's? or NTE's?) pack arrows. Just inside the park was the highly extolled EE check.

By now, Vommitt, Irish, and NTE had managed to find eggs enough for the entire pack (actually, NTE had found no eggs, but hadn't given up looking just in case (someday, NTE, you WILL find an egg!) - and just to keep it honest), so the challenge was whistling in the entire pack for the regroup. By the time Tight Lips swept in with dog in drag, the remainder of the Harriers were chomping at the bit (actually, chomping on their chocolate) to continue the run - but had to stick around to find out how the hell she'd stuffed all that damn plastic Easter grass in those plastic eggs and have none hanging out! Tight Lips, SBDS; SBDS, Tight Lips. You two should talk about the many talents you have in common.

So on through the woods we ran, winding though paths and shiggy, climbing logs, jumping streams, avoiding rude children. For a while, Steve FRB'd, then Vommitt took over in time to find the long-awaited Beer Near in a driveway at the end of Egan Hills. Our first reaction was, "Gimme a beer!" (that's why we're Hashers!), the second reaction was, "I wonder if Organ Grinder knows the people who live here?") That question was answered with a resounding "NO" when the owner appeared and began inquiring about someone named "DAVID". "You don't mean Organ, do you?" "Uhh?" "Didn't think so. Thanks for the use of your driveway." "You're quite welcome. Are you ending your run at David's house?" "Who? You mean Organ? Is that where the On-In is?" "Who? The What?" And so the conversation went, until this homeowner drove away quite bewildered, undoubtedly reconsidering the sagacity of his agreement to allow a Hash BN in his driveway.

Soon, the pack was off once again. Finding a check in the Egan Hills cul-de-sac, we aimed east toward Paddock only to be foiled by a YBF. So back to the cul-de-sac. BFH and Anal spotted flour at the base of tree and headed across the above individual's yard (so far, no one had threatened to shoot at us - ya just gotta pick better neighborhoods in which to trespass, DH3), Anal found trail and whistled On-On the back way into Avon Fields Golf Course, but soon encountered another check at Paddock Road.

At Paddock, Irish found trail leading up the looooooonnng steeeeaaaaddy climb on Paddock toward Reading. About three-quarters of the way up the grade was a much welcomed RG - especially having the BN in our so recent pasts. Of course, the sweepers got no break, as the FRBs were well rested by the time they arrived. On-Up to Reading we ran, only to find a BC - now the sweepers got their break - they'd arrived at the walkway to Rose Hill (true trail) by the time the FRB's had returned to find it.

A Hare arrow directed us to the right (north) onto Rose Hill, and we found ourselves running a horseshoe around onto Beechwood. At the next check, FYI found trail leading back up a walkway toward Rose Hill, with another Hare arrow directing us right (south) onto Rose Hill - the second Hare arrow being within sight of the first! Proud of that, weren't cha, Organ? Weren't cha, Dog? Is gloating a crime? (I just wanna know how the entire pack managed to make that first right turn with NOBODY having looked across the street to see the second arrow. Geez.)

Having cut through another private driveway and behind someone's garage, we found ourselves southbound on Reading (taking a ride on the Reading?) Road, and soon enough eastbound on Clinton Springs - and beginning to detect a faint scent of Beer. We all looked both ways before crossing Mitchell at Clinton Springs (thanks for the "BE CAREFUL" warning, Hares, but that was not in Chalk Talk, so we were not quite sure how to react...), then zigged on to Burton Woods (or was it Red Bud?) before zagging back out onto Clinton Springs and again traveling east, the redolence of fine ales growing ever heavier. Anal blew through one last (very nicely decorated, by the way) check and spied our point of origin dead ahead (head? did somebody say head? I'LL take some'a that!... yadda, yadda, yadda). Before reaching the school, a most welcomed On-In was detected on the sidewalk by this alert Harrier, which was accompanied by an even more grandiose ON-IN at the top of Organ Grinder's driveway, and we floated in on the wafting aroma of the fine brews that awaited our arrival...

Following the obligatory milling about (which allowed Anal time to return from the school with the Holy Hash Binder and note taking paraphernalia) and quenching of thirsts - what the hell was that stuff you were drinking, FYI, and WHAT the hell was it doing in the cooler in the first place, Organ - Irish called the Circle to order. Following are the items of business addressed according to the Rules of Order: > The Hares, of course, drank for Extraordinarily Shitty trail. Both were still giddy about their little Rose Hill - Beechwood - Rose Hill circle. Not quite a circle jerk, but they were giddy nonetheless.

> EGG CHECK! (Told ya!) Everybody had ‘em (though I did observe some creative egg acquisitions)!

> Virgins and First Time Cummers were called forward to introduce themselves. Our virgin, Rhonda Hampton said Fucking Yeast Infection had made her cum - but our first timers, Steve Barnhart (who has Hashed with the DH3 before) and Dah Prince (fresh in from Biloxi) both said they'd made themselves cum... well, ya gotta do what ya gotta do. Dah Prince was nearly accused of whining for his repeated observation, "Sheeeeeeit, you guys RUN." My question is, what do they do in Biloxi? In any case, these three were honored with their down-downs (Why Were They Born So Beautiful?) and welcomed to the Circle.

> Recognition of Hash Crimes was next on the agenda. Our co-Hares, Organ Grinder and Dog In Drag were found guilty of quibbling and whining, with Dog accusing (and whining about) Organ of changing his mind at the last minute on parts of the trail and not knowing is right from his left from his other right, and Organ accusing Dog of inflexibility and, of course, whining about it... all this in addition to the turn from Dickson to Mitchell that had been left unmarked (but which by now seemed only a misdemeanor). Big Fucking Ham was accused (and found guilty of) blowing through a check - his excuse was speed, but that's either competitive behavior or whining, so excuse making was quickly dropped in favor of a single down-down. What a bunch of wanks!

> Sranted Screw was looking to move Wile E. on to another deserving soul, and nominated BFH as the recipient, as the latter had left the former behind (probably while blowing through checks). Other heinous acts were noted: The awful stuff that had been discovered in Organ Grinder's cooler was Zima, so his nomination was gained for the act of bringing Zima to the On-In. FYI was immediately added to the nominee list for actually drinking one of those nasty things. Voting heavily favored FYI, in whose care Wile E. now abides. All candidates joined in FYI's victory down-down - BFH with a beer, Organ and FYI with Zima - Organ wisely wore his.

> Sin City analversaries were celebrated: Vommitt Dog's 15th ("Paybacks are hell, Anal." "What the hell, it's YOUR analversary!") and FYI's #5 (did he select beer or Zima for his down-down?).

> With our egg toss at the beginning of the Hash, we'd not had time for warming-up with "Father Abraham" - Dah Prince so missed the tradition (must be a Biloxi thang, too) that he now requested a cooling-down version of the same. Our songmeister happily obliged, starting with a left, to which no one strongly objected. (By the way, the cool-down version of "Father Abraham" sounded and looked a lot like the warm-up version... did I miss something?)

> Our On-Sec called for a Whistle Check, catching Door Mouse, Sucks But Doesn't Swallow, and Vommitt ("Paybacks are hell") Dog sans devices. Door Mouse chose to wear most of her beer, but then shook her head so that most of the Circle enjoyed some of her beverage. Thanks, I needed a shower. (And by the way, Dog In Drag, that coyote horn is great - it's louder than my Fox 40! And I saw a SMILE on Wile E's face...)

> Dumb Ass announcements regarding the next SCH4 Hash - Vommitt Dog's first anal Hat Hash - SCH4's impendent 50th, and DH3's upcumming Spring Formal (see below for details regarding all of these) closed the Circle.

The post Circle gathering on Organ Grinder's deck was highlighted by the pleasure of meeting his wife, Martha, and his offspring units, all of whom are extremely Hasher tolerant (Hey, that's a POSITIVE quality!). The kids had to be herded into the house only on three or four occasions when we burst into song - WHAT, I ask, could be negative about a spiritual classic like "Swing Low, Sweet Chariot", and other all time K-Tel favorites like "I Used to Work in Chicago" ?? (I won't mention here that someone was doing their best TS impression, "HEY, SHHHH, KIDS! PG Hash!" - but it WAS convincing!)

And besides all that, the beer, brats and metts (all properly and anally scored - I was PROUD - before being grilled (wouldn't want those weinies to bend!)), beer, bean salad, beer, cole slaw, beer, and then some beer, all proved to be a gastronomically commendable feast! THANK YOU, Grinder family!

Unfortunately, this all did not mix well with the Skyline (or Gold Star, or... did you ever figure out where the fuck you ate?) that Dah Prince had eaten just prior to the Hash, and even though we exiled him to the Elban reaches of the deck, we were still subjected to noxious emissions beyond tolerability - I was expecting oxygen masks to drop from the ceiling compartment (the ceiling compartment?) at any second. Even fanning with plates didn't help. Damn, DP, you ought to have that thing sewn shut... keep it up and you'll not only get a new name, but we'll make you sit in an isolation tank and throw you a beer only every now and again. I think we now know why Biloxi sent you back north!

Well, even under conditions of such duress, the party continued late into the evening, with the cold eventually taking our slowly dwindling numbers to "G'Night, see you on trail!" Ah, yes, another well-spent afternoon, but now on-home to THUD - OW! - on the floor (I hate it when I miss the sofa), to sleep, perchance to dream of Hashes past, Hashes present, and Hashes future.

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