Fiction is obliged to stick to possibilities. Truth is not.
- Mark Twain (1835-1910)

That being said, everything you are about to read is, of course, the unadulterated, unabashed truth.

Well, with the weather being rather clement for a change (though the humidity level made one imagine life inside a baggy - ah, Sin City in the summer time!), here we were on a Thursday evening, and it wasn't Hyper Hash. What a relief for those who came to mill about the parking lot at Shady O'Grady's Pub in Remington, awaiting the return of the Hares from "dropping the beer at the BN", to be able to chat without chattering, converse without quaking, socialize sans shaking... Anal Vice came early (yeah, I know, it continues to happen), and was soon joined by Irish Stewl, who had run once (in Palm Springs - damn shame, Irish) since the High Sock ankle incident, but was nevertheless anxiously anticipating Haring the Shigfest! Irish thought this would be a good opportunity to let the folks in the pub know that there might be some runners in later! Good thought, Irish!

Teresa NHN Stallbaumer soon joined the small party, as did Butch NHN Morgan. Schlitz Over Tits was there about the same time as these two, and, with grave concern, quizzed Irish about where they could conduct "private business". Hmmm, final arrangements to be made, eh? I can hear the Hares now: "What kind of beer do you think we should get for the BN?" "Keystone?" "Yeah, Keystone, that's the ticket! They'll really LIKE that! How about a twelve-pack?" "Yeah, that should be MORE than enough!" "Wanna throw in one bottle of water, too?" "Yeah, I guess we have to. Bunch of wanks." And so, off the Hares went to drop the beer at the BN, promising that we could judge length of trail by the length of time they were absent...

In the meantime, the remainder of the pack began to ASSemble. In Anal order (order of sign-in), of course: Sub Human and Organ Grinder graced us with their presences, as did NTE (who reminded us that she'd be leaving for Key West the next day!), and Ultra Hienie and Droopy Drawers (from up Oxford way). A long-absent Power Tool returned (welcum back!) with a Virgin, Ryan NHN Hamm. And speaking of Hamm, Big Fucking Ham was next to cum. From Dayton way, we welcomed Nipple Rash, Slo PokHer (both returning to Sin City having just run last year's Shigfest (you wanks really ought to cum more often), and Bob NHN Larsen. Sranted Screw and Doormouse came together in different cars (whew!), they were followed by Chris NHN Fitzgerald, Dah Gimp (just made it in time!), and a fashionably late Blo Moe. A pack of nineteen for a Thursday evening! I'm impressed with us... The shig must be the attraction!

The nervous Hares were experiencing adrenaline overload, so were anxious to get things started. Irish called Circle-Up as early as 18:10 for chalk talk (hey, the Grand Master can do that!), and he and Schlitz explained traditional Sin City markings for our Virgin, and for the Dayton folks just in case they didn't remember the one subtle disparity. (Hey, READ YOUR (HASH) BIBLE: Three parallel lines is Bad Trail. "This symbol marks the end of a false trail, defined as any misleading direction from a check with at least one Hash mark. There can be NO check or OTHER TRAIL SPLIT on a Bad Trail, however there may be several BTs from one check." ...Stray Dog's Global Trash Hash Bible, 5th Edition.) Sorry, I got side tracked - or perhaps on Bad Trail. So, back to the check.

As they departed, the Hares implored the pack for a fifteen(!) minute HEAD start, owing to Irish's ankle and all... Irish on-around the west side of Shady's, Schlitz on-across Loveland-Madeira Road toward the railroad tracks. The pack restlessly milled about, no Father Abraham, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, or other warm-up mechanism was offered, so Anal broke into one of the Keystone Lights (stored in Irish's garage since last year's Shigfest!) the Hares had brought along, and discovered a reason to NOT drink beer... hey, NTE, want some of this?!

Just how sorry did the pack feel for the Hares and Irish's ankle? Well, ten minutes went by, and I think we just forgot to start. By the time twelve minutes had passed, someone had looked at their watch and realized "Oh, Shit, time to go!" - and On-On whistles and shouts were sounded. As Blo Moe finished tying his shoes, the pack was off, half after Irish, and half after Schlitz. Expecting to hit the woods sans delay, we were surprised to round the back of Shady's to find a check on the street! The portion of the pack that had followed Schlitz was called On-On, and a frantic search for trail in the woods ensued as another check was found at the west end of Humphrey Street. After a long delay, and general wandering about in the poison ivy, trail was at last located through an adjacent groomed lawn and across the intersection of Loveland-Madeira and Remington Roads, through a service station, and onto the CSX railroad tracks. (Yeah, yeah. Should'a followed Schlitz just a little further!) On we ran, wondering at the excess of pavement thus far!

A decision point on the railroad tracks led to trail southbound toward the Spooky Hollow Road bridge (geez, I wonder when the next train is due by here!) where another check was located. Trail was quickly found leading down the bridge's abutment to yet another check at it's base, thence on to the intersection of Spooky Hollow, Clark, and Given Roads. So far, so good. But since three (count ‘em, THREE) female Hashers had half-minds to join the Hash this evening, boob checks were promised, and we encountered our first! NTE arrived at the check first, and went on-forward onto Given, Teresa chose the creek that paralleled the road, and Doormouse chose (being the last woman to arrive) to check on-UP the hill on Clark. Doormouse did not waste this altitude gain, and soon whistled On-On. The remainder of the pack initiated their climb, but soon observed Doormouse trotting back toward them - "Oh, Shit! YBF?" "No, Back Check." "GOOD!"

The side trail was eventually found leading into some muck along side the road (now there's a surprise!), the muck eventually evolved into a bridle path, so on we galloped, not caring a bit for the trouble we might stirrup by being on these paths, nor worrying about any penalties with which we might be saddled. Nope, we were just horsing around, finding true trail was our mane concern. Shall I go on? "Neigh", you say? Ahem. Well, nevertheless, in any case, whatever, we hoofed along at a good trot, encountering several checks and generally finding trail on-forward.

By now, Power Tool and Anal Vice were FRBing, being quick to follow the on-forward carrot. Then we should not have been surprised to suddenly find a distinct lack-o-Hash after the fourth or fifth such decision point! Damn, I hate it when I have the wrong erection! Returning to the check, Nipple Rash was checking on-up through the woods, and soon found one... two... three... YES, four, "ON-ON" marks up toward the main part of Given Road. Arriving at the road, another check... and, daggonit, on another steep hill! Nipple Rash was quick to cross the road, and dive into another wood, I don't know who the heck checked down the hill, but I do know that Anal Vice was left to check on-right, UP the hill. And a long, steep climb it was - but one Hash mark slooooooowly matured into marks two, three, and four, and with what little wind he had left, Anal feebly whistled On-On to the rest of the pack.

Again, at least the altitude gain had not been wasted! So Anal Vice picked up the pace and HEADed on-south on Given Road past the top end of Clark Road (hey, weren't we just there a couple paragraphs ago?) quite a significant distance until he suddenly remember that he should be looking for Hash... and was finding none! A quick look over his shoulder revealed only Chris following him, the remainder of the pack mere specks on the horizon back at the corner of Clark and Given - where there was a very FAINT check on the pavement! (Okay, maybe it wasn't that faint - maybe I just needed to stretch my legs after that hill climb...) Well, trail was found on-down Clark, so Chris and Anal were suddenly RRBs. And we began to question this on-DOWN Clark business... were we not just climbing Clark three short paragraphs ago? Could this be one major fuck of a Circle Jerk?

In the nick of time (pun intended, Schlitz), another back check was found, and we were again into the woods following a deer track that eventually led to another bridle trail. From here several checks found the pack extremely straggled, as Ultra Hienie and Chris followed their senses (due to a sudden flour drought) southbound through ankle-deep, slippery, shoe-sucking mud, past curious and protective canine units - the former condition tending to be a speed deterrent, the latter a speed enhancer - put the two together, you have a pack of Hashers running, limbs flailing wildly in attempts to maintain upright positions, slipping, sliding, and generally becoming soaked with sweat and clad from waist down with mud - yes, an attractive bunch... and we wonder why the Indian Hill folk shun inviting us in for refreshments.

At long last, thankfully, the bridle path intersected with Pipewell Lane (how many freakin' millions of dollars do THESE houses cost?! gosh, I hope we get to run through THEIR yards!) where we rendezvoused with another decision point. Ultra, Chris, and Anal decided on a voluntary regroup just to be sure that no one had become Setter Supper, Shepard Snacks, or Dane Dinner (or Hound Hash? - aaaugh!). After waiting a full minute (or so), though, the pressure was too much, and Ultra was trotting out toward Given Road, and Chris was jogging north toward a dead end (which, of course, we didn't know at the time, seeing as we very infrequently have opportunity to visit - let alone run - this ‘hood). Of course, Chris found a check at the next intersection, Blue Cut Lane, and another at the end of Pipewell at Deep Run Lane. Here, Chris checked on-right, Anal checked on-left. As the latter crested a small rise in the road, he spotted... a snow drift?? Wait a minute, I must be getting delirious from lack of beer! Too hot for snow drifts! But wait. White. Lots of it. In piles. What the hell could it be? Flour drifts in Indian Hill? (I'm surprised we didn't see that on the news!)

In any case, that check - a boob check, no less, must have consumed an entire five pound bag of flour - I was certainly awe-struck, but did eventually remember to signal On-ON to the pack, and patiently awaited arrivals of NTE, Doormouse, and Teresa.

Having thus successfully accomplished a regroup, Doormouse, NTE, and Teresa each selected a driveway to check for 1) alarm systems, and 2) Hash marks. (Whoever found the former could make an assumption about trail NOT going that way.) Fortunately, though, before alarms, dogs, or Indian Hill Rangers (nyeh, hey, hey, Mister Ranger, SIR) were encountered, Teresa was calling On-ONE, On-TWO, On-THREE and ON-ON in a creek bed that sloped off to the west. And slope it did. Soon we found ourselves clambering down a mountainside-wannabe, sliding on our butts, and grabbing on to anything with roots (HEY, leggo my leg! Is that poison ivy vine sturdy??) to make the descent in a somewhat controlled fashion. Suddenly, level ground, railroad tracks (again), and a check (another one). Well, on-north is back toward home, so I'm betting they didn't go that way (but Dah Gimp checked anyway). On-south is away from home, so I'm hoping they didn't go that way (Ultra checked anyway). On-forward is more of the same descent that we just completed (Organ Grinder checked anyway - and soon was signaling ON-ON as vigorously as one can when suspended from a tree root and suffering from extreme beer depletion).

Having completed this leg of the drop that finally brought us to the edge of a large creek that parallels Loveland-Madeira Road, to no one's surprise another check was found. Trail from that check was not so easily located, though, and soon the vast majority of the pack followed Droopy Drawer's lead and was splashing about in the cool, refreshing water! But after a few minutes of polluting the water with our sweat and accumulated mud, poison ivy resin, and whatever else (I don't even wanna know), we slowly returned to the business of Hashing, and began poking about the area for trail. Loveland-Madeira Road revealed nothing (surprised?), nothing up a tributary creek... finally, On-On was signaled by Chris (I think) parallel to the creek, northbound through the woods and underbrush (read: nettles). The FRBs enjoyed knocking over the underbrush (read: nettles) to ease the run for the pack, and further accelerated the pace when those magic letters "BN" appeared! (Funny how the FRBs blew right by the BN to get back in the cool water of the creek... Oh, were those STINGING nettles?!!)

By this point, we Hashers were so thirsty that even the Natural Ice beer tasted pretty damn good (hey, quit grimacing, it beats the hell out of that Natural Light crap I mentioned earlier). Too bad, though, that there was a distinct lack of that amber ambrosia... Several of us were driven to take pity upon poor Doormouse, who, upon arriving at the deposit point (for the beer, that is), found the cupboard bare (so to speak). Her long face and pouting eyes might have even earned her a voluntary drink - but the quick grab as soon as we were distracted worked just as well, maybe better. And, occasionally, she even grabbed a beer...

Ahem. By the time we'd arrived at the Beer Near, we'd been on trail for well over an hour, so there was hesitancy to hesitate to hesitantly, lest the opportunities for later beers be diminished. Anal called a two-minute warning to stir the loitering Hashers into readiness, but noted the entire pack moving (or, more properly, flowing) down stream (at a blistering pace, I might add) before he'd even returned his beer can to the depository. We almost immediately found ourselves beneath Spooky Hollow Road - at the point where it passes beneath the railroad trestle across which we'd run many paragraphs ago! Talk about a Circle Jerk! But, no, it was not to be - a Hare arrow was found pointing true trail up another tributary creek beneath Loveland-Madeira Road (and NOT through the tiny conduit, very funny, Irish). At this point, I was up to my waist in water, and was wondering why I couldn't see Teresa and Doormouse... I'm guessing they'd either taken the higher road, or had enjoyed their swim.

On-under the bridge we splashed, and as we progressed upstream we switched from side to side of the creek several times just in case our shoes were starting to dry out. Fat chance of that happening - my feet are still prunes. At the point where we (again) plummeted down the muddy bank at the Remington Road underpass, Anal found his right leg in mud/slime up to his knee, and was (yeah, it goes without saying) stopped in his tracks (or track, as the case was). The high suction factor prevented easy extraction and, much to several other Hashers' amusement, Anal had to sit back on the bank (in the mud, of course) and exert all the leverage he could muster from both arms and the encased leg to free himself - the extended scccchhhllooorrrrP aptly described the process! (Damn, BEST shiggy I've EVER seen!!) Fortunately, upon entering the creek, we were once again in thigh-deep water, so the mud acquired was rapidly only a affectionate recollection...

A couple hundred yards after passing through the conduits beneath Remington Road (where everyone was motivated to perform their own whistle-check, I might add), trail climbed up the east bank of the creek to another check. The poison ivy crop in this glade was noteworthy if not outstanding, but those of us with (and some without) long pants pressed forward... too bad the trail doubled back. Anal soon discovered this fact, and was running anon (or is that On-ON?) eastbound on Remington Road, the scent of beer again filling his nostrils!

But, damn the Hares, if there wasn't a Chicken (I always thought it was supposed to be a Turkey) / Eagle split where Tall Trail cuts off of Remington! Knowing that the On-In was only a couple hundred yards on-forward, Chris and Anal opted for... for... Oh, fer chrissake, OF COURSE we opted for the Eagle trail - we're nothing if not TSHs (Totally Stupid Hashers)! On up Tall Trail we climbed (naturally, the Eagle trail began with a major climb!) to find a decision point where several driveways branched from the road just beyond the PRIVATE PROPERTY, NO TRESPASSING sign. Fortunately, Anal remembered this SAME POINT from last year, and advised Chris that the trail was 99.9% likely to the right - the 0.1% doubt was erased by the appearance of the world's largest (he'd grown phenomenally since last year! - or my memory had shrunk him over the year, one of the two!) Doberman pinscher who was trotting toward us with a "one gulp or two?" attitude in his lope. So we picked up the pace on-right, and found ourselves HEADing into the woods at the end of a driveway at the same place we'd exited the woods last year (gee, I hope we don't get confused with any of last year's marks). I think the helpful individuals who were yelling "HEY! THAT'S PRIVATE PROPERTY BACK THERE!!" were equivalently supportive last year, as well. (At this point it's worth noting that the portion of the pack that had chosen the Eagle trail ALL managed to get past the Doberman AND the over zealous landowner (or acquaintance thereof) - fortune was with us, indeed.)

It is also worth noting at this point that by blowing directly into the woods, the FRBs missed a real, live Hare Snare! Apparently, as the Eagle's RRBs were preparing to enter the wood, who should emerge on an adjacent trail but Schlitz Over Tits! You guessed it - the Eagle trail - besides the Doberman and Private Property challenges - was a giant circle though the forest! (Seems that last time Schlitz attempted a giant circle he was caught at the end, as well... TWICE bitten, THRICE shy?) Nevertheless, to accomplish the circle through the woods (in the ever fading light, just so you feel a bit sorrier for us), FRBing was portioned among Anal Vice, Chris, Butch Morgan, and Blo Moe, to name the ones I can remember (just fill in your name someplace around here if you shared the FRBing duties) - and we had to navigate deer tracks, gullies, ankle deep shiggy, thick underbrush with Lord-knows-what growing in it, tree trunks and hidden branches across trail... You know, all those things that make runnin' fun! (Was that not a Fleetwood Mac song? "You, you make runnin' fun" - maybe not...)

Anyway, unaware that the snare had happened, Chris and Anal emerged as FRBs from the loop back into the same driveway on which we'd entered. With the amicable property owners and even more affable Doberman still fresh in our half-minds, we decided to boogie - yeah, full-tilt-boogie - from that point to the On-In. And judging from the distance we'd put between ourselves and the pack, we made pretty good time. (And that was NOT competitive behavior - unless one considers fear of dog and/or arrest competitive behavior. Paranoia, maybe. Competitive behavior, no way.) Again, the pack amazed us by arriving individually, but all in tact.

Soon, all were gathered safely, though bathed in sweat and nectar of poison ivy, at Shady O'Grady's. Ultra Hienie and Droopy Drawers bade us farewell, siting Droopy's aversion to bar rooms - not an aversion to drinking, but an aversion to getting kicked out for being under-age - not to mention a significant journey back to Oxford. But I heard them exclaim as they drove out of sight, "Happy drinking to all, and, boy, a Big Mac sounds right!"

The remainder of the pack, some of whom had adorned fashionably dry clothes while some of us chose to stay fashionably moist and fragrant, moved with little pause to the indoors and proximity of beer. With several pitchers (of Rolling Rock, fer chrissake) consumed out of shear thirst and the supply thence replenished, Irish called to order the Circle, and instructed Anal to conduct business since he'd be spending most of the time at the Circle's center. And business did ensue:

> The Hares, Irish Stewl and Schlitz Over Tits, were, of course, called forward to the superbly SHITTY trail they'd laid. Despite the fact that there was actually MORE pavement this year than last, the quality of the shig was deemed to be equal or better - so the Hares' reputations are safe - and we can barely wait until next year! Same bat time, same bat channel!

> Our Virgin was called forward and asked to introduce himself with his MGN and tell who made him cum. Ryan Hamm, said he ("HI, RYAN!"), and John made me cum. "Who the hell is John", we all wondered out loud, all the while staring at Power Tool... who, for failing to provide proper virginal instruction, graciously joined his Virgin in the Circle for down-downs. Welcome, Ryan - and Welcome Back, Power Tool!

> The floor was opened for criminal accusations, but the only accusees were the Hares, so heinous were their deeds! First of all, there had been insufficient beer for the BN, a crime that neither could deny. Then there had been the Hare snare - and though only one Hare had been snared (and the non-crippled one, at that!), when ONE Hare is snared, ALL Hares are snared. For these malfeasances, the Hares were awarded a DOUBLE Down-Down (the old two-cups at once trick!) - which they finished without pause! We ARE impressed!

> With everyone too stunned to think of any pack crimes (we WERE a VERY well-behaved pack!), Analversary celebrants were called forward. And there were several among the crowd this evening:

+ Both Irish Stewl and Anal Vice celebrated their 35th Sin City Hash!
+ Schlitz Over Tits was called forward to drink for his 25th Sin City Hash!
+ Big Fucking Ham (who was way fucking ahead of me! - it's those damn spreadsheets) venerated his 20th Sin City Hash!
+ Doormouse (finally got a beer!) and commemorated her 10th Sin City Hash!
+ Sub Human and Teresa (really really NEEDS a Hash Name) each observed their 5th Sin City Hash!

And, later business, which necessitated a Circle reopening, revolved around Hash Names...

> First of all, our one renaming of the evening went to Blo Moe. His antics Saturday last at Anal's and Sranted's birthday lay - particularly in terms of the quantity of beer that was purposely spewed across the table, violating not only Amy Vanderbuilt's rules of spewage etiquette, but also the good Hashers' rule of alcohol waste avoidance - merited a change of handle. Thanks to Purple Heart On's comment upon observation of the incident in question, "Damn, that the BEST BLOW I've seen in a long time!" associated with that key phrase's connection to his current name, Blo Moe shall hence forth (until he does something else so notable) be known as "Best Blow." Congratulations, Best Blow!

> Though this was only Hash number 4 for Chris Fitzgerald, his enthusiasm for the Hash and the fact that he has shown half-mindedness akin to the best of us brought him to the floor for consideration. We worked from the MGN (actually surname) angle, with Fitzgerald's meaning of old being "bastard son of Gerald" - so how about "Bastard Son"?? Other considerations centered around his antics in the shiggy, "Mud In Your Eye"? "Mud on the Rod"? "Stuck in the Mud"? ...but none rang true. Someone noted that Chris is extremely quick in competitive events, finishing 5k rrrrs in 16 minutes or less. Despite Irish's suggestions, we almost immediately arrived at "Cums Too Quick". So, from this point forward and forever more (until he does something extraordinarily noteworthy), Chris shall be know as "Cums Too Quick". Congratulations, Cums Too Quick!

> And, last but not least, Butch Morgan doesn't cum often (though we'd like to change that (and this is how we're gonna do it?!)), but when he does, it's because he suspects there'll be shiggy involved! In fact, last year he brought a bunch of virgins to this Shigfest, and pissed ‘em all off so bad that they don't even talk to him any more, let alone Hash... Anyway, several names were dragged though the mud (so to speak) for consideration: "Likes it Dirty"? Nah. "Cums In Shiggy" or "Cums For Shiggy"? Neither has quite the correct ring. "Brown Eye"? Ooh, I like that one - too bad the remainder of the Circle outvoted me. "Fudge Tracker"? Yeah, THAT's the ticket! (Even though I still like "Brown Eye"). So, for his fascinations - at least at the Hash, and who knows where else - Butch shall from this point forward and forevermore (until he again commits an extraordinarily notable act) shall be known as "Fudge Tracker". Congratulations, Fudge Tracker!!

And, so, with the circle at last closed, we were finally able to order GOOD beer - all the while trying to remember to properly address our newly named/renamed Hashers... I don't know that Blo Best Moe quite cut it, but at least I didn't have to do a down-down (or perhaps no one could hear over the music).

Soon, still more beer was ordered, as were pizzas, and more beer. By the time the pizzas arrived, more beer had been ordered, and Hasher hunger had progressed into downright Munchies... So once the pizza was put on display for the purpose of daintily obtaining a slice or two, Hashers ravaged boxes and all! Damn, did it taste good though - a LaRoach's double dead animal flesh with extra cheese and grease - mmmm GOOD!

Many Hashers ended up staying at Shady O'Grady's way too late and having WAY TOO MUCH FUN dancing to the rhythms of Clyde Brown and Shakefear II - so that they felt extremely energetic at work the next morning. Despite what the song says, Friday is a Workin' Day (are we havin' a good time? You betcher ass we AREN'T - at least not until Friday night!!). Eventually, though, on home, on shower (gawd, look at all that grime washing down the drain!), and, at long last, on pass-out to dream of Hashes past, Hashes present, and, especially, Hashes future!!

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