Theme: 3rd Analversary & Anal (Bachelor) / Mystic (Bachelorette) Hash

Your faithful scribe arrived at the hash at 4:15 (4:15! That's ten minutes early for this hash slacker) to find an eager pack of 40-odd hashers and virgins. The pack was shimmering in the bright sunshine (or perhaps there were aglow from the aura of the Newport Thriftway: the source, the Mecca of Sin City hashing). Mystic and Anal were the anxious bride and bridegroom to be, wondering what indignities were in store for them. The only thing missing from this bucolic scene was…HARES! Around 4:21 the hares finally showed up and called the circle to order.

The circle conatined the following hashers (sign in order, of course) : BFH, Fudge Tracker, Barrel Roll, Dr. Loser, Jean NHN Kollstedt, Nancy NHN Bergen, Ultra Heinie, 1/4 Barrel, Nipple Rash, Tight Box, David NHN Heimlich, Dribbler, Famunda, Mystic Blow, Anal Vice, Craig NHN Bryan, Head Count, Fish & Sniff, Michelle NHN Mock, Pygmy Hippo Lover, Purple Heart On, Tracy NHN Wissman, Donald NHN French, Teflon, Linda NHN Jeanmougin, Mike NHN Molezzi, Ed NHN Steinhauser, GoodNTights, Karen NHN Miller, Pecker Checker, PNC, Wet Bus Stop, Ben NHN Miller, Short Hairs, Poo Packer, SBDS, Bill NHN Ruby, WHMC, Sranted Screw, Street Walker, Neon Knockers, Scratched & Sniffed, Best Blow and Organ Grinder.

We were promptly informed that there would be two separate trails for bachelors and bachelorettes…white for the male and pink/mauve/non-white for the female of the hash-species. Furthermore, there would be and "S" at several points in the trail. For the bride-to-be the "S" would stand for "SUCK." Mystic was outfitted with the latest from the TS fall line-a shirt with ten Lifesavers attached to strategic points. Every time the pack found an "S" they were to regroup and Mystic was to find a willing male to suck one of the lifesavers in exchange for a dollar. For the groom-to-be the "S" would stand for, um, well it was a little difficult to hear at the far points of the circle and say, is that the long shadow of Censor-natti extending across the river? Hashing-it's good, clean family fun! The "S" stood for "SCOOP!" Yeah, that's what it was! Anal was to stop and spend one dollar on an ice cream at each establishment having an "S."

After Anal and Mystic were properly attired the hares announced the trail was dead and the packs were off.

Being a bachelor I was not privy to the bachelorettes' adventure but I would surmise it went like this: Pink trail was found, on-on was whistled and the pack regrouped at the first "S." Mystic hawked her wares, so to speak, and the bachelors heard thunder in the distance as Newport men rushed to spend their hard-earned dollars on Mystic's candy. Her customers included one of Newport's finest as well as a few other locals who actually had teeth. Mystic was quickly de-lifesavered and, visions of early retirement in her head, had to be restrained from going back to Thriftway for supplies. The pack then spent the rest of the hash discussing the finer points of taffeta.

Fortunately I can supply a little more detail regarding the bachelors' search for fine ice cream.

The pack quickly found a check on Monmouth about two blocks from Thirftway. Most of the pack headed south only to be whistled back by Dah Gimp and Anal, who was obediently standing on an "S" in front of a closed ice cream establishment. Gimp's comment: "You're a bunch of shortcutting bastards." Undeterred in their search, the pack was off past bemused locals on Monmouth, left turn, right turn into an alley, right turn back to Monmouth. Hare arrow across the street and, lo and behold! An open ice cream parlor. The pack eagerly entered to see which flavor Anal would get for his dollar! After a short wait Anal paid and got vanilla! A fine flavor indeed especially when twisted into strange shapes and served on a shiny dish.

Having been advised by the Hare that staring at ice cream for more than five minutes was forbidden, the pack was on-out into the heat. Down Monmouth, over the railroad tracks, false trail up Monmouth. I mentioned to Dr. Loser that it was unlikely we would find ice cream in this part of Newport and he authoritatively informed me that there was "only one" out this direction. What a pleasure to be hashing with someone with such comprehensive local ice cream knowledge! Ice cream in the 'burbs was not to be as we were soon on-up to the railroad tracks, on-down into the 'hood, another foiled regroup in front of a closed ice cream stand, on-over the 12th street bridge to Covington and on-up the Licking River flood wall. By this time the temperature was pushing 90, the pack was starting to falter, trail had disappeared and repressed memories of the dreaded Love Boat Hash were "swimming" in our collective consciousnesses. Fortunately, we stumbled onto our reasons for living/hashing: the bachelorettes and the Beer Near, not necessarily in that order.

After a quick respite the Bachelors were off for more ice cream and the Bachelorettes were off to whatever it is they do. On down Greenup, on past yet another closed ice cream parlor (Dah Gimp was starting to fear for his life) on past the police station and on past, whoa, was that an "S"? A particularly large ice cream madam poked her head out the door and informed the pack she had mopped up the "S" in front of her store! It seems she was concerned about a law enforcement raid on all the ice cream establishments in the area! Once we assured her that we were normal, wholesome ice cream connoisseurs we were beckoned to come in. No ice cream was being served at that moment but a bar maid quickly disappeared to the back, cued some music and Anal for his dollar he got Marshmallow! Quickly whistles blew and we were on around the corner to the next ice cream shop. We entered and were bathed in black light our hash socks looked pretty cool! There were several unusual flavors of ice cream in this particular parlor including "Ice Cream About to Give Birth." We were truly in the twilight zone. Anal partook of vanilla with pasties, er, sprinkles, and we were on-out.

>From this point the scoops were being served in rapid-fire succession the next parlor served a Belly-Buster sundae at the next shop eyes lit up as soon as we walked in and fell when we were on-out within two minutes. At the next, we were informed no ice cream was being served but Anal got a sample scoop from the bartender for his dollar. Finally we ended up at Angel's (famous Covington ice cream). One of the women at the bar, inspired by the throng of hashers gathered around served up a whoppin' double scoop of grapefruit. We were once again on-out although we noticed Anal was uncharacteristically RRB…seems he stayed over at Angel's spending his last dollars no word on whether he got creamy fudge on his cone. The pack cruised through the rest of the trail and ended up at the On-In somewhere in Mainstrasse (Ok, I'll try to pay attention if I ever do this again!). The circle was opened and…shit happened (hell, I didn't take notes. I didn't plan on writing this!). There is no way I can account for all that happened since it was one of the longest damn circles ever, but here goes. The hares were called forth and drank for extremely shitty trail.(too cold, not enough ice cream, not enough pavement, etc.). Tight Sphincter was belittled for the size of her cup (the bachelors being well-schooled in cup size) as well as her choice of water, perhaps she knew she would have a few down-downs? ("Here's to the Hares")

Virgins were called forth (six of them?). They were all properly trained. One of them mentioned Tan Man made her cum and Tan Man wasn't even there! That Tan Man has many hidden talents! (Perhaps he's taken lessons from Bill Clinton). ("Why Were They Born So Beautiful?")

First time visitors from Dayton included Dribbler and some one else?

Hash Crimes were the usual collection of MGN's, competitive behavior, private parties, unexplained marks by the hares, etc., etc. ("Piss Off You Wank?")

Analversaries were observed…the On-Sec can fill these in! ("Get a Life")

Next, Tight Sphincter, Fudge Tracker and Barrel Roll drank for having attended the first Sin City hash three years ago.

Finally, Mismanagement announced some new appointments, our Dabber Hasher Best Blow was given assistance (Organ Grinder) in his long-neglected task of procuring Hash Gear, our Grand Mattress Tight Sphincter was relieved of her extra-curricular activity responsibility and Neon Knockers was appointed to a new position of Crews Erector. Dah Gimp, Dayton Hash Mouth, was appointed to a similar post in Sin City. He regaled us with his heartwarming version of "SHUT THE FUCK UP!" And finally, Organ Grinder, being just too damn nice to be Sergeant-of-Arms, relinquished his position to Pecker Checker, whose frequent hash crime convictions made him an ideal candidate for law enforcement. All were rewarded with down-downs for their humble service.

Finally, Anal and Mystic were called forth to be married in the Hash wedding ceremony. Pecker Checker performed the solemn ceremony and there wasn't a dry eye in the house as they drank their down-downs from the sacred nipple and the sacred penis to the "Hash Wedding Song."

The circle was then closed and we were on-out back to Newport Thriftway in Dah Gimp's van. I didn't return to the On-On so I don't know what took place but I'm sure a fine time was had by all.

In the meantime I submit these notes as the Truth, the Whole Truth and Nothing But the Truth!

On-out,

Sranted Screw