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SCH4 #234 the Wedding
Hash, Butt Digger & Eats It Raw Saturday, April 20,
2002-- 4:00 pm, EDST HARES: When
Harry Met Chunky, Hot Tub Slut, F*cking Nothing. "I like
Chinese. They only come up to
your knees. They're cute and
they're cuddly and they're ready to please" -An unrelated quote from an unrelated
source, by Eric Idle & Neil Innys, from "I Like Chinese", circa 1979 It was Saturday. And according to the Big Book of
Knowledge, Saturday is a Hashing day.
But it wasn't just any Hashing Day. This was the day we celebrate the upcuming nuptials
between Butt Digger & Eats It Raw. The weather was comfortable but
threatening. Sixty Nina took the lead in presenting
personalized T-shirts to our bride and groom of honor for today. She also had a volleyball, an
umbrella and other related stuff.
It was all good, and despite her absence, all of it was certified 'Tight Sphincter Approved
'Cute.'"After chalk talk devolved into the standard Sin City marks plus
a smattering of special marks that did not make it into the notes, the Hares
were off into the wilderness, enjoying their only ten minutes of peace the
entire day. Priesthood Rocked by Father Abraham's
Sextuplets(?) As if the Catholic
Church doesn't have enough to overcome in the news of late, just prior to the
beginning of the Butt Digger/Eats It
Raw Wedding Hash it was revealed that an area priest has been named in
multiple paternity suits. Born
Abraham Aliduz Isgolykthis, Father Abraham has been named in seven separate
paternity suits, brought about by seven different women. Father Abraham could not be reached
for comment, but a spokesperson stated that he felt the allegations were
overstated and misunderstood. "Since
when is it against the law to go to the right and then to the left, and then
back again? Some people simply
have a difficult time making up their mind which direction to go." Before we left in hot
pursuit of our Hares, introductions
were given all around. In
attendance were: Anal Vice Beat It Best Blow Blue Balls Bruce NHN
Stambaugh Butt Digger Chatter Box Cums After
1st Jerk Dah Gimp Do You Feel
Peter Doug NHN
Sebaugh Eager Beaver Eats It Raw Esme NHN
Wright Famunda Fourgasm Fred NHN
Goebel Fucking
Nothing Gas Hole Golden
Showers Got Crabs? Gourmet Holy Fuck Hot Tub Slut Long Dong
Silver Loose Lips Mystic Blow Neon
Knockers Pecker
Checker Poo Packer Pubic
Offender Purple Heart
On Pygmy Hippo
Lover Quarter
Barrel R U Deep Scum Sucking
Fecal Feeliac Sixty Nina Sranted
Screw Still
Bitchin' Stinky
Winkie Street
Walker stroX coX
baXwards Sucks But
Doesn't Swallow Susan NHN
Kuehnle Tight Box When Hairy Met
Chunky
Than as our last act
of group consciousness and clarity, we formed a psuedo-huddle, stuck in an
appendage or two each, and then repeated our SCH4 oath. But in Hot Tub Slut's absence, our
esteemed Grand Master Anal Vice was all too happy to lead us in repetition of
the SCH4 oath-- with a twist: "Repeat after me: No matter what happens,
it's Hot Tub Slut's
fault." And off we went,
near and far, far and wide, in search of Hares, beers and adventure. At some point after
the Hares took off, in a rare display of lucidity, Pubic Offender actually remembered to ask for a volunteer to
write the rehash. Feeling as
though she didn't have enough to
do in her minuscule spare time, Neon
Knockers couldn't volunteer quickly enough. Taking proper precaution and preparedness, Neon soon
had pen in hand and yellow legal pad at her side. Looking like a sort of Jimmy Olsen with neon-esque
knockers, she began to detail the events of the afternoon with painstaking
detail. To quote from her notes,
with liberal flexibility given in my efforts to translate from Neon-ese into
English, it says: "Pack
spreads out on lot next to start... behind Cassidy's... something about
'church'...Behind NDA... around NDA...thru woods... around
apartments....wandering... right by somekinda Hills Drive... down around down
down something... I-75... then up up up... Climb Every Mountain into woods...
hey, there appears to be a slit in the fence at the top of this !%@$#
hill. I think I'll go and ram
the top of my head into one of the spikes in the fence...." (This is precisely where we
lost transmission from Neon, and Best
Blow took over with the re-Hash notes.) "A Cut in the Head At the
Cut-In-the-Hill" No, this was NOT a
radio traffic report from John Phillips. Rather, this was Poo
Packer's observation about what happened to Neon Knockers at the top of the hill alongside I-75. Upon seeing daylight thru
the opening in the fence, apparently Neon's enthusiasm to reach level ground
caused her to raise her head (HEAD-- Who said head?) a split second sooner
than was recommended by medical experts and physicists worldwide. This tragic miscalculation caused the
top of Neon's head to meet the bottom of a sharp fence probe-- and the fence
probe prevailed. Although we can joke
about it now, and point and laugh and make jokes ad nauseum now, at the time
it was not so jocular. Neon was
in a lot of pain, she knew she was bleeding, and the rest of us did the best
we could to take care of Neon and the situation. Fortunately, we were just a few seconds from an apartment
complex, where we set Neon down to assess the situation. Blood-- CHECK. Gash-- CHECK. Brains-- PASS. Pain-- CHECK PLUS. Someone went to get ice from a
neighbor and then like a St. Bernard to a lost skier, who came up the hill to
take control of the situation but PUBIC
"I generally only help people in need when there are media types around,
but I'll make an exception this once" OFFENDER. He reminded us all that he is
certified as an EMT, so he moved to the head of the class and immediately
took charge of the situation. "It's Only A Flesh Wound" P.O. quickly
determined that the gash, while deep, was not bleeding excessively. He had little to offer by way of his
medicine kit, but if I can speak for the rest of us who were there--
including our special guests de jour, Butt
Digger & Eats It Raw-- we had confidence in PO's ability to handle
the situation. He felt that the
hydrogen peroxide that was procured from the triog unit (an unsuspecting
neighbor) was not a good idea, as it might be too painful for Neon. My confidence in PO
was comically shaken a few minutes later, when I saw him remove the bloody
t-shirt from Neon's head (selflessly provided by RU Deep to slow the bleeding) to clean up a spot of stray blood
on Neon. Then in a technique
clearly on the cutting edge within the medical community, PO then stuck out
his tongue and licked the t-shirt.
When I expressed concern that he just licked a bloody T-shirt, PO
assured me it was clean in that spot.
So much for being trained in EMT. While I never took the course myself, this half-mind's
gotta believe one of the first lessons they teach on the subject of
'Communicable Diseases" is "Do NOT lick a t-shirt that has been
soaking up another person's fresh blood. But I digress.... Eventually, with the
expert diagnosis from "Doctor PO"
and others was that stitches were probably in Neon's immediate future. So trusting that he knew that area of
Kin-Tucky as well as anyone else present, Chatter Box left with others (Tight Box?) to get the car.
Left to soothe Neon and
figure out what to do next were, among others, Poo Packer, Sucks But Doesn't Swallow, Famundo, PO, Butt Digger &
Eats It Raw, Best Blow and I'm sure I missed others. Putting all of our brain power
together, we decided that the pack surely would not continue further without the
Bride & Groom in attendance.
But on the other hand, we were discussing a group of Hashers, so all
bets were off. A faction decided
to head back to the start, while my group-- which included our bride &
groom BD & EIR, Poo Packer &
Famundo, continued on to follow trail. After all that's the way Neon would have wanted it, right? She shall not have passed on in vain. So on we trekked,
fully (or should it be "fooly"?) expecting to find the pack either
waiting for us, or surely they would send someone back to find out where the
bride and groom were. But alas,
continuing the tradition of never getting in trouble for underestimating the
collective decency of a pack of wild Hashers, we set our sights much too high. We found the BN all right; however,
it was missing one small detail that would have made it soooo much more
enjoyable for us DFL'ers:
beer. Or water. Or any such potable liquid. We could see the marks, and could
actually smell remnants of despoiled amber malted beverage (alcohol abuse in
the most maddening context.)
Disappointed, yes.
Thirsty, yes. And dry--
you bet. But we may have been down, but we were not out. So we moved on-on. Eventually, we came
upon unnamed hares and/or Hashers who were autoHashing, clearly sweeping the
back back back of the pack. When
they found the bride & groom and us tag a longs, they graciously offered
us a ride to the ceremony, that took place inside Devou(?) Park. But before we get too far a-HEAD of
ourselves, let's figure out what happened to Neon. Rumors of her earthly demise were much exaggerated, as we
have first hand play-by-play/blow-by-blow from SCH4's most famous PUBLISHED
author, Tight Box. The following
is from her observations of the events that took Neon to the hospital. "Medic....!" The dash to the
hospital for Neon's head gash began with Chatter Box's unselfish sprint (~2
miles) to get his car. This
followed his morning competitive event training run of 22 miles.) But first we need beers. So we make a pit stop at Chatter
Box's house, where he also grabbed a credit card. (It seems Neons' necessities-- ID, insurance info, credit
card-- wee all in the "B Bag.") Next Stop: St. E's Emergency Room At St. E's Emergency
Room, we encountered the standard issue KY injuries: battered wives, battered
husbands, and beer battered catfish from the Ohio River. All in all, it was a 3-1/2 hour wait
for a non-smoking surgical table.
We opted to HEAD to drive-thru service Florence Urgent care
Center. We were smart enough to
call ahead for reservations. (In
the waiting room, we noted there was no wet bar, so we congratulated
ourselves with a Heinekin-- that we had the foresight to bring from Chatter
Box's. Neon, by her own
admission, has a low threshold for pain. We informed the triog nurse of this, so we were allowed to
accompany Neon into he "surgery room" for emotional support and heckling purposes. When the doctor started shooting Neon
with a local, her moans and screams sounded reminiscent of Meg Ryan in
"When Harry Met Sally"-- the doctor had to shift in his chair to
hide his excitement. Chatter Box and I
provided witty banter for further anesthesia. I told Neon the pain was all in her mind. She said, "But I hate it when
somebody is messing with my head."
I responded with, "Yeah, and you're not even dating him (the
doctor)." It could be said
that it was so funny it put Neon in stitches, but.... Numbed, Stitched,
shot up with tetanus and a dashing new hair color, Neon emerged from the
clutches of the medical malpractioner, triumphantly in search of further
anesthesia-- namely, beer and fellowship at the On-In. the Moral of the
Story, from the twisted perception of Tight
Box: If a stitch in time
saves nine, then 6 stitches save SCH4. Meanwhile, back at the Ranch.... When we last left the
Bride & Doomed Groom, they were rescued from near certain ale-induced
dehydration and the inevitable softening of the liver. They were pulled from the wretches of
the forest, and whisked off tot heir impending wedding ceremony. They arrived to a raucous reception
of waiting Hashers. Gashole,
resplendent in his "hell-hot" robe and deer jaw accessory,performed
the ceremony to the strictest letter of the law. Gashole is always a bit bashful when forced to speak in
public-- NOT-- and he gave it all he had. After at least six assorted articles and various legal
defecation, Butt Digger & Eats It Raw were then-- in the eyes of the SCH4
Religious Advisor and various Mismanagement wanks serving as witnesses-- 100%
hitched. They were then appropriately
pelted with spontaneous salvos of white rice. (For some reason, the rice was not cooked, which in my
opinion, would have been a lot more memorable. It should be noted that Quarter Barrel &Eager Beaver were the very last of a
seemingly endless array of late arriving Hashers to the ceremony. If that is what it takes for her to
be mentioned in a reHash, so be it.
But again, I digress....) It wasn't long after
the ceremony that we went up and around and about, which took us to the long
awaited ON-IN. It was in a bar
and it was in Kin-Tucky, whose name I do not recall. In my vague recollection, its most
memorable feature was the bartender in the front bar. Two things about her stand out from
my remaining brain cells:
1) She was one of the more
attractive bartenders to serve us in recent memory, and 2) she was without a doubt the most bad attitude-endowed server to ever grace us with the
honor of drinking from the taps from which she poured. But again, I
digress.... Beers were poured and
thirsts were quenched, as we overtook the back area of the bar in
question. Toast Before Beer, Never Fear.... Acting as the
official capacity of the Grand Master, Anal
Vice immediately seized control by calling the circle to order(?)-- and
making a toast to the Bride & Groom. Short of an actual Anal quote, suffice to say it was a
warm & fuzzy and slurrage-free toast that came form the heart of Anal
"Misty" Vice. You Have the Right to Remain Silent... as IF..... Those deserving of
being singled out for crimes were quickly called to the center of the
circle. First and foremost, the
HARES: F*cking Nothing, Hot Tub Slut & When Hairy Met Chunky drank
for laying a trail described by the masses as: "Too bloody... too
long... too short...too urban... not a bitchy enough beertender.... "S-H-I-T-T-Y
T-R-A-I-L". Virgins-- Susan & Doug , on their first
date. Talk about bravery--
WOW! "Why were They Born So
Beautiful?" MIA-- Shraned Screw, Pygmy Hippo Lover &
Purple Heart On-- "They Oughtta Be" Hare Crimes: Dangerous Trail
-- "Them" Competitive
Wankness: Pubic Offender, Still Bitchin' Virgins Showing Up
Late: Virgins Susan & Doug, who were joined by Poo Packer & Sucks But Doesn't Swallow. Sitting In The
Circle-- Holy F*ck The aforementioned group drank
to a rousing version of
"Twenty Toes" Then the crimes came
fast and furiously, sans any pattern, consistency or significant
meaning. The details become
blurred, the reasons insignificant, but to the best of my impaired memory and
inebriated condition, here is more or less, what happened next: Alcohol Abuse-- 1/4 Barrel, who was forced to do a
Ziggy Zaggy, in the most humiliating manner imaginable, using WATER. Auto Hashing-- F*cking Nothing, Sixty Nina-- and
because when ONE Hare drinks, ALL Hares drink, When Hairy Met Chunky & Hot Tub Slut were pulled in by
ass-ociation- drank to a rousing rendition of "Balls to Mr.
Banglestein" Blasphemy-- Loose Lips, who was overheard saying,
in response to her absence of late, "I'd rather ski than
Hash." Mother Given Names-- FN-- and of course, the other three
Hares, Chunky/69-A/Slut-- Mystic
Blow-- and when ONE GM drinks, ALL GM's drink-- drank to "Their
Right Tit." Improper Instruction
of Virgins-- Sucks But Doesn't Swallow
drank oh so slowly to "Hashers." For Some Damn Reason
for which I Have No Record--GasHole
& Pecker Checker--
Ziggy Zaggy Private Party-- Or,
at least the only one that was actually publicly named-- Special Blow & Beat
It ANALVERSARIES: Loose Lips-- 5 Cums After the First Jerk-- 10 (and a Yellow Mug) stroX coX baXwards-- 15 Long Dong Silver-- 30 Scum Sucking Fecal Felia-- 55 Butt Digger-- 65 Sucks But Doesn't Swallow-- 69 (and a Baseball Cap) Mystic Blow-- 145 Dah Gimp-- 155 They were
collectively sung "Get A Life", in stunningly perfect harmony. And the madness continued, segueing
right into: Birth Analversaries: 1/4 Barrel For running in a 26.2
mile cumpetitive event in Boston--
Best Blow & F*cking Nothing--
and when one Hare/One Haberdasher/GM/Bridal Party member also brought Hot Tub. Chunky & 69-A, Butt Digger, Eats It Raw,
Mystic Blow. Showing no sign of
abatement, the pack seems to revel in this "second wind" and
continued to add crimes to the frenzy of illegalities already reported. Included in the new crimes: Cumpetitive Shirt-- R U Deep, even though she was forced
to adorn said cumpetitive T-shirt ONLY because she selflessly gave her
non-cumpetitive T-shirt to soak up blood off the skull of a pierced Neon Knockers. Condom Search-- RU Deep, Do You Feel Peter? Next, we had two in
attendance who had been to enough Hashes as to have earned a genuine SCH4
Hash naming. However, both Fred and Bruce have so far
refrained from doing/saying/thinking/feeling anything stupid enough as to
deserve an appropriate naming.
So to help speed along the process, each one was called into the
circle to tell a little about themselves. Fred came
forward and gave us a little more insight as to what makes him tick. After about 30 seconds, the entire
pack fell fast asleep. Upon
awakening, not one person had anything richly deserving enough to justify a Hash naming. So let this be public notice that
Fred is on our list and on our collective radar screen. Bruce,
on the other hand, put up a lot of resistance, whining and otherwise pain in
the ass behavior. After hearing
about Bruce for awhile, we all agreed Fred was a regular wild man by
cum-parison. However, while the
"logic" behind the naming escapes me at the moment, the best we
could do for Bruce was Cum 'N See Me. (So the next time you see Bruce at a
Hash, ask him if Cum 'N See Me
was officially a naming, or merely a proposal.) Dumb Ass Announcements-- Yes there were plenty, but let's not over
ANALyze who said what.
Announcements were made by Golden
Showers about some shit, Quarter
Barrel about some other shit that
involved beer, Anal Vice about
something that was hard to decipher through the slurrage, Da Gimp who brought a sense a credibility
to the announcements, trying to promote his Camp out Hash in June, and
lastly, Best Blow babbled on about
some alleged awards for analversary recipients, but they were once again,
"in my car", instead of right there where they were needed. MORE CRIMES-- The crime frenzy continued, thanks to a deceptive intro by Best Blow, who suggested that, to
make our Virgins Susan & Doug feel more included and part of the
festivities, that they get to see our mascots. Pubic Offender
was called forward to display Wiley, Homer, the Horse/hash Shit, etc. And in a rare lapse of forethought, P.. did not have ANY of our mascots
with him. So one frothy cold
beverage coming up with Pubic Offender's name on it-- and as soon as it was
up, it was down-down downed in short order. Then out of nowhere, Sucks But Doesn't Swallow came
forward, proclaiming that it was NOT an A-to-B trail as advertised; rather,
she claimed it was an A-to-Z trail.
Even now I scratch my head and wonder what the hell she was drinking,
'cuz it makes no more sense now than it did then. Yet it seemed a lot funnier then, so she drank a Ziggy
Zaggy, in looooong order. LAZARUS RETURNS-- Just when we thought (hoped?) the circle couldn't possibly get
any longer, at precisely 8:30 (give or take 15 minutes), who stumbled in but Neon "I got staples in my
head" Knockers. To a chorus of cheers, our bloodiest
Hasher de jour was joined by the Hares
(except Chunk, who was temporarily
MIA) to do a ceremonial late-cuming/bleeding on trail/auto Hashing/Hospital
Hashing/you name it down-down.
Then seeing that she was of clouded mind and hazy pain management, we
immediately put her in charge of the high math of PIZZA PROCUREMENT. PRIZES-- As if there
wasn't enough excitement in the air, Hot
Tub Slut awarded a prize to the person who guessed closest to the correct
number of steps on the Hash-- which was 668. Bruce/Cum 'N See Me
was closest, and he earned cheap champagne for his reward. It w as quickly popped and poured to
those so willing. Then, in came When Hairy Met Chunky & Golden
Showers, with bandages over their HEADS in a show of support(?) for our
injured Neon Knockers. The three of them drank a ceremonial
down-down. Now comes the final
comments that somehow made it to my notes. After a lot of beer and one of the most painfully long
circles of the new millennium, I can offer no explanation for most of
this. However, I would not be
doing my job if I did not report what was written: Quote # 13: "Its' not fun
& games until Mystic gets pissed" -Mystic
Blow Observation # 73: Hot Tub Slut manhandled most of RU Deep's midsection, and was penalized by the referee 5 yards
for encroachment AND 10 yards for Offensive Holding. Observation # 81: F*cking Nothing pumped the keg dry well
beyond all normal measures ~10:00 pm.
Soon after that, cans of cold beers in plastic grocery bags, like
manna from Heaven, soon arrived. Observation #84: Anal Vice achieved private slurrage some time
prior to the delivery of the pizzas, it he general vicinity of Tight Box. As a result, Tight
Box had to be wiped down for excess spittle at ~ 10:15 pm; she asked that
the wiping down stop shortly after 11:03 pm. Observation #85-B-- Blue Balls was recounting humorous anecdotes and
observations of the madness all around us; and along with Beat It, a good time was had by all. OK, I think if you
made it this far you either have no job or you are privately hoping to lose
the one you have. I just
realized this is the 7th page, which is about 4 pages too many. Maybe in another month, I'll have the
Cliff Notes version completed.
Then again, maybe not.
See you soon. Submitted better
later than never, better long-winded than short of breath, and better notes
recorded by three people instead of just one, --BestBlow, with significant input from Neon "I oughtta have my head examined more often" Knockers and Tight "I love Hashing except for that pesky running" Box. |