Hash 308—Fine Wine (Whine) Hash
By: Lube My Johnson

My Bitchin’ Hitch as Ditch Witch!

Ever wanna run through ice water in Nor’n Kentuk?  Well, we did, for those of you faint-hearted hashers that missed The Fine Wine (Whine?) Hash.  It was cool, with calm air, so the conditions were right for runnin’ cricks looking for corks.

 Hares:
38 Special
Aching Ass
Anal Vice
Beat It
Best Blow
Butt Digger
Dah Gimp
Dave NHN Rebber
Dingleberry
Eats It Raw
Fagwhore
Fudge Tracker
Gas Hole
Golden Showers
Gourmet
Hot Tub Slut
Hot Wax Me Officer
Hyper Hand Job
Jack NHN Wendt
Joe NHN Maerdl
Kunt Hunt
Little Boy Blue Balls
Lube My Johnson
Mystic Blow
Neon Knockers
Organ Grinder
Pubic Zirconia
Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac
Stinky Winkie
stroX coX baXwards
The Unalicker
Wile E. Coyote

Having missed the chalk talk (late cummer me), we did do another new, non-traditional Father Abraham led by our wiley song meister, Scum Sucking Fecal Feliac.  Out of sorts from the experience, I was tempted to run with Hot Tub Slut in an attempt to snare the hares on an A to B (as though there was much hope).  The Unalicker was accused by Slut of whining before the hash started and Mystic Blow chased Organ Grinder around with three-finger gloves after he remarked on their potential use other than for keeping hands warm.  Beat It had bags on her feet that were only slightly smaller than the bags under Eats It Raw’s eyes.  Ask him why.

Our hares, Gourmet and Aching Ass, started us off on a tricky route not marked with flour for a few hundred meters (‘paces’ for any NKU grads).  Fortunately, it was rose-colored, like my outlook at the start of every hash, so it showed up in the snow.  At the next attempt to take notes my pen froze up, so I was unable to record subsequent events and am going from morning-after memory. 

The pack got strung out pretty quickly.  Fudge, Blue Balls, someone else, and I were out ahead of the others when we first entered a creek.  Splashing through the water and snow was only the beginning.  We quickly found that trail entered a 36” drain pipe.  Our sneaky hares frightened off the majority of the pack (everyone but me) with this trick. After only about six or eight feet, it became a 48” pipe (which, for those of you from Boone County, is larger), allowing me to walk through. 

Soon only Fudge and Lube were following trail and lost it at yet another pipe that, we found out later, was supposed to be traversed.  However, since there had been a water main break upstream, causing the water to be about a foot deep or more and rushy, the hares went over the top of the road.  Fudge found the exit of the tunnel and our first BN.  Turns out that the beer nearly floated away from the rising water.  However, Neon arrived just in time to plunge into the stream and pull it out.  The beer was mostly ice.

Eventually, some walkers and a few others found us, then the majority of the pack, which apparently went around most of the trail.  Hot Wax Me Officer and Dah Gimp set up a rope bridge across the stream and we continued.  The trail again crossed the stream two more times, so if anyone was not wet-footed, they should have been. 

The pack next found a check with two choices, equally bad.  One was to the right and, the other, to the left.  This in itself was not a problem, except both included maybe 400 or 500 feet of vertical climb on a 45 degree angle or steeper in parts.  (If you are reading this from Iowa, just picture a manure pile about half the size of the one accumulated for your caucus and disregard the ‘rithmetic stuff.)  Not being fools, Fudge and Lube inspected the foot prints in the snow to determine which direction—both clearly marked with trail up the slopes—was the YBF.  Seeing two sets of prints up the right trail and only one up the left with what appeared to be tracks coming back, your scribe took the former.  There were two sets of skid marks back into the creek before the hill and two sets of prints going up hill the whole way, so I forged ahead.  The pack waited below and called out several times but were inaudible.  Fudge, meanwhile, had cum back from a foray down the road and was quickly ascending the other trail.  Nearing the top and feeling vindicated in having made the climb, I crested to see a YBF and an orange surveyor tape.  Later, our hares admitted to prelaying the trail and descending backward to make both sets of footprints appear to be climbing.  The orange tape indicated the Magic Cork, which had been identified in the chalk talk which yours truly had missed.  New Years Resolution #78:  Don’t be late to chalk talks.  I’ve already broken #1 through 77, so let’s see if this one holds through hash 309.

Fecal waited for the hash fool to descend and catch up, much appreciated.  Kunt Hunt just caught us at that point, apparently having been nearly strangled in the rope bridge.  We climbed true trail to the WN (wine near).  Also, someone said that Slut had given up trying to snare the hares and had joined the pack, but I think that turned out to be incorrect.  A gloating Fudge described, ad nauseum, how he determined that he was on the correct trail up the hill.  I was too weak to hit him with the Thunderbird bottle that I was handed at the second summit (so much for fine wine), settling on asking him to “cork it.”  Dingleberry had a soccer ball from earlier in the trail.  38 Special challenged him to a rematch from their previous Goalie Shootout.  After an intense battle and a short scuffle on the ground, both declared victory but shared some chewing tobacco as a sign of peace.

Anal Vice revived the rest of the pack, except FRBs Una, Fudge, and Golden Showers, who were already On Out.  Hyper Hand Job and Pubic Zirconia slid on their butts down the punji-staked trail.  Apparently having gained a certain fearlessness after BN4 on the New Years Hash.  Only one of the virgins was impaled slightly, but no one stopped to help, so I assume that he won’t be coming back to the hash. 

We quickly found another tunnel, but it was not trail, followed another stream, splashing through it to yet another tunnel.  Some of the pack entered it and the rest got lost trying to go around.  “There was some water in there” was the most common fine whine.  Fudge, Golden, and Lube snared the hares, who were lost trying to find their trail.  They claimed that they had waited at the WN for 15 minutes, but us snare meisters did not believe a word of it.  We made it into the bar, which was populated by dozens getting their Saturday afternoon exercise watching television sports.

The bartender sent us outside out back where there were “heaters.”  Then they tried to charge an extra buck for pitchers.  (For those of you who normally go to that bar and are having your kid read this to you:  That would mean you could not buy as much beer with your guvment check.  Kids:  If Mama and Papaw still don’t understand beeronomics, they might be planning on the lottery money to pay for your college.)

Circle:  Several half-hearted half minds left before circle, but the brave stuck it out.  Hares drank several times.  The cork winner (found most on trail supposedly) was Waxy, which was rewarded with some rot-gut wine that I cannot remember.  Your scribe was given a little charity for finding but not picking up the Magic Cork.  Reward was a Homer Simpson bottle opener.  Una tried to pass off Wiley on Lube for climbing said hill.  Hares drank some more.  FagWhore’s virgin did make it to the circle, along with one other of the three that started out.  Analversaries and other crimes are unrecorded except from some notes that I got from Kunt Hunt.

Analversaries:
Pubic Zirconia - 65
Fudge Tracker - 120
Stinky Winkie - 140
Hot Tub Slut - 245
Anal Vice - 265

Latecummer:  Gimp, Lube, and someone else (fill in your name here).
No BN:  Slut, Hyper, Stinky
Competitive:  Una (even your own assistant is nailin’ ya now)
No WN:  Slut, Neon

 The circle closed without any namings.  Organ Grinder and Bump ‘n’ Grinder arrived after circle closed, having gotten disoriented.  We told them that they were at the wrong bar and sent them down the road.