Hash 311 VD Hash 2004 (Your Evil Scribe: Lube My Johnson) For once your scribe shoed up and showed up on time and shuffled over to the area where hashers should have been shelling out shingles to Shtinky and shipping beersh. But that was ‘bout all that happened by the book before the breezy bright day broke into balmy eve and beer imbibing began. We circled up with overhead cover, which probably explains why nothing went right from that moment forth. The hares, counted off by sevens then broke into several groups and fanned out throughout Burnet Woods. One group formed human ladders to scale a steep incline while another burrowed into the near-frozen stream bed. A dazed professional urban outdoorsman claimed that a third group abducted him but left him relatively unharmed after an apparent séance consisting of humiliation, intimate touching, and incantations involving purple objects. The rest of the groups were not seen until later that day or later that month. Fearing the worst, the remaining two members of the hash, Pumps the Baby’s Bottom and Lube My Johnson, assiduously scouted for trail, using a nautilus pattern. After several repetitions, they were able to complete their workout by finding true trail. Both had increased hams and biceps but their abs would have to wait for the circle. The trail led to a Picture Check, which had been announced in the Chalk Talk. It was in front of some old fire truck that looked like a prop for a Christopher Day Parade—or worse. After spotting a YBF under a dime, they Headed the correct way with Got Crabs? The three-man pack soon ran into a pair then triplet of checks with no flour between them and decided to look for O’s on the hunch that maybe a tic-tac-toe pattern was intended, although it had not been briefed. Since most of the near-white flour was under snow, the process was rather easy. About that time, Quarter Barrel appeared. It must be noted that he bared his chest at the chalk talk without cause. Normally, he does so because of the following reasons: it’s hot, it’s cold, there’s beer, there’s no beer, there’s more beer, there’s no beer again, there will be more beer as soon as the beer bitches get it, there’s no more beer again, why don’t those beer bitches get their shit together, now we’re out of hash cash, there’s a half-empty beer, that was good but now what, oh well I guess I’ll just show my man breasts to get somebody to give me their beer, ah! another beer. Also appearing about this time was Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac, Hot Tub Slut, and possibly someone else who was probably later eaten on trail or took a taxi back to the On-After. After much bumping around, the ragged pack headed out, found trail through a neighborhood, a parking garage, and onto campus. There, they found a driver looking for the basketball game which was being played in Louisville. Tip-off was only two hours prior, so there was still time to make it. However, he looked despondent then said something about entering paradise another day. Whew! Shortly thereafter the pack dwindled back to just Pumps and Lube, who finally got to a beer near (notice no capitals on this one). It was guarded by the neighborhood dealer’s minion. (Two rocks an hour, not bad for not even finishing junior high. Well, finishing school high, but not completing classes.) Even though the beer was out in the open, no one touched it because it would have slowed them down on the way to buying their recreationals. On-Out, the TwoPack (Tupac?) completed trail and Headed on back to find that everyone was departed to the On-After, which was nearly over. The scribe could not stay, so we have only rumors of what happened in the circle. Mystic Blow punched out the bartender and Golden Showers spoke in tongues, or at least seemed to be. Or maybe they just got awards for finding most condoms, but that is uncorroborated information. Right in public, Vomit XXXXXX to XXXX XXXXX then went back and XXX XXXXXX again. Outrageous! Uncharacteristically, some Sergeant-et-Marshals-y-Deputies-und-Sheriffs-at-Arms created crimes on the spot. The hares (Hot Wax Me Officer, Vommitt Dog, .38 Special, and The Unalicker) all did down-downs for haring, something that almost never happens to the hares any more. And Analversaries were celebrated, both for number of hashes and births. Shortly after that, the beer ran out but more was purchased. Quarter Barrel did not show his chest to anyone except the patrons of the bar. At least they were the only ones who really noticed. Let the credits roll. This pig is out of the poke! Hashers: 38 Special Aching Ass Anal Vice Beat It Best Blow Butt Digger Curdled Cum Dah Gimp Dave NHN Rebber Do You Feel Peter Eats It Raw Fagwhore Famunda Golden Showers Got Crabs? Gourmet Homo Feeliac Hot Tub Slut Hyper Hand Job Kremey In The Middle Kunt Hunt Little Boy Blue Balls Long Dong Silver Lube My Johnson Mount Me Faster Mystic Blow Neon Knockers On Her Knees Organ Grinder Pumps The Baby's Bottom Quarter Barrel Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac stroX coX baXwards Suck This The Unalicker Vommitt Dog Wile E. Coyote Analversaries: Kremey In The Middle 25 Aching Ass 55 Little Boy Blue Balls 135 Best Blow 185 Neon Knockers 190 Mystic Blow 200