Hash 314 The Back Side of the West Side Hash Hares: Hot Wax Me Officer, Kunt Hunt, Mount Me Faster, The Unalicker and 7 dwarves This time I was very early, so don’t even think that I’m making up stuff about the beginning of the hash. It was a sunny afternoon but cold and breezy, so it musta sorta kinda scared off a few hashers. Our SCH4 SPC charts show that the total attendance for the day was inside our LCL for a no-theme hash in March. There were a few outliers. Fudge Tracker and Hyper Hand Job were caught snickering as they hunched over some booklet or magazine while sitting in Fudge’s car. They claimed it was a map for their up-cumming hash, but we know otherwise. Everyone eventually showed up who was willing to brave the weather and the West Side. Someone in the opening circle called it ‘Hash 313’ and it felt that way a little. Or maybe more like Hash 312 or even 311. De ja vu all over...well, you get the picture. There we were in the Western Hills High School parking lot drinking on school property again, with only a handful of hares and flour, ready to chase our tails. It had been a while since we had gone to the deep West Side of Sin City, but were ready to nail the trail and tell our tales of tailing mail snails with pails of flour that they didn’t use. The pack got a quick briefing of the marks that had been used to mark trail, including notification of an ‘HC’ (Hot Chick) on trail. The other marks included checks, hash, and boob checks and maybe a pack arrow along with the obligatory picture check. Little did we suspect that there would be 7% more boob checks and a whopping 46% more checks than hash marks but 96% fewer hare arrows, asymptotically approaching zero. There was also an Atkinsesque mere 2.3 pounds of flour used in the day’s recipe. But who’s counting? The hares (representing 21% of the total present) dashed off, leaving in the school parking lot 13% of all hash marks and 100% of live trail. As the pack ticked off the minutes doing a vanilla rendition (of Graeter’s quality, naturally) of Father Abraham, led by Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac, who has led 88% of all Father Abrahams in the current hash year, we became antsy. Since the trail was already laid, the Grand Master, Anal Vice, made the call to start walking in the same direction as the hares, confident in the knowledge that they were already motoring the two blocks to the B site. This saved approximately 48 seconds off the trail, which accounted for a 0.63% reduction in hashing time for most hashers present. Who else was counting? We quickly ran into a YBF, BC, and the most salient feature of the day: no hash. The second most salient feature was then found. It was a hash mark behind a tree or other object. The pack quickly found no trail, so it continued until it found a double check, one of them being a boob check. Then there may have been a hash mark and couple more checks. Then a boob check. Then a YBF then a hash mark, seven more checks with a boob check, a hash mark, no trail for a couple blocks, then a check and a couple more hash marks behind trees before we got to the first beer near (BN1 for those counting). Did I get the count correct? It was at Mount Me Faster’s genome donors’ abode. The maternal donor called 911 to request neck braces for FRBs who had been craning their necks backward to find trail behind trunks and trash cans. MIA from this BN was 50% of the temporary sheriffs or marshals or whatever the heck they are, Hot Tub Slut, who had been appointed since all 13 of the hash security and crimes unit were haring that day. The other temp majordomo was SSFF who was suffering from a black eye because of running forward but looking backward right into a street sign. Also MIA was Little Boy Blue Balls and Fudge Tracker. Looking around, we had a good showing of Daytonians, some walking, some running, and all drinking. When I counted them, my list included Barrel Roll, Rusty Prick, Penis Head, Wrong Nut (?), Head Wetter, Pussy Whipped, but there were probably others. Asscam and Vommitt Dog both had torn shirts, accounting for 6% of the pack and 9.8% of the shirts. Fag Whore was on out early. The pack continued through the other 2.3 miles of trail and seventeen marks, 19% of which were boob checks and one was a PC in front of, you guessed it, a junk mail factory—er, post office. Almost forgot. We had a HCBN (Hot Chick Beer Near) that was not marked. The HC used a few MGNs for Mount Me Faster. Not at the BN were Asscam, Strox Cox Baxwards, Beat It, and Saddam Hussein, who sent his regrets. Got Crabs? was on out early, depleting the pack by 6.6% and leaving an additional beer for the HC to sell in Western Hills HS parking lot. After much confusion at Mark Number 16 (a check) the pack found the bar. The circle began forthwith. Hares drank for prelaid trail, something novel (unless you were at a previous hash this year). Since the hares were wearing theme clothes at a no-theme hash, one (Hot Wax Me Officer) was caught wearing her bandana head gear during a down-down. No one made them drink for having a theme, but maybe next time. As it was, they drank 33.2% of all the beer in circle. No virgins. Hashers! Get out there and scare up some virgins so that we can scare them off in the circle. First Time Sin City: Ralphie the Frat Boy. MIA: Rusty Prick, Barrel Roll, PW, Phead, Friendly Thighs. Grand Masters: Anal and Phead drank for some reason. “Shitty Walking Directions” (exact quote): Hares No Dead Squirrel Marked: Hares Hares Crimes (continued): poor marking Rusty Prick did a ziggy zaggy for a false accusation. Analversaries were drunk. Penis Head - 50 Got Crabs? - 65 Lube My Johnson - 69 Little Boy Blue Balls - 138 Stinky Winkie - 145 Beat It - 165 Anal Vice - 270 Hare Analversary: Una, so all hares drank. HTS did a ziggy zaggy for something. Whistle check, no takers. Bock Fest mentioned gratuitously. Triple X did a 17 mile run that morning then whined about it, so she drank. More BS crimes ensued amidst the pandemonium. Birth Analversaries were drunk. Wrong Nut, PW, Blue Balls. The Recurring 50/50 Club (those with 50 at Sin City and 50 at Datin’ Dayton): Phead, Gold Showers, SSFF, Anal, Vommitt, Mystic Blow, HTS. Centurion Mugs: Vommitt, Una, Best Blow, Blue Balls. Hares drank yet again. Everyone else who had not drunk at least one beer from the 29 pitchers (someone was counting them) that we bought did a down down. Six or eight hashers got a swallow, but they didn’t really count, except Kremey in the Middle, since hers was the only name that I got on my notes before I got distracted by the deer on the wall with a helmet and grenades on it. It was announced that Wiley der Erste will be cumming back at Datin’ Hash 666 if 15 Cincy hashers sign up. Vommitt was the first signatory and counting. Speaking of Wile E., I don’t have any notes about his status, but believe that it was determined that he was not eligible for being awarded because a hare had him but did not carry him on the trail, so if anyone wants to clarify this, please send your information in triplicate to the following address: National Reconnaissance Office Attn: ____________ ________________ _______, ________ 20012-6969 Your Scribbler: Lube My Johnson Hashers: 38 Special Anal Vice Asscam Barrel Roll Beat It Best Blow Dave NHN Rebber Do You Feel Peter Fagwhore Friendly Thighs Fudge Tracker Golden Showers Got Crabs? Head Wetter Hot Tub Slut Hot Wax Me Officer Hyper Hand Job I Repo Shit Jeweless Kremey In The Middle Kunt Hunt Little Boy Blue Balls Lube My Johnson Mount Me Faster Mystic Blow Neon Knockers Penis Head Pussy Whipped Ralphie the Frat Boy Rusty Prick Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac Stinky Winkie stroX coX baXwards The Unalicker Vommitt Dog Wrong Nut Wile E. Coyote