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Hash 316 Neon Knockers’ Near-Death Experience Hares: Neon Knockers, Anal Vice, Hot Tub Slut, Do You Feel Peter That wasn’t nice! I was tricked. Arriving late, late enough to have missed the pack—and the hash for that matter—I found everyone still waiting to pick a hare, milling playing hacky sack and tagging cars. When Councilman Tarbell tried to join in, everyone clammed up and tried to look respectable. We told him we were hashers, so he took to his heels. (More etymological consternations: “took to his heels” From where did that expression come and where did it go? And that was not supposed to be punny. I never here, uh, hear it anymore. It would be nice if we could use it more often.) Hot Wax Me Officer picked a number, which turned out to be Anal Vice’s. He selected our Hasher of Honor, Lube My Johnson. Okay, not really. Our Harrierette de Honore de Jour de Hash was Neon Knockers, who is leaving to Evansville, Indigestiana, for health reasons. Turns out, all these years of living near Fernauld has accumulated enough Strontium 90 in her body to make her mammae glow, hence her hash name. Evansville only has elevated levels of Radon, so her doctor recommended she move to Evansville, even gave her a great deal on a condo right next to “the cleanest running stretch of the Ohio River.” And he paid for the first year of flood insurance. Nice guy. Since the theme of the hash was Neon’s going away, we met at the bar named Neon’s with most hashers able to scrounge up something neon, day-glow, or just plain bright and loud. The Unalicker wore a hot lemon jacket and nothing else. Jeweless had a construction vest, candy-striped hip wadders, and some sort of Body Glove panties. We were a bit shocked at their glowing growing exhibitionism. Hot Wax or Butt Digger handed out chem light necklaces to those who were a little neon-poor while averting her eyes from the skin twins. After a long 5 minutes, the pack was off. Before we knew it, we didn’t know where we were. Left, right, right, left. Another downtown hash gone mad. Hot Tub Slut snagged the hares and bumped Anal to continue hashing with Neon and begging her for “one last dip in the jacuzzi.” A few back checks got us confused. Eventually, we ended up running through Freddy Washington Park. Do You Feel Peter snared the hares right before the On In bar, which was named Moose or something with a moose in it. There was a giant mug shot of Frank Sinatra before he got fat and an ear job, looking like a bald, albino moose himself. That’s not nice. Little Boy Blue Balls admitted ranging and getting ahead of the pack, actually arriving at Bar Moose then starting back to find the pack. I’m not sure if that’s a crime, but when he still didn’t find the pack, that must have been one. Most everyone ran back the two blocks to get their cars, so we stood around for a while waiting to start the circle. In the meantime, we looked at the “artwork” on the walls made out of the plumbing and conduit that a looter-turned-artist pulled out from the walls of his Over-the-Rhine studio apartment. Nice. Got Crabs? grabbed my ass again. How’s come no one else grabs my ass? I even wore my ‘come hither and grab my ass’ shorts. Oh well. The circle finally opened. Hares drank for leading us around downtown. Neon was only drinking water, since she did not have to go to work the next day. No getting her drunk tonight, shucks! There were no virgins or visitors. Peter was a virgin hare, so he drank. In celebration, Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac sang a new song. I think the title was “Sperm Burbler.” Thaaaat’s nice. Latecummers were Asscam, Lube, and Fag Whore. No crack whores were on trail but part of the trail was snorted, so the hares drank. More miscellaneous crimes ensued. Una did a ziggy zaggy for talking about boobs. HTS and Gourmet drank for doing a boob check on trail without it being briefed, not that we did any trail marks briefing, but they wanted the attention, so drink! Beat It may have drunk for something. Tight Sphincter drank for being nice and blowing some guy or blowing his ears, or blowing out his ears—something like that. Once again, it wasn’t really clear what she did except it sure got a reaction out of the guy. There was no cash involved, so any IRS Internet monitors can be sure not to see this transaction reported on her 1040 next year. You’ll have to check with her on the other thing. Anyway, she expressed pride in her blowing tool, which led to several others drinking with her for having the same tool. No Neon Clothes: Blue Balls, Peter, Stinky Winky, Beat It, and Dingleberry. Una read a nice limerick for Neon, then HTS awarded a “Strictly Neon” hat to Neon. Lost articles: HTS had Gourmet’s shark hat. Una had a light of Eats It Raw. HTS had the still-full flour bags of the hares from the last hash. Analversaries: 20 Asscam, 70 Lube, 138 Eats It, 140 Blue Balls, 145 TS, 175 Gourmet. Birth Analversaries: Dingleberry, Eats It, St. Patrick Neon was caught sitting in the circle. Centurion Mugs: Anal, Una, Blue Balls Eats It ratted on Beat It for something. The only one who had not done a down down was Strox Cox Baxwards, so she drank. Dumbass announcements were next and circle was closed and everyone played nice. Attending:
Scribe: Lube My Johnson |