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Hash 317 The Most Splendiferous Hash Hares: Hot Tub Slut, Lube My Johnson One day not long ago, there lived a little wanker of a troll who made the rain. Each day he sat outside a mephitic hole in the side of a ditch that he called “my own little piece of insalubrity,” shaking his knobby fist at passersby and meth-head neighbors while muttering epithets such as “May your candle burn low.” They, in turn, would cast evil glances as well as garbage and household appliances into his ditch out of spite and a desire to be unencumbered by anything other than their never-ending search for more crank. Then one day, two wily would-be hares wandered past the ditch in which he lived, seeking new trail. The bilious troll shook his fist then covered his head, waiting to be pelted with a rolled up carpet or bag of diapers, but none came. The troll sat down in the entrance of his little, excrementitious hole, scratched his head, pondering this unusual event, then he shat and took a nap. A few days later, the same wily hares came back, again passing by without hurling used condoms or shingles, so the troll began to worry. What was happening to his comfortable little world of angry immundity? A few days later, as he contemplated bringing down another rain to soak the fresh scurf all about him, the two hares returned for a third time, carrying a full garbage bag. They laid the bag in the ditch, almost on top of the troll, and covered it with leaves. They even threw dusty powders on the ground nearby. At first he was relieved to see that the world had, indeed, not changed. Then, he shook his fist and hollered after the two as they left, “You’re gonna pay! You and all your kind. Before this day is through I will bring a dowsing on your muckless heads!” The troll waived his hands and slapped his thighs. He wailed and gnashed his teeth then threw himself on the ground, after clearing away some tires and a McDonald’s bag. The clouds, which had been waxing and waning all day, came together and hosed all those in the woods and on the streets, causing hashers to draggle themselves, lose trail, and gnash their own teeth. Thus was the day to become most muciferous.... Once again, the core of SCH4 gathered on a Saturday afternoon, this time at Dunham Rec Center, under the eye of the troll. Several Datin’ hashers again returned, looking for beer and space blankets. We even had two virgins brought by Damaged Goods, so someone was paying attention to our call for more virgins. She also didn’t trust Jeweless on his own after the hyper. The hares grabbed their flour bags and flipcharts to brief the circle. The troll smiled and rubbed his nubs as he saw that he had three dozen unsuspecting half-minds to dowse. A drizzle I make to give tasteses of the future. The hares dashed off and were away only about 15 minutes when the wanking troll brought down the clouds. Fortunately, all but the first couple hundred meters (1.1 yards for those of you in the automotive industry) were prelaid. But the troll was mightier than the chalk. Each check that the hares made with chalk was washed away. As the pack dashed by checks and climbed hills or down dales, the troll laughed, for they were lost on trail, en masse. He began making his way toward the first beer near when the misguided pack found true trail and the BN. They drank little, as they were wearing a serving of precipitation as well as a pitcher of mud. Several hashers were MIA, possibly trying to range. Even the virgins had made it to the BN. By the way, this part of the trail was on an old rail bed, brought to you by your resident train aficionado, HTS. On Out. The pack then missed the Turkey/Eagle split. Now I would like to say that it’s been many moons since we have had a T/E and the Eagle was a most argillaceous path of seduliferous twists and turns. Slick but satisfying to finish. A gift in the offing for the adventurous. Only Aching Ass found and ran it, sliding and splashing. Dashing out of the woods, alone but self-congratulatory in his considered opinion to be FRB, he chided some laggards, only to find that he had run the Eagle backward. The troll cackled with delight. On On to the second BN. The pack largely closed up on this site then moved onto the streets of Price Hill as the skies cleared and the power of the troll faded. Into the Sunset Pub. After much A-B car trip hubbub, the circle opened. Gashole, the Religious Advisor who failed to halt the troll’s onslaught, ran the circle with an assist from a cast of thousands. The two virgins were Kelly and Jeff. MIA: Off Like A Prom Dress, Smegma, Miracle Grow, Bouncing Baby Ball Barrister, Thumper Humper. Hares: Crime for most hashers missing the T/E split. Next time we’ll set up a traffic light and cop, you whiners!!! (Remedial trail running will be conducted next week for those uncertain of how to recognize letters and arrows on pavement.) Pack Crimes: Not making BN1: Smegma, The Unalicker, Jeweless, Got Crabs?, Stinky Winky, Little Boy Blue Balls, Quarter Barrel. MGN: Beat It. Bleeding Nipple: Anal Vice. He claims it was a trail injury but that new chip in one of Mystic Blow’s incisors kind of scares me. Phead drank with because when one Grand Master drinks... Gashole: For talking about the size of his Schniedlwutz. RA Crime (rain): Gashole. Latecummers: Dah Gimp, 38 Special, Fourgasm, Mrs. Miracle Grow. Analversaries: 20 Fagwhore, 120 Famunda, 125 Una, 138 Organ Grinder, 140 Eats It Raw, 180 Hot Wax Me Officer. Birth Analversaries: Eats It, Smegma, Gashole. Whining On Trail: Neon Knockers. Endlessly complaining about not being able to hash with Sin City when she moves away and how no one has talked her out of it yet. Last Hash: Neon, who has donated a pair of shoes to be burned this summer at an appropriate hash. You others planning on leaving the Jewel o’ the Ohia’ need to hold on to a pair yerselves. Ziggy Zaggy for botched announcement: Phead. Other Dumbass Announcements ensued. Wile E. Nominations: Lube for being hit on by Richard Simmons at Dunham, Aching Ass for running the Eagle backward, Una for something, Spain for running like a school girl. Una retained Wile E. because if we gave it to Spain, we wouldn’t get it back. Mug Check: Gimp had Una’s mug but not his own. Apparently he had been harboring it for several weeks. Circle closed so that hashers could troll for food then reopened. Fag Whore was nominated for Wile E. for being able to puff cigs and still huff and hoof trail for 20 hashes. He’ll wear it proudly just as long as he has to, I’m sure. A most resplendiferous honor, indeed. Your Scribe, Lube My Johnson Hashers:
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