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Hash 323 Hard On Mini-Hash-a-thon Due to the heavy gunfire and general mayhem in downtown Cincinnati, the hash was convened on the south side of the river. Guards were posted at each bridge to ensure errant hashers stayed out of the Bombs-Over-The-Rhine district. No one was hurt, but records show many hashers have “gone missing” and may have been caught in a scheduling ambush. Starting out in a little gazebo, our designated hares, Hot Tub Slut and Aching Ass, decided to do the thinkable and added a mystery hare at the last minute. Gazing around, their eyes continually fell on I Repo Shit for the obvious reason that he was wearing day-glow everything, to include lip gloss and eye shadow. HTS admitted his fear that the colors would get the hares caught, but AA’s woody won out. After lashing their extra 40-odd pounds of flour to their newly appointed mule, er, hare, they were ready. Off they went. The pack followed ten minutes later. The Unalicker and Hot Wax Me Officer walked since one or both were wounded, having been shot the week prior. Those Spartans still came to hash, unlike not a few of you hashers out there. Get yer arse to the next hash! BN1 was a quickie, so to speak. Having just taken some sort of Sudafed for allergies—the first ever for me—I was in a bit of a blur. We had dashed through quite a field of nettles and down creek beds to get there, and maybe through a multi-colored tunnel that rotated on three axes. The beer was stashed in an ice maker at an old park, which was reputed to be a good place for a quickie. It was also our first taste of slick mud, slipping and sliding to get around a ball field and rotating tunnel thing. After a few twists and turns, mostly uphill, the pack found a nice overlook and picture check (PC). The hash flashes flashed the hash then dashed off in the correct direction. Beer Near 2 (BN2), right next to the old Wiedemann house. Wiedemann: King of the Queen City Area If You Include Northern Kentucky Beers. Unfortunately, some houses were being jammed into the space between, creating a clay bog BN. This caused a bit of a stir, with not a few hashers showing their squeamishness about squishy soils. Missing from BN1 had been the walkers, who did show at BN2. Tight Sphincter, Wax, and Una all had beers brought to them to avoid getting any more clay on their feet. It was the shameful spectacle of veteran hashers not gravitating to beer. Say it isn’t so! However, my notes say that Wax, in unwonted fashion, slammed her beer after some sympathetic hasher handed it to her. Got Crabs? did his usual and led out from the BN early. You could say Crabs? gets itchy pretty quickly. The pack soon followed on out but not before a mud fight broke out between Anal Vice and Gourmet. Both claimed victory, clay wedged twixt their teeth as they smiled triumphantly. The pack would have been faster were it not for the eight-pound boots of clay that each wore upon leaving the BN. Now, I see that ‘clay feet’ are hidden foibles, but on this day, they were manifest. Your scribe hung back with the walkers and well separated from the pack. There was a quick run up a gray clay path and through some shiggy, where your scribe found AV (still swollen-headed), lost on trail. Busting out, we headed into more shiggy and BN3. BN3?!! Yes! I must confess that it was probably the first in three years that I can recall on a regular hash. There really were rewards that day for the survivors. Maybe since so few had survived the gunfire and high gas prices, there was simply more beer for the rest of us. This was also the first place to see solid evidence of the impending attack, one which would be sure to hit probably every neighborhood, not just the Najaf-on-the-Ohio. What was it that we saw, you ask? Chimneys. Not of red brick or concrete, but mud. They were cicada chimneys. Having not lived through a 17-year invasion, your scribe, who has been giddily watching and waiting, was duly impressed with the quantity of industrious bugs and their handiwork. Unfortunately, the BN was also next to a drainage tunnel that did not rotate but that we could not traverse in solidarity with our arthropod hosts due to flash flooding. Somewhere along the line, Best Blow showed up, having missing the PC, BN1, and BN2. Soon, the hash was back by the start but was still not done with trail. A quick dash downhill led to The Office bar. Out front were our hares, changed and decked out in their pink hats. Quarter Barrel got a little frisky or competitive and sprinted. He said it was really because a car backfired, sounding like a gun shot. After we reminded him which side of the river he was on, he shrugged, “It was worth a try.” The owner of the bar invited the hash back for Wednesday poetry readings, mostly limericks, so just about every hasher should be able to at least appreciate a visit. Here’s my entry for next week: There once was a stash of beer. Not enough references to beer, eh?
A trail is laid in clay and shiggy; No good? Give me another beer and... Circle opens with hares drinking for
their trail. Hare crimes included 2 checks without marks. Analversaries: 40 Hyper Hand Job, 138 Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac, 145 Eats It Raw, 250 HTS, 276 AV. Centurion Mugs: false claim by Eats
It Raw Sisters Drinking for the lack of women at this hash: TS, Butt Digger, .38 Special. Guests on this down-down were the hares, since their pink hats qualified them as chicks. Besides, it was one last chance to take a shot at the hares. Lots of announcements. There was an announcement that Gashole was going to hare. Everyone is still holding his breath. Circle closed. Gourmet had a post script comment to the effect that “it wasn’t as bad as I thought it was gonna be.” Your scribe, Lube My Johnson
P.S. Your scribe got massive poison ivy blisters following the hash, so make sure to rinse off your legs if you haven’t already.
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