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Hash 328
The DoubleTroubleDay Hash Years ago when I was a kid, I used to see these wonderful commercials, ones that had the effect of sucking money out of my pants and into the pockets of the advertisers. They were an American version of a Euro-art silent ad. A pair of kinda hot chicks who looked eerily alike would have some oh-so-funny thing happen like a tennis ball bounce by or a guy look back at them as he rode past on a bike. Ha ha ha! What cleverness! Then it dawned on everyone that, indeed, they were twins or just had the same skilled but unimaginative plastic surgeon. Imagine the casting calls for these works of genius. Somewhere along the line, they would share a stick of gum and smile at us to let us know that we, too, could have the same out-of-this-world experience if we bought the same gum. After several years of running these spots, nefarious corporate marketing demons added a tag line that included “double trouble” in there. At least that’s how I remember it before therapy. Double the pleasure with DoubleDementiaMint Gum. Today we have Mentos ads with even more cleverness. The creativity never ends. Arriving about on time, 4:15ish, I quickly realized that I was caught in a commercial. (I would like to point out that Dah Gimp was there ahead of me.) There was one hare, Hyper Hand Job, in a Reds-like outfit and “Smith” on the back. At first, I saw his co-hare, Eats It Raw, also wearing a baseball outfit with “Smith” on it, too. Hmm. But it was blue and, well, their moustaches didn’t match. Then my eye caught I Repo Shit wearing a Reds outfit that made me do—what?—a double take. A tennis ball bounced by and we all had a chuckle and a stick of gum. There was one virgin accompanying a visitor of sorts, Biscuit Bitch abnormally from Frankfurt, Germany. There was also a rather small group of hashers. We quickly found out that the bat HHJ was carrying was not going to be used in place of flour on trail, so everyone breathed easier. Then the hares briefed the use of a ‘K’ when marking checxs. Nekt, the hares ekited themselves from the area. Gashole led us in a squealing version of Father Abraham. I got a little ekcited by the sounds the hash was maxing. We Headed out and found trail through shiggy, no, not shiggy, lots of roads. Whew! The Unablonde, I mean Unalicxer, showed up late without anything to record crimes. That’s a crime. There was a BC and a sneaxy trail and yet more false trail off a checx. Yours truly did not hear whistles from some of the pacx who had found true trail, so he and some others xept looxing. Nekt thing you xnow, we found flour then toilet paper hanging from a bush. I blew my whistle prematurely, not from the squealing thing, but thinxing that this must be true trail off the BC. There was no trail, just shiggy and more than one spot where someone used toilet paper for what it was designed. Little Boy Blue Balls claimed later that he blew and blew or maybe just waved his arms for the rest of us to follow him. Organ Grinder said that he hid in the bushes until we disappeared then xept on FRBing. Finally, the pacx found true trail, dashed through a few parxing lots, around a baseball diamond, then a beer near. It appeared that some others had already been there. Wiede-wonder beer was served. On out from the BN, we wound through several neighborhoods and past a pool. What, no stop at the pool? There was much xvetching that the trail was looxing very familiar, having been run before. We quicxly came upon HHJ’s house for BN2. As we did, we saw the first group sneaxing out the front. Someone made a bet where the bar would be but no one would taxe the bet, since it was too predictable by that time. UnaB talxed about some incident that day where she brushed her teeth with a cat. Don’t asx! We then finished the trail and found that the hares were not there. The FRBs had drunx all the beer and spit in the cups, so we ordered more beer. An argument broxe out between Gashole and Beat It in which the former said that the latter had been right once. The latter disputed the former and said it was actually twice. The former then rebuxed the latter to say be happy with my admitting you were right even once. Ooo, beer! End of argument. Someone made the comment that fikings were being retrieved by the hares. Why are we waiting? MIAs—Aching Ass, Hot Tub Slut, and Gimp showed up. HHJ brought in his own recipe of BBQ sloppy joes. EIR was still not to be seen. AA said that he and HTS found some “big holes” that they fell into and said we all needed to find the big holes. Some Una quotes during the wait: “Sounds lixe something a man would say.” “I was young and stupid, now I’m neither.” Then she lost a carrot into the ranch dressing bottle. Circle opened and the hares were both gone again, so we started with the virgin, Rob. EIR showed up just in time to demonstrate a down down but tried the “when one hare drinxs...and since my co-hare isn’t here” tricx. Didn’t worx. Ziggy zaggy. Then he dribbles! Hare crimes included the use of small x’s, I mean x’s, and the BC madness, among others. MIAs: Mystic Blow, Who the Fucx. Late: .38 Special, The Unalicxer. MGN: Biscuit Bitch for virgin’s use, IRS for his baseball cards. Now, it’s one thing to dress up with an elaborate outfit for the Doubleday/baseball theme and quite another to maxe baseball cards of oneself. Too much time on his hands. Of course, I xept one. Whistle: Hairless Nut. Late Again: Mrs. Gashole, SiktyNina. Analversaries: 60 Aching Ass, 145 Organ Grinder (needs to drinx, since he FRBed out of circle early), 150 EIR, 155 Stinxy Winxy, 255 HTS. Mugs: Famunda, turns out Gimp had it and not his own, so she dranx then I thinx he did. Also, HTS, after much lawyerly whining, dranx. Birth Analversaries: Asscam, Anal Vice, IRS, Curdled Cum, Beat It. Announcements, then award to IRS for best spirit. Then, a great injustice, one that surely should lead to reforms in the punishment system of international hashing. A formal protest has already been lodged. Since there was no Wile E., no others to abuse, the scribe was singled out after much profiling. Being a historically underrepresented minority, the only scribe in the crowd was unable to stop the railroading. A beer was produced and...Down down. Your Scribe,
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