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Hash 329 No Shirts, No Shorts, No Problem! Hash Hares: Hot Tub Slut, I Repo Shit The erections told us hashers to stop at Lulu’s bar and ponder our lives before pounding the pavement with the pack. Naturally, few hashers followed instructions, heading directly to the hash. The ones who did dutifully stop off, found themselves at Lulu’s. Even a virgin stopped, but what can you expect from a virgin. Quarter Barrel went “strictly for the beer” while Hot Wax Me Officer claimed that she had only followed The Unalicker, who was lost. As they sat there pondering, the conversation, as recorded by the bartender, went something like this. Una: Where are we and what are we doing here? QB: Anyone want a refill? Waxy: What’s your name again? Virgin: I don’t know if I should say. Una: Maybe you could tell us what we’re doing here. Virgin: Going to a hash. Isn’t that what you’re doing? Waxy: We usually go to the bar after the hash. Virgin: So what are we doing here? Una: Say! That’s my question. QB: We’re drinking beer. Virgin: So we’re not hashing? All 3 Hashers Together: Drinking beer IS hashing. Virgin: In that case, I’ll take a refill. QB: Hey Bar-keep! Another pitcher. Our hares had sufficiently confused the hash, leading to some delays and confusion at Lulu’s (as noted above), but the majority showed up on time. Since we were in the environs of Winton Woods, expectations ran high to see plenty of shiggy and toothless ducks. Into the woods we went after the wily hares. Some horse manure was heard then found on trail a short time later, just before the first Beer Near (BN). There we found three more virgins (Mike, Brian, & Nikki) who had snagged the hares by parking in an entirely incorrect location. Got Crabs! was walking due to a injury he sustained while boxing—ears. Seems the student kicked him but at least pays attention now. He has to, in order to read Crabs’ lips. Crabs said that he would have used the old catalog-against-the-head-to-cushion-the-bat-thereby-leaving-no-mark-for-the-parents-to-find trick, but Hyper Hand Job had borrowed Crabs’ bat for the Doubleday Hash (Rehash 328) and not returned it. Speaking of HHJ, he had on his pink hat and QB was shirtless. Some things never change, which gives hashing the same comfort of an old flannel shirt...with nipple clips. About BN2, the official hash gundalo (Rehash 326) grumbled about a dead rat on trail. It was also at BN2 that a visitor, Hood Ornament from Atlantis (speak about losing your home kennel), smilingly revealed that she was (still) cumming from a Puerto Rican rendezvous in Datin’. Dingleberry began a lawyerly line of questioning that got down to her—well, we won’t go there. At some point, there was a double secret check that confused Butt Digger and Crabs, leading them to somehow get ahead of the guilty hares and snag them. Two snags in one hash! There was a check after a check on false trail next to the dark misty swamp or something. I’m still confused. But seeing Butt Digger piggy-backing gimpy Crabs made up for it. After this less exotic rendezvous on trail, we ran across or maybe I should say we ran by a park bench in memory of Jerry & Audrey Kathman who were apparently married for 50 years. It’s hard enough getting hashers to pay attention for 5 minutes in a circle without them absconding with a handful of chips and starting a private party. So, fifty years sounds like quite an accomplishment. I wonder what they looked like in before-and-after shots. There may have been a third BN, but my notes are remiss. A few more twists and turns in the hood then a quick Finnish right before the end of trail. Oops, I wasn’t supposed to mention that. Sorry, Gashole. As everyone showed up, we watched a Goth with his Columbine-special duster shuffle by, hating life. If he’d just take a few fashion tips from the hash, I’m sure we could save at least one pepperoni-cheeked geek. What a contrast with the neon shirts and holey shorts. While we waited for the bulk of the pack, Repo told the tale of some ornery homeowner calling the police on him and HTS while they were scouting Winton Woods (i.e., public land). Turns out that the cop who responded was a buddy of Repo, so all three of them beat the shit out of the ornery guy. Repo lamented not having the bat from the Doubleday hash. Timing. It’s all timing. They did get to watch a few demonstrations of how a Tazer works, so some things were going their way that day. There was a quick caravan back to the nearby cars then another drive to the bar. If others were following us, starting at Lulu’s, they were bound to give up unless they knew about the free-flowing beer at the impending circle. The circle was at Pike’s, according to my notes, so if anyone reading this is still lost, call ahead and see if we’re still there before coming over. -Hares drank for trail and for the first time in my hashing experience, I saw HTS not finish his beer, so he got dowsed. To get even, he wrung his shirt into the pitcher when no one was looking. Drink up! -Virgins drank. I think there was a total of five (check the list), which would make it one of the biggest hashes for virgins. In fact, there were so many, that Repo leapt out of the crowd and yelled, “Finally enough for an orgy! I got this guy. Kind of reminds me of my prison days.” -Visitor—Hood Ornament drank then displayed her ornaments. -Hares drank for the erections with Una doing a ziggy for a false accusation. -Other hare crimes: 2 X’s by the big misty swamp. Repo declaimed this crime saying, “We don’t deserve it since we volunteered.” His salad tosser agreed whole-heartedly, but they were voted down. The hares also removed their running shirts and shorts before the pack got in, so they may have drunk again. I’m confused. Late cummers: Una, Best Blow, Dah Gimp, Dingleberry, and the guy from Puerto Rico. -MGN: .38 Special, Bouncing Baby Ball Barrister, Repo. -MIA: Crabs, Dingle, $3 A Minute who is the official fair Queen for Clermont County. -Congratulations! I saw a few downcast looks when this was mentioned. -No Sergeant-at-Arms Badge: Kunt Hunt. This should be every week, since I have yet to see such a badge. I see a whole lot of other regalia (e.g., badges for Marshal, Ranger, Sheriff, Salad Tosser), but no stinkin’ badges for S-at-A. -Cumpetitive Shirt and Dropped Gum while babbling about something: Una. -Gay Socks: HHJ. -M-Word: one of the virgins (Carol?), so Waxy drank for her virgin. Waxy, you should have stuffed one of HHJ’s socks her mouth, like ______ says he does whenever ______ keeps chattering. It might have looked like jewelry. -Showing Off (another fictional crime from the badgeless ones): Crabs, BBBBarrister, Lube My Johnson. -Ziggy Zaggy for something: 3 Way Time. -Father Abraham crime (I think there was more yowling but was too distracted to write it down): Gashole. -Centurion Mug MIA: Gimp. -Whistle- none. -MIA @ a BN: BBBBarrister, Crabs, Butt Digger(?) -Hash Analversaries: 20 Homofeeliac, 30 .38 Sp, 120 Butt Digger, 190 Waxy. -Birth Analversaries: Repo, Hot Wax, HHJ. -Mail Crime: Una for opening boxes looking for male but only finding mail. Repo drank as well for being a mail male man and Lube for catching Una. Seems the accuser always gets punished. HTS drank since all hares had to drink. As I swilled my beer, I heard someone muttering about finally getting their wish of being with three men in a public place. -Award for going to Lulu’s: QB. -Cards on Trail: 3 Way Time. Suck This and Gourmet drank for not drinking in circle. Circle closed after announcements and private parties had finished up. The kid in the black trench coat arrived next and pulled out his sawed-off schiedelwutz along some mustard but the orgy was over and the virgins had gone. Your Scribe, Lube My Johnson
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