Hash 331 Toga Hash Hares: Hot Wax Me Officer, I Repo Shit, Little Boy Blue Balls, The Unalicker When I heard that we were going to have a Toga Hash, I did what every hasher does, I opened a dictionary—eh, beer. Then I opened the dictionary. Toga: 1. A draped one-piece outer garment worn in public by citizens of ancient Rome. 2. A party prop; an excuse to go otherwise naked in public, usually stained with beer and other substances. I focused for a few seconds on the first definition. Then something on TV caught my eye or a fly passed by. In any case, I forgot all about togas. Next thing I knew, it was twenty minutes to 4:00 and time to go to the hash. What was it that I read about togas? Where’s the dictionary? Where’s the hash? Get the erections. Okay, now I got fifteen minutes. An ancient robe, let’s see where that old robe is. Can’t find it. Seven minutes. A citizen—watch? Nah, where would I put it? Wouldn’t cover much. Think: A roamin’ gown. Let’s see what I can do..... Many hashers had followed erections correctly, getting to Newport early enough to start staining. Quite a few were in theme attire. There was even a premature centurion, Wrong Nut, having only about 20 hashes. He didn’t have a centurion mug, but his mug did have a smile on it. Some might suggest that it was because he was holding onto his gladium.* They don’t call them gladia for nothing. That’s a little Latin humor for those of you who went to public school (“humor” from the Latin root meaning liquid or fluid, sounds like beer. Barkeep, humor me!). .38 Special made a comment about Gashole shaving more than his legs this time. Suggestion: Don’t bend over if your hem is a little high. Golden Showers was dispensing hugs and toga-straightening services. His customers looked more disheveled afterward. At one point, I Repo Shit (IRS) introduced his ostensibly virgin brother-in-law. Consensus was that the virgin should immediately be named Porks My Sister (PMS). For those of you from eastern Kentucky who’ve been asking, they are NOT brothers. PMS was also dressed as a centurion. Ninety-eight more and we could have reenacted a century in manipular formation attacking the Goth hordes down on Mainstrasse. As it was, I was just glad PMS didn’t demonstrate how he uses his pila.** We dashed off to BN1 (Secrets bar?) where we did not see two of the virgins. Apparently, the hare scroll reader, IRS, had not fully covered the details of hashing (see the scroll attached below). In his excitement—he was more than gladius, a bit giddius—he skipped the part about “four hashes a trail makes.” The virgins, being cumpetitive wanks, had run ahead, found false trail with one or two marks and continued half way to the hills of Maysville before turning around. They finally showed up after receiving not a few grandfatherly hugs. Good thing, too, since we were about to run into virgin checks, marked with roamin’ numeral “V.” Anal Vice achieved slurrage at this beer near. Someone, one of the female hashers that I did not record—a visitor or virgin?, found a railroad spike with a peculiar curve that drew her eye. She said it looked vaguely familiar. Some of the male hashers told her that they would be most gladius to help her find out where she had seen it before. Tavern oddities included a payphone on the bar so that patrons could call their old high school sweethearts without getting off their stools. It even looked like the phone back at the trailer, except it had a quarter slot, just like the retirement planning device at Argosy does. A sign told of “nocho” chips for sale. If my limited Semi-Official Second American Language skills serve me correctly, that means “night” chips. Develop your own mental image of a guy on the phone calling late into the night, stubbing butts and munching nocho boracho chips, as long as his quarters hold and Jenny from homeroom doesn’t hang up. One pitcher was a late cummer, so the pack was held up trying to finish it off. After a profusion of pack confusion (as usual, some wanks ran off trail, found it, then ran it in the wrong erection), we passed a post office (thanks, Una) with an unbriefed PC (thanks IRS). We also passed a boob check (also unbriefed, as were about half the males that day. It gets me thinking how they got the trade name Glad Bag.). We failed to recognize the boob part of the check and about a half-dozen 5s, I mean Vs. We crossed the great Tiber into the city of Cincinnatus. Once there, we were drawn to his bronze likeness on the banks of the great river and drank to his memory. IRS’s parents were there to record the event. As she held up her camera, his mother announced that she did not know “how to make this thing go in and out.” Seems those quotes just run in the family. Dad almost poked her with his pila for the comment. She was so embarrassed that we had one of those sidewalk caricature portrait artists make a rendering. You know the pictures with big ears, teeth, or .... that so artfully bring out the subject’s personality, the poker dogs of portraiture. We sacrificed him for his efforts, feeding him to some out-of-work Bengals. They just pawed him for a while then snoozed under the bushes. Meanwhile, we ate grapes and drank juice but no beer, so the stop was designated a Nectar Near. On through a jazz fest and back across the Tiber via (from the Latin root for road or way) the Purple Proletarian Bridge to the south side of the Tiber. We ran along the banks to a boat dock where there was BN2 or 3, depending on how you look at it. Vommitt Dog was on a nearby boat with his new bride. He quietly complained to some of us that using his gladium all the time was exhausting and wished he could be back at the hash, where no one uses his gladium. We just polish them and keep them ready for use, just in case. About this time, someone remarked how Fagwhore’s toga looked. It was fluffy pastel yellow, chiffon-like, making him appear as a swami on the water or maybe a model for Martha’s new wardrobe line for incarcerees (from the Latin root for prison), a.k.a., jailbirds. I also noticed Egyptian symbols on some of our hares’ robes. Hmmm. We circled for the virgins, since they had to depart for Maysville to “find their keys.” Jamie and Brandon drank then waved goodbye. Some near-toothless old guys in an El Camino with a wooden camper picked them up at the end of the dock. Vommitt and wife drank for being MIA. The On-In was at the B-List. Just about everyone walked, tired of being chased by dogs and old men excited by seeing fluttering bed sheets. The circle opened. Hares drank? Visitors: Angela from Shreveport, Julie from Cheviot (as opposed to all other Julies on the west side), Jennifer, and Chris. Late Cummer: Fucking Nothing, Asscam, Fourgasm, Lube My Johnson, Fagwhore, Dah Gimp. Shitty Trail: Hares. MIAs: Kremy in the Middle, Fagwhore, Blue Balls, Vommitt, Golden Showers, Mystic Blow, Beat It, Poo Packer. Other Crimes: Hot Tub Slut, Kunt Hunt don’t know why. Mother Given Name (MGN): Wrong Nut, 3 Way Time. M-Word: Gimp. No Toga: Vommitt, Fourgasm, Organ Grinder, AV, Gimp, Wrong Nut. Ziggy Zaggy: Gashole for singing the same song twice. Miscellaneous crimes: Gimp for stretching, HHJ for alcohol abuse, Blue Balls for Hilfiger Toga. Hare Crime: Boob check without briefing it. Missing BN2: Wrong Nut. New Shoes: PMS, IRS probably drank with him but it’s not etched in stone. Missing something, like all of us aren’t: IRS. Whistles: Wrong Nut, Fagwhore, Vicky NHN. Vommitt & Concubinia drank. She belched like a Sumatran rhino, putting Emi into labor. Centurion Mug (missing): Gimp & Vommitt. Prizes were announced: Ouzo for the glad bag in drag. Beer for the harus minus gladius. Winners were: Wrong Nut and Sucks But Doesn’t Swallow. Most Olympic-style Medals was Kunt Hunt and Mystic Blow. I think my tears of failure prevented me from recording more about this otherwise joyous award ceremony. Hash Analversaries: 25 IRS, 30 Curdled Cum, 80 Lube My Johnson, 95 Sucks, 150 Vommitt, 185 Gourmet, 207 Mystic. Birth Analversaries: FN, Fagwhore, Hyper Hand Job, Waxy, IRS, Gimp. Homer was returned to Lube from the inveterate thief Una. Prelaid hyper—Repo & PMS. PMS ratted out his wife’s brother. That’s all my notes say. This was some sort of late cummer, get back at ‘em action. Drinking for not having a drink: I Get Around, Strox Cox Baxward, Famunda, Butt Digger, .38 Special. Rebellion: Kunt Hunt ratted out his bossette Una, et al, for the theme. Seems that the reason for the togas was the Olympics, but Greeks did not wear togas (see definition above if your memory has grown as short as my gladium). Gimp pointed out that the Olympians were naked, which would explain his bare chest costume. Then it was pointed out that several hares had Egyptian symbols on their hems. Boy, did I get hot. I could have worn my Charlemagne outfit and been just as correct, give or take a century. At least he was the first Wholly Roamin’ emperor. All that Latin lingo for FN! Sheesh! Just as we were arguing this point, a roving gang of Panegyri dancers entered the bar. They shouted such slogans as, “Greek culture has been improperly portrayed since Theodosius I banned the Olympics in 393” and “Una facia, Una racia, but duo historia. Stop mixing us up, whitey!” A pushing match ensued. We cracked open some Sambuca and made up. Everyone began hugging. One thing led to another, and IRS finally got his orgy (Hash 329). The End. Your Scribe, Lube My Johnson *gladium – Roman short sword **pila – light Roman spear THE SCROLL OF INSTRUCTION On behalf of Waxus, Blueus Ballus, Unis Lickus, and myself, Repus Shitus, the hares of the toga/olympic /animal house hash, I welcome you to sin city hash number cccxxxi. Would xxxviii please bring forth the virgins? That’s you 38. C’mon people pay attention Before we start you should always remember the first rule of sin city hashing. Bath house whore please step forward. That’s you slut. Do not under any circumstances follow bath house whore as you will only end up hoplessly and unendinly lost. We will now go over the trail markings for todays event. Hash= used to mark trail. Follow it and you will make it to the end and more importantly to the cerevisia Checkus. Will be marked by the roman numeral 10 trail can go any direction from this and will be marked by piles of hash On i, on ii, on iii, mean nothing. On iv, true trail. Backus checkus= will be marked with the traditional bc or ad depending on our mood. From this mark you must travel back along trail to find where true trail has broken off to the side. As marked with hash. .x.= boobus checkus only women may search for true trail when you come apon this mark. The virgin checkus will be marked with the roman numeral 5. Trail must only be scouted by a virgin. As virgins are frail and nubile they may be accompanied by a eunuch (any man currently married) as they are safe and cannot deflower the virgins before the circle. The “pharo check” will of course be marked with a pc. It pleases the great pharo Anus Viceus that a pack photo be taken at all pharo checks for his amusement. There will be several people with cameras on trail including “et tu it raw”, gourmetus, and my brother in law who is now and forevermore to be known as hashzilla the worlds largest hasher… you don’t like that? How about “porks my sister” i’ll be “irs” and he can be “pms”. The “bite my asp” formerly known as a “you’ve been fucked” will be marked with sideways roman numeral 3. You must go back to the closest ten. And find the real direction of the trail from it. Packus arrow= this indicates the direction the pack thinks the trail leads. At his point i ask you to look at the people around you. Does anyone here look like a great thinker to you? Just keep that in mind. Harus arrow= this is the way of true trail laid by the hares to help the wandering pack get back on track. Beerus Nearus or for those of you who actually speak latin cerevisia apud will be marked with the traditional bn. You may see one or more of these on trail provided you follow the right person. I suggest following someone who looks thirsty and not the least bit happy about being sober. Is Kuntus Huntus here? There is a good bet. On trail there will be many gold medals to be collected by the pack. The hasher who collects the most medals will win a fabulous prize. However competitive behavior will be punished (this means you iii way timeus…. She’s like a deperate bridesmaid going for the boquet at her last single friends wedding) so don’t get between her and a medal. If by chance you have been running a long time without seeing trail markers and you finally come upon a sign that says “welcome to indiana” you have probably broken the first rule of hashing by following “bath house whore” if this happens ,,,, thanks for the six bucks and see you next week at the gispert memorial hash. I would now like to apologize to my fellow hares in advance for the many “down downs” they will inevitably have to do. For they have bravely broken the second most important rule of the sin city hash. Never hare with Repus Shitus. Please place your right fist over your left breast and direct your attention in that direction as our special guest arrives in his golden chariot to lead you in father abraham. Plebeians: 38 Special Anal Vice Angela NHN Angie Asscam Beat It Bouncing Baby Ball Barrister Brandon NHN Cain Butt Digger Chris NHN Spears Curdled Cum Dah Gimp Eats It Raw Fagwhore Famunda Gas Hole Golden Showers Got Crabs? Gourmet Hot Tub Slut Hot Wax Me Officer Hyper Hand Job I Get Around I Repo Shit Jamie NHN Cain Kremey In The Middle Kunt Hunt Little Boy Blue Balls Lube My Johnson Mystic Blow Organ Grinder Poo Packer Pork My Sister stroX coX baXwards Sucks But Doesn't Swallow The Unalicker Three Way Time Vicki NHN Dwyer Wrong Nut