The Lewis & Clark Hash #367
Hares: stroX coX baXwards & Hyper Hand Job
It was a dark and stormy afternoon when my phone rang angrily in my mansion on Newport Hill. The call was from Got Crabs asking for yet another ride to a hash. For those of you who don’t know, Crabs bought a new Volkswagen back in 1998 and immediately wrecked it. It’s been in the shop ever since, waiting for some parts “that’ll be in this week. I promise.” What he said to those guys working on his car I’d like to know. Anyway, I pulled up to a secret location in Eden Park, blew the horn twice, and Crabs emerged from the shrubbery, and got in the front seat, twigs and leaves stuck in his hair.
We drove northward to a spot where 18,000 years ago or so, glacial meltwater cut a valley into the land, forming the Little Miami River Valley, the site of today’s exertions. The valley is fairly steep-sided here, indicating the relative geologic youthfulness of the Little Miami River. This site, long the abode of mammoths, rhinocerocerousi, giant ground sloths, and native Americans, would again be host to the wild SCH4 tribe, bastard stepchild of the American Running Movement. This narrow wooded valley is rimmed by expensive sub-divisions sold to those seeking country living. The real estate speculators went to quite a bit of effort to level the land and cut down a lot of trees to get the houses in along the ridge. At night, the deer and raccoons slide in and commit acts of vandalism on the shrubbery and unprotected garbage cans. So, today’s hash threatened to have a lot of nasty shiggy and elevation changes in a constrained place. Had enough? Me too.
The hares, in spite of DH3’s Spring Formal incident, chose to meet in a school parking lot. (Remember – if you get caught with an open container in a school parking lot, make sure you’re a male wearing a white miniskirt and you won’t go to jail – right “Someone?”) Crabs and I accidentally missed the turn into the school parking lot and were forced to drive down the steep road to the Little Miami River. On the way down, we noticed a car looking suspiciously similar to HHJ’s parked at a hairpin turn on the hillside. Hmm – that’s where I parked when I planted a BN back in 1974. We crossed the river and climbed the other side, finding HTS and Gimp driving around and looking at the scenery.
We returned to the school parking lot where the clouds finally said, “This is far enough” and dumped their load of rain onto the pack. The wind joined in to make sure the rain got in under the umbrellas. AV was there, sans Mystic, she at a party that AV would be leaving for as soon as possible. Gas Hole was doing anti-rain dances and conservatively promised dryness at the hash start. That San Antonio HHH couple was there again – just can’t seem to get enough of our lush greenery – I guess. Lots of other regular hashers were there but I can’t seem to pull them out of my memory banks. Sorry.
HHJ finally arrived, twigs and leaves stuck in his hair, and chalk talk began. stroX repeatedly said, “You see a hare arrow, follow the hare arrow.” HHJ made a disclaimer, “This is her baby. I showed up to plant the BN and I’m just following her.” While TS was complaining about something, Stinky added a six-pack of beer to her backpack containing Wile E and she never noticed.
Sure enough, right-living Gas Hole’s efforts paid off, the rain stopping just as AV shouted “On-Out.” The pack followed the hares into the woods to the north of the school. Hot Tub Slut, Crabs and I reluctantly went south into the woods, hoping we wouldn’t cut down the hill and snare the hares as they ran the trail along the river. We soon had a big disagreement, split up and I found myself running alone on the ridge. I heard the pack blowing whistles, etc. down in the valley behind me. The noise caught up and passed me. No sense ranging when the pack is ahead, I clawed my way down through the sawbriars and nettles and found trail. I joined the pack at the 1st BN and we all had a damn fine time eating jerked beaver meat and drinking cheap beer. The hares had taken the time to mark this part of the trail with toilet paper. We all agreed we’d never seen the toilet paper wrapped around the branches and tied with a bow before. The on-out was written with toilet paper on a large sycamore, Gourmet posing for a nice picture here.
The trail then doubled back, repeatedly running straight at the river, threatening a fording, then faintheartedly making a hard left to run again along the banks. This nonsense went on for quite awhile and was pretty darn fun. While mocking Stinky’s muddy posterior, I fell myself and slid down a muddy embankment. The river valley rang with shouts of joy as the pack experienced the first nettles of the spring! A fine thing, nettles, just enough pain to remind you you’re alive, yet transient enough to keep you from making any promises to the Lord above.
Somewhere along here, Gimp and Crabs showed up. We quickly lost Gimp at a ridiculous check where he climbed up a 60 degree slope to see if trail went there, thus setting the stage for a Hare Snare. There was an Eagle/Turkey split with the whole pack taking the Eagle. Hash then led up to a trail marked “private-river bends affluent residents only nature walk” and then to some nice lady’s back yard where more beaver meat and beer awaited us. Whoever she was, she then brought out fried cheese sticks and egg rolls. Whoo-Hoo! While on the patio, TS took a seat, leaned back, and found the beer in her backpack. Gimp, fresh from a Hare Snare, arrived later. He was running down a street at the River’s Bend sub-division, sighted the Hares and snared same. They gave him a big lecture about missing the 2nd BN and he reluctantly turned back to join up with the pack. The pack blew and blew and blew for uNa and she finally came out of the bushes with twigs and leaves in her hair. “I’m having a bad day. I’m having a bad week!” she said. “You got 10 seconds to drink a beer,” AV said.
Ten seconds later, AV called, “On-Out” and the pack pretty much ran straight back to the school through the streets of the sub-division. Waxy responded to some jeering by Crabs and made a competitive sprint to the finish.
The pack drove to “Tabby’s” in Mason for the circle. Gas Hole continued to keep the weather at bay, and the pack enjoyed lots and lots of beer on the outside deck. Here’s what I got out of the crappy notes uNa handed me:
Nice blond girl – named Easy Piece of Ass (tentative pack approval here – I foresee a possible name change later)
MIA – Homo Feeliac
Soggy Sparks (?)
OG – Late , Waxy, 38
No cups at 1st BN
Waxy – competitive
HTS & Crabs – no 1st BN
TS – didn’t share beer
HTS – no 2nd BN
Hares – MGN at 2nd BN, nettles, 2nd BN host – competitive shirt, no swing check, toilet paper not mentioned in chalk talk
38 Special – US citizen now (she asked for advice on how to act – was told to watch a lot of TV and eat at McDonald’s once a week)
Gimp – MGN
“uNa is wonderful” – her note, not mine.
Dick the Phone was the one who hid Gourmet’s Centurion Mug. Waxy finally took a bad photograph. It looked pretty disturbing, but turned out to be an unfortunate choice of pose with a Frisch’s Big Boy statue. uNa kept shouting, “I’m having a bad week!”
Attendees:
38 Special
Aching Ass
Anal Vice
Breastalizer
Butt Digger
Curdled Cum
Dah Gimp
Easy Piece of Ass
Eats It Raw
Famunda
Gas Hole
Gin and Tonsils
Goose Bumps
Got Crabs?
Gourmet
Homo Feeliac
Hot Tub Slut
Hot Wax Me Officer
Hyper Hand Job
Kunt Hunt
Organ Grinder
Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac
Soggy Sparks
Stinky Winkie
stroX coX baXwards
The Unalicker
Tight Sphincter
Analveraries:
Gourmet - 210
The Unalicker - 180
Stinky Winkie - 175
Scum Sucking Fecal Feeliac - 169
Tight Sphincter - 165
Organ Grinder - 160
Goose Bumps - 10
I awoke the next morning with a headache and was curiously lethargic the rest of the afternoon. Obviously, I must have a new allergy. Anybody else have this happen?
On-Out
AA
