Camoput season is upon us. This year’s Spring Campout will take place at Rio Bravo Motocross Park near Lake Houston. Want to learn more? Click here.
Courtesy of: Whale’s Vagina, Unlaiden Swallows, and Booby Trap
Ladies and gentlemen, presenting the best trail of the year. That’s a tall order for a trail without shiggy or boob checks. But it did have a whole roast pig, formally-costumed harriettes, cross-dressed hounds, coronation headgear, prize beers, pre-made Brass Monkeys and…ahem…slut juice. Whale’s Vagina unsettled in his old age, sought to reenact that culmination of the American high school experience, prom. He sought out the classiest harriettes for help, and also settled for the expert services of Unlaiden Swallows and Booby Trap. Trail was essentially an afterthought, as this occasion was clearly an excuse to hang out in funny costumes and get drunk. As such, trail was a pavement pounder, less than 4 miles, out to the beer (and AC) check at Taps for a pint of Lone Pint, and back. This did not stop a handful of r@cists from ranging and getting lost. Within an hour, nearly the whole pack had returned to the friendly confines of Happy Meal park. Here there were libations aplenty (yes, aplenty!) and homemade prom cake and homemade prom salsa. Hounds and harriettes worried about overheating on trail also took the opportunity to don their prom outfits. Curiously, of all the hounds who dressed up, more than half took the opportunity to cross dress instead.
Much to the chagrin of a randy Whale’s Vagina, duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod directed the pack to circle up across the parking lot away from a children’s birthday party. While waiting for the RA to get properly attired, Tender Vittles uh, entertained the assembly with a new song about wearing women’s clothing. Listen for it in the upcoming remake of Mrs. Doubtfire, starring Tyler Perry. Naturally the outstanding hares drank first for their outstanding trail. At this point, Geek intervened to take nominations for next year’s mismanagement positions. All in attendance described the process as efficient, intuitive, and orderly. They also described Busch Lite as sweet nectar, so who really knows? In traditional Geek fashion, he finished quickly and regular business resumed, starting with the virgins: Just Steve and Just Rob. They picked the same preference for sexual position, the Double Dutch Rudder. The reboots were too many to recount. We look forward to hashing with them anyways. Visitors featured the famous Hog Straddler, New York Yankee Vote For Pedro, and Texas Interhash royalty Yellow Rain & Crouching Tiger, Hidden Jacob. They performed their famous tip-touching song and dance. The lone transplant was Backseat Joystick from Vientiane, Laos. The On Sec is still researching jokes about Laos. Analversaries and celebrations included Snatch Trick who quit inspiring America’s youth, and Platterpuss‘s 5 year hashiversary. Dog tags were distributed to Duke of Puke (150), Unlaiden Swallows (100), and Hooter Bill, with a whopping 1669 trails. To put that number in perspective, that averages out to one trail a week for more than 32 years! Surely the following accusations would fail to impress more than that.
Re-minted Ironm@n Ass Swipe got things started by recognizing the Iron Hashers from the previous day’s 16 hours of Brass Monkey events. Whale Tail was then chastised not just for sitting in circle, but for doing so upon a pink yoga mat. Meatbox proceeded to demonstrate a proper downward dog. True fact: most men desire control, but yogis control desire. Hashers desire beer. The On Sec was called in next and note taking was supervised by some visitors. Their notes, verbatiim: And then Whale’s Vagina got fucked in the ass by a horny marmot. He nibbled on the balls and dove into his asshole thinking it was his burrow (some call them holes). At one point, the marmot was gonna eat his liver but then realised there was more nutrition in his semen filled stomach. Hmm, that would explain the marmot-breath.
At last, the time had come to annoint the prom royalty. The hares selected a top three in each category, and the circle voted for the winner. For prom king, Pull The Plug managed to top out Son of Pill Pusher and Just James. He received a kickass crown and a bomber of Miracle IPA. For prom queen, a feisty Amazing Technicolor Vagina bested the likes of Krazy Puppy and Buzzkill. She was rewarded with a terrific tiara and a bomber of Tramp Stamp Belgian IPA. Best cross-dressed came down to A Proper Woman‘s little black dress, Beezur Wilson and his momma EZ Chair‘s matching polka dots, and a victorious Tender Vittles for his charming yellow sundress and wig. As a tranny, he’ll need the Lubrication black ale and fancy vessel to drink it from. There was yet another stupid bimbo award for IFYD, who gloriously misinterpreted x-dressing as x-rated dressing, and all were fortunate for it. Her fortunes were rewarded with a bomber of New Belgium’s Lips of Faith.
The hares drank next for losing a super-sequined Brrrggghhh on an untraceable trail. During their ensuing down down, Booby Trap floured with a flourish, and then a spilled beer further ingrained her triumph into her hair. After a few hours of washing, most of the flour is gone from her follicles. There wasn’t enough beer for ultra-lame accusations (yay?) so Whore-o-Scope drank last for trying to open a beer on a dog’s asshole. True story. After that, it was time to swing low and GTFO. But not before enjoying a fresh roast pig (yay!), courtesy of Rancid Asshole and Grind Slut. Look for those three again at the upcoming Spring Campout! Also IFYD bought some beers for everyone on her own dime.
ON ON ON
The On On On was back at Taps, where drink will flow and blood was spilled. Seriously, it was a great time.
What are you gonna do with your Memorial Day weekend? Full moon trail Friday! Galveston and EatMe trails Saturday! No hangover on Sunday!
Not too late to sign up for Spring campout, too late for gimmes tho
Never too late to nominate for mismanagement erections…
THIS WEEK IN HASHTORY
1989 – Founding of Bakersfield, CA H3
2003 – Founding of Pudong China Full Moon H3
1946 – After surviving WWII, Hooter Bill finally old enough to drink
Courtesy of: Ffigawi, Ass Swipe, Duke of Puke, Pearl Necklace
Trail started across the street from Ring Of Fire‘s stately abode. After pounding pavement through Le Montrose, trail ended in the backyard of Duke Of Puke‘s modest mansion. For better or for worse, it was just that eventful. Let’s go to circle, shall we?
Duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod corralled his congregation with some help from a Lobsterman down by the shore. As is custom, the hares drank first for their dazzlingly shitty debacle of a trail. For many new boots in attendance, this was their first glimpse at names of the said but never seen in the likes of Ffigawi and Pearl Necklace. Oh, that’s who they are! Following the time-tested recipe, virgins drank next. The trifecta of Just Rob, Just Doug, and Just Sarah in circle was a veritable Ginger Apocalypse, coming up next on SyFy. Interjecting for a moment, Grind Slut appraised the circle of Ho Cheese Man‘s improving condition. He is grateful for the hash’s support, and could really use some visits from good friends (i.e. titties in his face). This was naturally concluded with a savory round of My girl’s a vegetable. Visitors came from home and abroad, featuring Crotch Thumper from Lexington, KY, and What’s His Name, a forgettable man from a forgettable city, Paris. Transplants were comprised of Dipshit-progenitor Just Roger from Long Beach, and Sir Dance A Lot from San Antonio. A smattering of reboots followed: Narc – closed the old folks home, Homoglobin – breast milk ran out, Hole In One and Too Drunk To Fuck – it’s the playoffs, eh?, Spin Cycle and Horsefly Drivebi – Alaskan meth adventures, Just Chris – sex reassignment surgery, EZ Chair – mastador sled dog racing, Backseat Yogurt – scheisse porn, Pearl Necklace – busy brewing! If you thought that was a long list, get a load of these analversaries: Estrus and TDTF – 40th birthdays, Platterpuss – 5 years hashing, Pearl Necklace and Juices Flowing – Mother’s day, and McPisser – getting TXIH 2014 to Houston. Finally, at the conclusion of that usual business, it was time for accusations! But not before the 1st Anal Insane Clown Pussy cooler award, which went to Parson’s Nose, who approached him with the secret pass phrase “I love boobies.” Of course, if you talk to certain hariettes, you’d be forgiven for thinking he says those words 24/7. On-on for more…
Courtesy of: Just Katherine and Little Pussy
What makes a trail shitty? Much like pornography, it is difficult to define but can nonetheless be identified on sight. Some shitty trails are long. Still, many long trails are extraordinary. Some shitty trails are yawning pavement pounders. Yet many trails over uninteresting terrain yield wacky shenanigans that nonetheless entertain. Some shitty trails are sun-drenched heat marches. But hashing Texans native and emigrated have made peace with the sweat and burn the summer season sends. What precisely would cause a pack to rise up as one and plant a hare’s shit chute squarely upon the ice?
Nobly, Little Pussy elected to solve this hashing conundrum by means of an experiment. To accomplish his scientific, high-minded goal, he retained the services of Just Katherine as his partner in crime cohare flour caddy. He also offered the On Sec a crisp Hamilton to try and give trail a positive spin in the trash. Hey, little Whale Vaginas gotta eat, too. The experiment yielded two results: The first, that the only activity hashers enjoy as much as drinking is complaining. This is patently old news. But, the subject hashers prefer most to complain about is the very bane of snake oil salesmen everywhere: false advertising.
Trail was announced to start at 2:00 PM for an estimated length of 5 miles. This would certainly have been a reasonable distance for late spring weather, even without a beer check, as the chalk talk made plain. Those ambitious few who completed true trail would report distances nearing 9 miles, a misjudgment of nearly 100%, however. Neither was it a speedy 9 miles. Venturing out from the start, trail veered through shiggy infested with swarming ants, aggressive longhorn cattle, stinging nettles, and nipple deep wading waters filled with poisonous serpents. In short, great hash territory for an actual 5 mile trail. To the hares’ credit, they accurately announced that the pack would get wet. However, after emerging from the Addicks reservoir, hashers expecting an On In and needing a beer check were instead treated to a standard check. True trail led north through the shiggy. Many tired hounds instead paralleled along the crest of the dam. After a few more miles, the precious Beer Near mark was found. A few miles after the mark, beer was actually near. Here the weary hordes and huddled masses yearning to sate their thirst donned dry clothes and calmly mused over punishments for the insidious hares. Many chose to air their grievances directly to the hare. On-on for more…
Written by “Tastes Great/Less Filling” aka “Mini Pearl Necklace”
Let us begin this trash with a reading from the Gospel according to Ramrod, second chapter verses 15-17:
“15Austin sucks balls. 16Whale’s Vagina is from Austin. 17Therefore Whale’s Vagina has a mouth built to suck balls.”
The word of Ramrod.
Hares: Slap Dat Ass, Insance Clown Pussy, Cream On My Back
Because it was his birthday, Cream asked me to write his trash. Here it is in haiku form.
Start at Happy Meal
Three Hares to help celebrate
Cream On My Back’s birth.
Chalk Talk was started,
Spot on the Mat showed up late,
Cannot park worth shit.
Hounds sent on their way,
Dick Assley was in the front,
Not for very long.
Crossed Westcott quickly,
Traffic coming from both sides,
Almost hit by car.
Ran to railroad tracks,
Found 10 yards of shitty trail,
Running on tracks sucks.
Saw Slap at her car,
Cooler filled with jell-o shots,
Birthday Cake flavor.
Ran north for too long,
T.C. Jester not hash friend,
ly, getting real hot.
Lube Job riding bike,
Bitching about everything,
Had to carry bike.
“Water Crossing” was,
Smelly, trash-filled drainage ditch,
Hearthache found his balls.
Came up to a park,
Saw hashers just hanging out,
Thank god, a beer check.
Too many miles left,
Was getting warmer outside,
legs were giving out.
Trail went back to park,
Dead trees torn out of the ground,
Not a virgin end.
Hash food way too good,
Assorted cheese and crackers,
left in sun too long.
Beer was flowing fast,
Circle was called to “order”
Slap was put on ice.
Prizes given out,
For the best item on trail,
baby almost won.
Couldn’t hear cirlce,
Ramrod tried to take control,
Iced asses abound.
Shigmata looked hot,
Ice water was dumped on head,
Revenge would be had.
Circle then ended,
Time to watch a beer mile,
record be broken.
Horsefli didn’t see,
Shigmata with the trash can,
Ice water looked cold.
On-After was full,
Of lesbian softball teams,
cheap beer and crawfish.
Beer mile record
breaker was super wasted,
it’s good to be king.
On-on to the Spring,
TXIH and camp-out,
Hares: Twinkle Toes, Shigmatta, Meatbox on snacky-poos?
Rogue: Tender Vittles & One Eyed Snake Charmer
Easter Sunday was a hashing day. Starting at an earlier than normal time of 2pm the pack joined up at the Full Moon parking lot of Memorial Park, everyone except for Blowhole who doesn’t know how to use the hash line or the internet just yet. The hares, I mean the real hares not the two hashers in bunny ears, decided to lay trail in easter eggs. The easter eggs were cans of Lone Star that were spray painted pink, blue, and poop and avoided any cold ice at all. Trail started into the outer rims of the Ho and was very well laid. This means there were tons of hot beer eggs to drink and not enough hashers drinking them as this was the freaking point! CSI made a valiant effort to drink every egg but complained that his prelube beer of Santa Fe Java Stout was filling up too much of his beer belly. In the internet this would be called a 1st world problem. So a short cutting he and Pogo went. Roadkill also did his part but woefully complained the he had drank colder coffee than these beer eggs. He told this joke 3 or 4 times and it got incrementally funnier to almost Jay Leno level but not quite there. Hopefuly he will refine it and add some new levels to it and then I will supply a purely complimentary guffaw.
The pack flowed into I-45 & Spring Stuebner for what was promised to be a very shiggylicious hash, a taste of PP’s world famous artichoke dip, and a meet & greet with the local authorities. Success at every level! Well-travelled faces were a plenty: Louisiana, College Station, Fort Worth, and probably other visitors as well but I don’t know this because I did not attend circle. So if you were a visitor who cares! On On to the rest of the story.
For Pics – click here—> Trash 1837
HOUSTON HASH HOUSE HARRIERS
TRAIL # 1837
Hares: 3 (Dick Assley, Flatline, Whale’s Vagina)
Kegs: 1 Full, Cold keg of Harp
Kegs Drank: 0
To give our scribe a break, I offered my services. That was stupid. In any case, this is what I remember. On-on for more…
Hares: Just Malerie, Krazy Puppy, and Tender Vittles
Just Malerie was not long for this world. Houston, that is, she’s not dying. With her nursing contract set to expire, she knew her time to lay her virgin trail was all but running out. Fortunately, while travelling to New Orleans for Mardi Gras with her faux-lesbian girlfriend EZ Chair, Just Malerie found eager and willing co-hares in Krazy Puppy and her sweet baboo, the infamous Tender Vittles. Their trail was to start at a lonely taqueria on the northeast corner of town, seemingly far from everything urban and sub-urban, but still inside the beltway. Attending hashers arrived anxious for shiggy but wary of a possible death march. Trail was purported to be 5 kilometers, or miles, or leagues, or who knows. Pull The Prick Out was concerned enough with the possibility of a ball buster that she conserved her energy by running less. Things got off to a less-than-promising start. The arrow out of chalk talk appeared to cross the busy road to some grown-over pipeline easements and railroad tracks. For a solid half hour, the pack followed phantom flour in the form of crushed concrete and lime spillings from the railroad. Eventually, a true trail arrow was found leading south into the shiggy.
Flour gave way to toilet paper gave way to thorns and occasional PI. Trail skirted a variety of utility easements, drainage structures, and nearly-runnable shiggy over hill and vale. It was a welcome respite from the flat pavement for which Houston is rightly world-renown. The FRBs found the promised Wet/Dry check and swam the bayou, only to find themselves on private property on the other shore. The remainder of the pack was led across a Geek-proof elevated pipe bridge next to the highway and into a beer check that featured an IV bag of Sex On The Beach. Heartache swore it was a colostomy bag, gotta go with what you know. Entering the woods anew, a bountiful harvest of trail treasure was revealed: Russian art omnibus, Merle Haggard cassettes, soiled cowboy hats, and a case of dust masks. Like Christmas! Toilet paper wound to the north now, passing a passel of old-timey holiday forts in the woods. After weaving along the south side of the bayou, the trail terminated in a muddy field and residential trash dump. Here there was beer the color of piss and the color of poop, and a great selection of tacos. G be praised. Total distance: about 6 miles. Perfectly acceptable when you have an extra hour of daylight! On-on for more…