Morning
Wood…
I
was working in my garage, more specifically plying wood to fit my needs, when I
realized it was hash time. I rushed to
finish my work and put up my tools.
Looked at my watch, perfect 2:15, still plenty of time to get ready for
the hash. I called the hash line only
to discover that the hash started at 2:00.
Aaaahhhhhhhh! Knowing that the
hash wouldn’t start until 2:30, I grabbed some clothes and hauled ass to the
start. I arrived just as everyone was
getting the pre-run speech from the hares.
I was still putting on my shoes when the pack took off. By the way, for future generations, the hash
started at the corner of Bingle and West Little York, Dick Head and Slut Butt
were the hares. The weather, 69 degrees
and a light mist after two days of torrential rains.
Into
the Muck…
I
was about a minute behind the pack when I finally took off. I got to the first check and found hashers
wandering everywhere. Suddenly someone
called on on straight-ahead, we took off only to be stopped short by a call of
false. I went back to the check and
found trail heading west, I followed it into another false, Damn! Still no else was calling trail. The pack meandered at this first check for
about 5 minutes when we noticed that none of the regular FRBs were nearby, they
were last seen heading the direction of the first false. We went that way and found true trail. Who called the false?
Trail
meandered for the next 2 hours through neighborhoods, into shiggy, along bayous
and through long stretches of ankle-deep water. About halfway through the run, the pack was really getting
stretched out. Semen, Group Sex and I,
went into a neighborhood and ran across a small pack of hashers. High Maintenance shouted back check, we
turned around and spent the next 20 minutes looking up and down every cross
street all the way back to the last check almost a half mile back. No one could find trail. Finally, Will He Peter came back telling us
to run the trail,that there was no back check. Who called the back check?
We
finally ended deep in the woods on a deserted road, I finished in 2:30 hours
and I was probably in the first 10 people.
Hashers came in for the next 45 minutes.
The
evil Limp Noodle…
Too
shagged out from an extended sodomite binge in the Montrose area, Limp Noodle
rode his bike on trail. He lied when he
called the first false and later, at the back check lied again, fucking all of
the hashers on trail with his tomfoolery.
He received his punishment through many down downs in the circle. The circle lasted quite a while, but I’m
at a loss to remember who was accused of what.
I remember that Small Johnson had to drink every time Roll Model made a
bad accusation, very appropriate.
Into
the night…
Where
did everyone go? A small, but valiant
group of us stayed to kill off the keg.
We were unsuccessful, but we sang many a song while we tried.
On
on,
Roller
Balls