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?

CIRCLE

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 – 40^th 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 1^st 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.

The first accusation was aimed at Ring Of Fire, apparently for walking outside? The On Sec needs to take better notes. Regardless, she was sung big old boobies because nobody doesn’t like those. Dipshit drank with Just Roger for hashing as a family but leaving out dear, old mum on Mother’s day. She was probably busy with my grandfather’s cock. Just Chris was called in next for what turned out to be his naming. While making too much racket in the middle of the night at TXIH, Chief Wounded Wiener had threatened to turn him into a “proper woman.” A classy name like that is too good to pass up; cuntratulations, A Proper Woman! Likewise did Chopped Liver (née Just Katherine) explain her naming there. As in “what am I?….” You know what they say about asking stupid questions. More from TXIH, Spot On The Mat lost her r@cist panties. Just how fast do they come off? Duke of Puke was called in for doing his best Clevland-kidnapper impression, having apparently imprisoned Hind Legs in his outdoor sex-dungeon. Next, Crotch Thumper and Whale’s Vagina held a Great Hash Migration (Kenya 2012) reunion to the vigorous tune of Black Pussy.

Late arrival Booby Trap (or is it Party Boob? Get that mirror out of here) was recognized for almost losing her hash bag. The good news? She finally learned those bum-titty-bum motions. A late beer run by the hares then featured that Prince of Ales, Texas Select. At 0.5% alcohol, it’s guaranteed to impress like a Mormon on prom night. After a social for mothers in circle, there was a tribute to all the mother-fuckers. Things really spiraled into ultra-lame territory at that point. For instance, A Priest Hole drank for failing to recognize lesbian foreplay. Thank you, National Geographic channel. Now before it was time to swing low and GTFO, H4 erections are cumming! Here’s a quick rundown for those interested:

Joint Masters: Manage H4, plan events. You can’t do worse than this year’s crew.

Hash Cash: Take money, keep stats. Must be responsible. Usurers not tolerated.

Religious Advisor: Sing the songs, frighten virgins, arouse visitors. Ham it up.

On Sec: Fight off the groupies while trying to write hash trashes. Good luck.

Haberdashery: Experience in the rag trade preferred. Fondness for foot logos good.

Web Mistress: Fend off spambots, maintain website, tweet the twats, etc.

Solicitor General: Represent MM in federal cases, often referred to as “the 10th judge.”

ON ON ON

The On On On was at Griffs, where there are bar games aplenty. Legend has it, the fates of global petroleum concerns have been bartered over the corn hole sets there.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Mosquito trail Wednesday

• Homoglobin really likes breastmilk. REALLY

• PROM is this Sunday. Don’t forget to dress up!

]]> http://h4.org/2013/05/14/hash-1846-mothers-day/feed/ 0 http://h4.org/2013/04/29/hash-1843-just-katherines-virgin-lay/ http://h4.org/2013/04/29/hash-1843-just-katherines-virgin-lay/#comments Tue, 30 Apr 2013 02:26:49 +0000 Whales Vagina http://h4.org/?p=3692 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.

In his defense, Little Pussy pointed to his (apparent) reputation as a bastard hare, that all who suffered through trail did so willingly. Except the virgins who didn’t know what they were getting into. They nonetheless had a good time, to the hares’ credit. Except the other regular hashers who aren’t aware of his reputation as he himself is an irregular attendee. Likewise, the propensity for mendacity amongst the hares is a proud hash tradition. But how much lying is too much? The precedent has now been set: 9 miles when promised 5 on a hot-ish day is too much.

Amidst the sturm und drang, the hash was tested, and transited the threshold unbowed. For certain there was thirst, shiggy scars, and sunburn and harshed buzzes, but all made the On In intact, and there’s something to be said for that. During all the hare-bashing, Just Katherine accepted all slings and arrows lobbed her way, never trying to deflect blame to her senior hare. Even after being pantsed, thrown in a lake, iced, coned and floured, she did not (publicly) attempt to spread the blame, and she ought to be commended for it.

CIRCLE

After cleansing his stretched, sweating, and soiled body in the cool & clear waters of the nearby flooded drainage ditch, duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod began circle with some help from the Mayor of Bayswater. Naturally the hares drank for their (now confirmed) shitty trail, and found out they were in fact shitty hares. Never-to-be-seen-again virgins Just Jonathon and his sweet baboo Just Denise were introduced next. When asked the airport question, she responded “Grand Central Station.” Your guess is as good as any. Usual business continued with reboots Takes It Up The Bronx, Whale’s Vagina, and Ball Grabber who were all away at an orgies-for-profit benefit concert. Visitors included The Pitts and Turtle Brains, whom together comprise the entire Pagosa Springs, CO H3. Analversaries featured Save A Horse Ride A Mole and Pitts celebrating their sweet 16s, Can’t Hack the Sack and Shit Dick Ass Balls tearful goodbyes for Forbes’ magazine 19^th coolest city in the USA (Austin), and Turtle Brains‘ 26^th hashiversary! After some dog tag distribution the circle was open for accusations.

Which began conveniently with the hares, for laying two good trails and one bad trail. They drank again for not providing any water, despite ample opportunity and need. Then they drank again for a Beer Near of ungainly length. Rancid Asshole was honorably recognized for casually attempting to roofie Booby Trap at the start of trail. Just Jennifer, sweet baboo of Bronx, was called in for stopping for a Sonic Slurpee but not bringing enough to share. Just Nikki drank for acceptable hash behavior, expressing on trail that she loved picking up “randos” whilst hashing. Heartache called in any hashers with children of ages 1-10, to warn them of Roadkill‘s new beard, and thus obvious intention of working as a mall santa in another 6 months. Booby Trap was accused of being unable to do proper bum-titty-bum motions properly, although many a hound stepped forward to train her. She was treated to a simple, crowd-pleasing round of swinging tits. Save A Horse was called in for admitting a preference for incest after the associated Texas song, and also drank with his sweet baboo 101 Donations for their fancy new triathlon shoes.

Ivan The Whore-able was called in for (cleverly) offering to trade his shiggy socks to unprotected harriettes in the thick of the shiggy in exchange for their brassieres. Maybe try after a few beers next time? After a few dozen more really brilliant accusations like that, it was time to swing low and GTFO.

ON ON ON

The On On On was at Brittmoor Ice House, just down the road. Beer and crawfish were cheap, and the Beard & Boob club was formed. The balloon machine in the bathroom is only a quarter!

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Mosquito Liberation Trail on Wednesday, starting at…Brittmoore Ice House. Also, it’s FREE!

• Texas Interhash this weekend, start your Valtrex dosing now.

• H4 Spring Campout 5/31 – 6/2. It will be Beyond Chunderdome!

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.

As the On Sec is sucking balls somewhere adrift in the Gulf of Mexico our Grump Master in training asked if I would share my experiences from this Sunday’s run with those who were in attendance and the lazy hashers that thought Pasadena was too far to drive on a Sunday.

Being the 4/20 hangover hash, the hounds assembled at the appropriately named location, THC hospital known for its world class dispensary. Once the usual chalk marks were explained to the hash we were on-on!  A quick search lead us to the first marks and we took off into the neighborhood.  At the end of the street we found the first check.  Across the street we spied a small patch of white.  Surely the hares were crafter than this, I thought.  We continued down the street a bit further and lo and behold, a second and a third, ON ON!!  This pattern continued for several more checks and four miles of pavement pounding when we came to a small park where the local civilians were enjoying their Sunday.  A little jaunt through the park we came upon Butt Pirate and 8” Crack who bestowed upon us water, Gatorade (what flavor is blue?) and beer flavored water.

Once a beer like substance had been consumed, we resumed our pavement pounding.  We turned to corner to discover a check.  Surely the flour mustn’t be far!  We looked left, we looked straight and finally right.  A white blob, then another and another and then an F.  Fuck.  We began our search anew.  Straight it was followed by a left, a right and then another check.  A little jaunt down a dirt road along a drainage ditch rewarded us with a dollop of flour leading us to a choice to make; a: try to scale a razor wire fence or two, b: follow the flour on in to a dark, dirty, wet hole or c: turn back because we are afraid of the dark.  All except Hooter chose to face their fear of dirty wet places and enter the tunnel.  Upon our exit from the tunnel of toxic waste we finally found the glorious shaggy that had been promised.  Follow the fence down into the woods and back out to the fence again.  Follow the fence a bit further and another check.  McPisser being the shortcutting zening master that he is, boldly shouted “you’re not falling for that again, are you? Bwa ha ha.”  So we followed the fence as long as we could and once again found flour leading to a meadow for skipping through a final left turn and the on in atop a bridge to nowhere spanning the Sims Bayou.

At the on in the hounds devoured a wondrous spread for the hash feast and washed it down with the nectar known more commonly as Shiner Bock.  Once most had found their way in, Ramrod announced “Circle up in 8 ½ minutes!!”  Twenty-five minutes later he shouted “Circle up in 3 minutes.”  After another 10 minutes McPisser decided enough with Ramrod’s shit, I’m getting EZ Fag and we’re gonna get this shit show on the road with or without the RA.

Circle began with the hares Butt Pirate, Dickrectionally Challenged and Pull the Plug drinking for their shitty trail.  There was a virgin Marrianna who drank for being a virgin.  One visitor claiming to be from Sydney came forth.  Burn the f’n lot!  Reboots appeared from far and wide and drank for their laziness.  Snatch Trick and others drank for their birthdays along with Man-witch for surviving his first year of hashing.  Hound tags were bestowed upon One Eyed Snake Charmer for 50 runs and Dumpster Digger for 666! Get a life.

The accusations began with McPisser alleging that Dickrectionally Challenged relieved himself of some spicy juice on the bridge whilst McPisser was working on his tan just a few feet away.  GUILTY! There were many more accusations for the hare’s shitty behavior, the virgin for being a virgin and Parson’s Nose for trying to blend in despite being a foreigner.  Our auto wankers (Booby Trap, Just Katherine and Just Chris) drank for their pitiful performance.  While attempting to catch the pack they found Andrew who warned them about the territory ahead and if they found anyone that gave them trouble just to sat they knew him.  Seems legit.  At some point, Just Josh noticed a Pholcus phalangioides crawling across Just Katherine’s back.  He immediately sprung into action, screaming like a girl and slapping it away.  Once order had been restored and the spider safely released into the wild, Just Josh began to recount his tale of his brush with death to McPisser and how he vanquished the might Daddy Dong Legs [sic] spider.  He was immediately called into the circle and the name “Daddy Dong Legs” was proposed and a vote taken.  Also of note, “Speed Bumps” was another option for his defensive moves in the roadway during Thursday’s PC Hash.  On your knees, cuntgratulations to “DADDY DONG LEGS”!!

Circle continued to be entertained by  8” Cracks enthusiastic rendition of “Swinging Tits” so she was made to emulate Saran Carp’s version of the “Banana Song” much to the amusement of the hash.  Once the keg was given its last rites, we swung low and returned to the start.

We gathered at a delightful little establishment named the Park Grocery (saved as “1811 On After” in my GPS) to continue our festivities.  McPisser and Ramrod entertained all in attendance with their massive music libraries and Party Boob entertained with her massive dream library.

If I’ve forgotten anything, too bad.

Mini Tastes Pearl Great, Less Necklace Filling

Thanks lube job!

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,

Register.  Bitches.

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 1^st 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 trail continued for about another case more and ended on the visible dirt road from the parking lot. I suppose Tender Vittles and One Eyed Snake Charmer didn’t drink a single egg bc before you could say “I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” they had snatched up a bag of flour (and who brought it to this eggy effair?) and dashed off to create a rogue ho trail. This delighted many racist and nonracist hashers whose addiction to flour had not been met yet. Trail did the hoey thing that you would expect with many off trail excursions and backups. During trail Unlaiden Swallows gave a very intricate and lengthy poison ivy clinic to the Russian hasher Virgin Mary. Let’s see if she abides. At a check Just Josh errantly led a pack of 400 hashers the wrong way bc he saw some white trash in the woods. Wait I mean some litter not any real rednecks like Ass Grabber please no offense given.

Circle started and One Eyed Snake Charmer was defloured for his virgin trail at his rogue cohere Tender Vittles’ instructions. Except that One Eyed had laid his virgin trail with Heartache previously and got the flour treatment then. Whoopsie daisies bake a cake with it then. Androgymouth made it out to his 2^nd trail in a row and consequently had some splaining to do to with more local authorities. Circle was thankfully pretty much over so the pack packed up and took it on over the Boneyard for some on on on type of revelry just after the rain storm.

That’s about all I have to say about that. We need some hares for upcoming hashes so step up and do your duty so we can please that booty the wrong way.

OnOn

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.

PP did not mess with any urban. The 1^st tiny dot of flour led into the jungle. Hashers battled thorns and sticks and dirt to see tiny specs of flour on the ground in sunny & shaded spaces. Immediately trail was lost and RU?’s were shouted. In fact during this hash I thought Sticky Lips had replaced her own name with RU? as that was all that she said parrot style. CreamONMYback and Horesfly Driveby assessed the situation and said phuckit. We dashed back to the road and ran around the shiggy to find an easy dirt road to parallel the RU?s. Estrus followed behind and then a good chunk of pack did too. There was a weird pickup truck that was parked back there all by his lonesome, once we came through the truck decided to leave. Sorry to interrupt your masturbation hour! You should call Johnny Law!

Back into the jungle. Specs of white flour on the ground and not on trees. Simon says drink if you stepped on flour. (Everyone drinks). One of the coolest things of PP’s trail is that it didn’t follow convention. That would make it unconventional right? Lots of veering. Veer veer veer. One dot on the ground here and then another dot far to the left or right. Makes it difficult for lemming hashers. Split up you wankers! Upon climbing a tree over some downed barbed wire a small pack of us ran past a deer stand. We are probably on private property. Call 911! I now find myself the only alpha male in a small pack of 5 babes. I offer to pay them for some love time in exchange for flour, but if flour is a currency, then I ain’t got shit! This trail wasn’t so much of a flour trail as a bang yourself against some thorns for a couple of hours and see if you can smell the world famous artichoke dip to get you on home kind of trail. We’ve all done those right?

And to make it complete trail led us over and through some train tracks. Call the popo! Hey, where’s Estrus? Where’s McPisser? Where’s 20 other hashers? Well if the truck tugger didn’t get them, if the deer stand didn’t get them, if the train tracks didn’t get them, then was it the guy that threw them off of his land for trespassing? Should he probably call 5 cop cars? Nah.

Back in the woods Heartache started to bellyache. Call out flour damnit! Spread out damnit! And his cries were justified as only Saran Crap, Parson’s Nose, creamONMyback, Dick Assley, and that tall visitor dude would battle into the bristle as the rest of the lazy hash stood in their thorn beds until specs of flour on the ground was called out. Saran Crap paid for this by taking a thorn whack directly on his smaller head. He told me this but I did not ask to see the evidence from the perv. Yo, PP, cudos on that marsh trek! Hashers were advised to bring a double set of shoes bc their toes might get wet. And they did as we sloshed through the marsh looking for soggy pieces of toilet paper that was placed low in the cane. Hey that sounds sexy. All of the alligators decided that hasher meat is just too gamey and left us alone as we played in the still water.

Somehow we flour spec’ed it to the on in. Beer was there, dip was there, and life couldn’t get any worse. But it kinda did. Sung to the tune of 5 little Indians: 1 little cop car, 2 little cop cars, 3 little cop cars, 4 little cop cars, and 1 little constable! Send in the troops! Horsefly spoke with the authorities. Androgymouth added additional help. “These are not the hashers you are looking for.” But hash mind tricks did not work and the policemen called in to their superiors. PP spoke with the authorities. An empty keg shell in someone’s car inflamed the police further. Time marched on and hashers were not allowed to leave (Saran Crap, Hindlegs, and Dingleberry not withstanding since they snuck out through the woods) for a full hour. I feel bad for the DFL’s. After hashing through a very difficult shiggy trail they finally emerge to Spring’s finest, no beer, and no freaking dip! Also felt bad for PP since this happened on his bday hash after a fun trail.

Finally the very dangerous hashers were allowed to leave and later rendezvoused at another spot where circle was held. I hope it was a good one. OnOn to the next hash!

HOUSTON HASH HOUSE HARRIERS

TRAIL # 1837

Box Score

Hares: 3 (Dick Assley, Flatline, Whale’s Vagina)

Hounds: ~80

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.

The day was March 17^th 2013.  That’s either St Paddy’s day, or 2 to 3 days after Pi day, Steak and a Blowjob day, and the Ides of March – depending on how you want to look at it.  The pack assembled at the given time at Hans Bier House.  4 Virgins of the female variety were introduced to the marks as is standard procedure and then the pack was away.  The trail ran along Rice before winding through some of the uppity houses in West U.

We would eventually come to a beer check with about a 12 pack of Keystones.  The FRB’s did not wait (“racist bastards”), some not even bother to take a sip of the golden nectar (hahahha – I just called Keystone “golden nectar” – wow!).

However, the back end of the pack, including Hooter Bill,  Parsons Nose and a couple of visitors did their duties to kill whatever was left.

The trail eventually kept winding through neighborhoods (to Vagineer’s delight!)

And finally we saw the beer near just before trail finished on the other side of some train tracks.

Here is Pull the Plugs GPS track of the trail:

It was at this point, as the pack slowly trickled in, that we found our beautiful keg of Harp that we could not get beer out of.  See, Harp – like so many other European beers – takes a European tap.  The hares did not know this.  Future hares be warned!  Your scribe has included the info below for everyone’s info – note that all American beers are “D” which the Ubertaps will work with.

Use the table at the link below match the beer brand with the correct keg coupler/tap or picnic pump. The diagram below shows what the different systems of couplers look like. If you already own a coupler, and are unsure as to which type you own, just match it to the diagram below. If you find your beer brand, just click on the name of the correct keg coupler or picnic pump to take you directly to the correct page to purchase the item.

http://www.beveragefactory.com/draftbeer/couplers/american/FAQ_COMP.shtml

So, the hares went and bought canned beer.  The keg later turned up at the Eatme Monkey campout where it was enjoyed immensly, but that’s a different story.  Our RA Ramrod commenced the circle, where the hares (listed above) drank for laying such a shitty trail.  Our Virgins (4 of them) then drank, Just Lindsey, her two friends and also Shigmata’s new boot. (I should take notes).

Circle went on in No Repeat Sunday style. Hares drank quite a few times as hares will do.  We were introduced to Humper, a transplant now residing part time in Clear lake.  Several hundred down downs ensued, and circle came to the normal conclusion with swing low.  However, before the RA could get the phrase “May the hash go in peace” out of his lips – Sir Richard the Lying Farted lived up to his name and cast a heavy gas cloud over the event  making the circle break up prematurely.  Then we all adjourned to Hans Bier House to see how many people we could stuff into this thing:

That’s about all I got.  Stay tuned for a better hash trash next week when your regular reporters return

Onon

McPisser (with pics from Dickrectionally Challenged)

UPCUMMING EVENTS  H4 Calendar

H4 every Sunday!

OTR & PC both on Tuesday March 26^th

Full Moon – Wed March 27^th

TXIH – 1^st weekend of May http://www.sah3.com/txih13/

Houston Campout http://h4.org/events/h4-2013-spring-campout/

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!

CIRCLE

Ramrod began in the customary manner, introducing the hares. Afterward, Just Malerie was introduced to a bag of flour in her hair. Cuntratulations! Cautiously, the virgins entered the circle next. Two babes this week: Just Valerie (w/ Anal Cum) and Just Becca w/hubby Just James. The latter would drink next with the reboots, having discovered masturbating, Roller Balls had been avoiding TV and Just Rho had the shittiest excuse of work. What a bunch of wanks. Special celebrations featured Pull The Plug‘s 70^th birthday (complete with Grand Canyon transit) and Roller Balls‘ 22 year hashiversary. Let us pray he got a life. And with that, usual business concluded, opening up the circle for…accusations!

PTP made a quick return, for being a masochist (honorable?), and following up his Grand Canyon trek with a foolhardy TV trail. Surely, he is an S&M man. Vagineer was rightly accused next for pissin’ and moanin’ about how he’d much rather do a boring old run than negotiate a some shiggified terrain. Just Malerie was made to drink for screwing up chalk talk’s arrow so badly that Geek, of all hounds, found the first mark! Loofah and Manwich were accused of following the lime marks on the railroad, mistaking them for flour. Let that be a lesson to all hounds and hares! Homoglobin was honorably recognized for carrying his basketball trail treasure for half of trail. Except for him it was all of trail, as he autowanked to the beer check! Owing to the steep and slippery terrain, Rimshot did a down down for (accidentally?) mounting poor dog Pogo on trail. What happens on trail, stays on trail. No it doesn’t. This led to CSI‘s fashion down down, for dressing the same as his dog, which he put up to late laundry, but we know they actually shop together. Just Val was honorably recognized for stripping on trail, but would not grant the circle the pleasure of seeing her swinging tits.

The hares then drank for laying an educational trail, letting all the hounds learn proper noodling technique, which Unlaiden Swallows was very curious about. This week’s winner in embarrassing out-of-context quotes comes from Jizz Hands, who spake “I can’t get my hand far enough up my ass to massage the right muscles.” He should have asked for help from this guy. Next, Just Malerie was accused of being a wishful squirter, and aren’t we all? This led to a naming, where circle learned she was from Iowa, is a large-breasted nurse, and also talks in her sleep. Naming suggestions were not remembered, as they all paled in comparison to the explosive winner: Field Of Creams! Post-circle discussions led by Just James and Vagineer innovated a coda to her new moniker as well: If you touch it, she will come. Descending from the emotional high point of circle, Agènt ProvacaTurd drank for trying to arrange harriettes’ carbacks on the handlebars of his moped. Then it was time to swing low and GTFO.

ON ON ON

The On After was conveniently where everyone was already parked, at the taqueria and the adjoining nightclub. Cheap tacos and free pool abounded, and someone even got laid. Everyone could hear it too!

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• March is apparently Go Fuck Yourself Month. Get out there and celebrate!

• Green dress run Saturday, ask the universe for details.

• Want flour flowers in your hair? Sign up to hare! As early as April 7.

As unlikely as it may seem, Brrrggghhh was celebrating her 16^th hashiversary. For some perspective, here are some facts about the world in 1997 when she ran her first trail:

• Bill Clinton begins second term, selects frumpiest interns

• Can’t Hack The Sack starts driving the Red Raider

• The Angleton house in River Oaks is finally put on the market

• Harry Potter & The Sorcerer’s Stone hits shelves, hash names rapidly evolve

• James Cameron’s Titanic premiers, causing wet dreams worldwide

• A bad year for Britain: Loss of Diana, release of Spice Girls

• Hooter Bill founds AARP

To celebrate, Brrrggghhh conscripted her best gal pals, I Fucked Your Dad and Pull The Prick Out, hereafter referred to as the Three Whores of the Apocalypse. The trio went above the call and sponsored Friday’s happy hour too. Supplying a mere pony keg of Hopadillo, the babes convinced local hounds to supply everything else, with embarrassing ease. Insane Clown Pussy was tripping over himself to offer his propane heater. Trail started in that scenic and fancy neighborhood off I-45, Gulfgate Mall. Hounds arrived arrayed in their best horns, or carrying actual bicycle horns. Buzzkill costumed herself in a reductive fashion as Sully from Pixar’s Monster’s Inc. After a tempera-blue chalk talk, the pack was off across a pedestrian bridge over the highway, to a difficult check. After remembering that flour was, in fact, blue, true trail was traced along a bayou trimmed with garbage / trail treasure. Emerging at the highway, foolish zenners looked across another pedestrian bridge. The tenacious trail solvers found flour skirting the car dealerships, lined with kiddie-entreating balloons. After following faint On On calls through a colorful neighborhood, the first beer check appeared at Ingrando Park. After obtaining some Lone Star sustenance, hashers trudged on under friendly skies over pleasant pavement. Here the walkers and runners trails split, a facet ignored at chalk talk. They would recombine at the second beer check at Mason Park, where the trail meandered alongside Bray’s bayou past a scrap metal yard. This caused a bout of panicky deja vu for those who flashed back to a similar view check at the previous week’s cluster-whoops of a trail. Fortunately, the On In was close after negotiating a whichy-way (also missing from chalk talk!) at the railroad tracks. Arriving at the finish, hounds and harriettes were greeted with their gear, a dearth of piss beer, a plethora of jello shots, plus sour gummy worms! After time for carbacks and Just Josh‘s guaranteed-not-to-get-laid rape jokes, circle could start.

CIRCLE

The circle breathed a sigh of relief when duly erected Religious Advisor Ramrod rolled up from work. Eager to experience a sweaty jaunt to empathize with his congregation, the RA raced off to get some exercise before festivities began. Hasher, please. He nevertheless began with the Bum Titty Bum song. With two kegs on tap, circle was quite long and occasionally boring. The highlights are recorded here. The Virgin show starred Just Jennifer (with Takes It Up The Bronx, and his candy-colored shoes), Just Erin (who prefers doggy style), and Just Edith. Reboots featured Small Johnson (busy masturbating) and Butt Pirate (who had a repetitive motion injury, which is really the same thing). Rounding out the usual business, Snatch Trick earned her 50 run dog tag, let us all hope she gets a life. After fun times like that, what could be better?

With two kegs on tap, circle was quite long and occasionally boring. The highlights are recorded here. Buzzkill had some glitter on her lips, which as you know, means she blew a clown on trail. It is rodeo season, after all. Saran Crap was carrying his daughter’s bike horn on trail, and for this transgression he was sang There’s Only One Saran Crap, which everyone knows is a complete load of shit. Sliding further down the slippery slope, Just Josh attempted to warp straight to ultra-lame down downs, recognizing some horns in circle which were not on trail. Just Josh, next time just wait until after a Heartache accusation, and yours won’t seem nearly as lame! Ass Swipe was too injured to do trail, but nonetheless dressed at the On In as if he had ran it, because true r@cists don’t own any ordinary clothing. Still steaming from the theft of his song, Whale’s Vagina drank next for carrying his balloon on trail, and was forced to dance out Saran Crap‘s signature banana song, which although entertaining, was but a faint whisper of justice.

With two kegs on tap, circle was quite long and occasionally boring. The highlights are recorded here. Jizz Hands was lauded for wearing a hip-hop style clock around his neck, featuring a rooster on it; because it’s always time for cock. The hares had the next down down for leading trail past the Climax Lube Company without having the wherewithal to hold a beer check (…or lube check?) there. Just Josh was called back into circle for his emerald green undies, which IFYD suprisingly lunged for, only to reveal that Shit Dick Ass Balls was sporting an identical pair. A naming was then attempted upon Just Josh: Leprecock, Lepercunt, and Low-Key of Ass Guard would not satisfy the circle and the frivolity was tabled. Hind Legs evidently had a banana in his pocket, and this accusation spawned an unfortunate camel-toe and moose knuckle social for all the opaque and see-thru (oh, merci IFYD) tights wearers. The fright story of the week went to Lorna Doones however, who imparted how Geek had gone grocery shopping wearing his tights, AND NO SHORTS. Think about that next time you’re shucking your sweet corn. At one point, in describing the hares’ shitty trail, Heartahce commented that their oversight was an “epic fail.” Go ahead and flip your table, because the Most Curmudgeonly Man in the World dropped lyrics from that millenial siren and failed gospel croaker, Katy Perry. After Commodork 60 Whore drank for trying to tie all the balloons to his penis, it was time to swing low and GTFO.

ON ON ON

Further socializing and drinking occurred at Sheffields. It was here that Homoglobin learned not to bother Amazing Technicolor Vagina with advice while she’s getting schooled on the billiards table. True story.

ANNOUNCEMENTS

• Get ready for the spring campout – Beyond Chunderdome!

• Wanna get laid on April 7? All you gotta do is hare, baby…