LEGEND:
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Hares: Pearl Necklace and Vanilla Starfish
Hounds: 89
Virgins: 7
Reboots: 13
Visitors: 2
Quote of the Run, “Why is there a fire going? Because we realized it wasn’t hot enough.” – Vague Rant
Heat. Leather. Lace. The ultimate feeling of being inside a large woman’s corset at the Renaissance Festival. Last Sunday, nearly 100 hashers set forth onto the screaming pavement of downtown Houston in record heat. Luckily for us, it was the only theme run where we could legitimately wear next to nothing.
We arrived in a parking lot that reflected the heat just at the right angle to make all our lovely ladies’ skanky makeup melt. Many of the hashers began to strip before the run took off. Vanilla and Pearl showed up in true leather and lace fashion, and the hash gasped when Chief Wounded Weiner popped out of his car like a bondage Pillsbury biscuit. Deeeeelicious. EZ Fag came in a close second. And let’s not forget Comma Sutra, stepping out of her car dressed like Lady GaGa in her red lace outfit from the MTV Music Awards. It. Was. Sick. The hares helped our scared, and yet seemingly curious virgins, and off we pranced! Into the field of sunflowers and…THORNS! We weren’t prepared for THORNS! Lace ripped, tights were splintered, and the hounds lost trail in a small thicket overlooking downtown. All the men in slips bemoaned their silk and the ladies minded their fishnets.
Somewhere in between finding the next part of trail and coming across a hobo game of craps, we managed to pass a water check? Many of the hounds joked that it must have been the rainwater collection from the overpasss run-off, but later confirmation proved that there was, in fact, a water check somewhere along Buffalo Bayou. And collectively we said WTF? Dick Assley took his apprehensive cousin Just Mark along an abandoned train crossing to anticipate a bank switch, but ended up jumping back to the left hand side once he realized we were running straight by the downtown police station. That’s right. Straight by probates and cops alike, our trannies and sexy beasts streamed past the station as Just Cathy (named: see below) screamed, “I’M NOT A WHORE! I DON’T ALWAYS DRESS LIKE THIS!” Little did she know, the crack addicts along east downtown weren’t listening to her – they were adding her to their masturbatory fantasies, covered in coke, holding a Rueben sandwich and a 40 of Steel Reserve.
To be fair after that moment upside the street, I nearly blacked out. This is where the Hash Trash gets a little fuzzy. The heat was so intense, the water check so hidden, and the checks seemingly out of reach, that most of the pack began to walk and bitch and moan. Except for Tap Dat Ass, but please. We all know that braud never walks! We bounced and flounced down Navigation towards the old grain silos and caught wind of walkers. Without water, we begged for hints until 8″ Crack and C3PHoles let us know that we were headed towards the runner’s trail. On-on down another winding street for a little shade, a rare commodity found only along train tracks, and we saw a familiar sight. The grain silos! For those wankers who didn’t attend the Bayou Clean – Up, the silos herald our adopted bayou stretch. Legend tells of a naked hobo who lives in one of those silos, but to this day we have not seen him or any butt nakedness.
Many of the women changed including Ass Grabber who turned, as always, into a delicious cook. A fire was started that made many groan – we didn’t think it was possible, but the run did become 10 degrees hotter. Vanilla and Pearl made some sinfully delicious snacks and sweets and many changed into dry clothes or even less clothing. Tap Dat Ass put on heels! Just Cathy re-applied make-up! Big Wet Hole pulled out a thong wedgie! Loofah tounged Mammaries of a Geisha. It was official. The whore-off was on.
First a few accusations and MORE attempts to name Just Eddy. Haaaaaay-seus, Tool Fairy, etc. Nothing stuck again and we moved on to picking on Just Cathy. The name Spank Bank was suggested while others offered Table Whore. The RA’s decided that the matter could only be settled by a drinking contest. As NARC pointed out, an extremely loaded and biased drinking contest, but a contest none the less. Spank Bank won and while she stood there awkwardly, the hash had yet to realize that formerly Just Cathy had no idea what a spank bank actually was. We shall refer to the urban dictionary for this one, so that everyone will have the correct definition:
“Spank Bank: A mental collection of visual images one stores in ones mind to remember later for purposes of ‘self pleasure’ see: masturbation. Entered into the spank bank are an array of images of people (usually ones you want to bone) in either suggestive or totally non-sexual situations generally seen in real life.”
Oh the fun! Ewe Do Her and Vanilla re-enacted a make-out scene between Loofah and Mammaries, Chief Wounded Weiner took home the gold in the nasty outfit contest (EZ Fag had already changed), and Comma Sutra’s Lady Gag Gag outfit won her some sexy prizes. There was some marital discomfort when Semper Pi Do or Diet handed out whipped cream moustache rides and an offended No Head Tonight shoved cream down his woman’s butt crack. In the end, everyone was a winner because she showed the hash her whipped cream laden thong. Holla! Afterwards, accusations and a parade of sexy wommens strutted their stuff to the On-On-On.
A better On-On-On was never seen (until Hoot County). There was head-banging, photo booth raping, chess, an On-On-On-On at the Flying Saucer, and Just Marie getting pulled over for going the wrong way down Main Street. Ah, memories.
On to next year’s Saucy Fest!
EZ to PLZ