Hares: L’il Pussy , FMR, McPisser, Cums Anyway, N.A.R.C., Butt Pirate
Promises, promises. Here is how the 5th Annual Tourette’s Hash was advertised: A pool ending. A turkey-eagle split. A beer check. An unusual twist to trail.
Tourette’s is right. Within the first five minutes of trail nearly every hound in the pack was screaming like a sailor at the cat’s claws blackberry patch the flour led us through.
Trail began way out in BFE, east Houston to be exact, east of 59 and Beltway 8. On the way to the start I thought to myself “A pool ending? The only homes I see around here are of the trailer variety.”
Pack gathered on a trash-strewn street running parallel to train tracks, and trail took us immediately eastward across the tracks and into the flesh-grabbing shiggy. The bushes were so think it was impossible to run, and many times Heartache could be heard calling out from the middle of the single-file line “Hurry the FUCK up!”
The shiggy opened out onto a easement and around the bend of a large concrete river, with some people opting to cross the water as opposed to going around. Heartache finally decided to shortcut his way out of the briars — as I was running in ankle high grass I looked to my left to see him burst forth out of the thickest shiggy in the history of hashdom, waving his hands around like The Hulk, shirt and shorts shredded, yelling RAWWWWWWWR and knowing down any prickly switch that stood in his way. It was a sight so silly I had to stop running in order to recover.
Eventually we found ourselves running (yes, running) on a dirt-packed road where we came across some unusual markings. One appeared to be a check, but there where two arrows, pointing to foot trails in opposite directions. A few hashers headed to the left over a hill back towards the water, but Tool Box and I went right, easily finding flour. After several marks we came across a false, but ahead of us we heard the words On On, and so we blew through the F and straight into a palmetto forest.
Trail here was actually quite beautiful, if challenging. At each mark we had to look real hard to find the next. Eventually we caught up with Roller Balls, McPisser, Tai Tai, Gaslight and other who informed us that trail seemed to stop for no reason. Beyond the last mark there was nothing but tangled blackberry bushes, and having already cut up both my ankles I was not eager to proceed. McPisser mentioned he’d overheard the hare say the turkey trail had to be deleted from the run because even the hare got lost in the shiggy. Gaslight, Tool Box and I decided to turn around, but since most of the marks were on the opposite sides of the trees, we ended up getting quite a ways off the original trail.
We knew we were headed generally in the right direction but it was still a relief when we again hear the sounds of hashers. “Our menfolk have returned!” Gaslight shouted. Our reunion found us again on a grassy easement which opened out onto the railroad tracks which we then followed north, ended up right back where we started from. Trail was A to A.
Some hashers were mingling about, nursing their wounds, drinking the few canned beers and bottles of water, and bitching to the hares. It was pointed out the usual FRBs Tai Tai Toy and Roller Balls had not made it out of the jungle yet. Hashers compared notes: when and where were they last seen? Did they have plenty of water? (It was a damn hot day, even in the shade).
L’il Pussy said to me “You’re done with trail, but you’re not done with the hash.” Then he handed me a map. Turns out the “twist” to the trail was that the pool “ending” was at a house in the northwest 610 loop area, at least a 15-minute drive from the trail.
Despite the bitching, almost everyone made the drive to Greg’s, a friend of L’il Puss and FMR, dirtied up his pool, raided his liquor cabinet and ate barbeque from his grill. L’il Pussy was made to drink alone for his “unusual” trail many times over.
Visitor from Canadia Porno Potty (?) was welcomed to the circle along with a virgin friend of his who’s name escapes me, and Menage Thyself, Smooth Stroker and Pussy Checker also brought a (male) virgin who was forced to go topless in the pool to the delight of the harriettes.
Dry Hose (whom I caught holding hands on trail), Lube Job and Frenchie D drank for their birthdays. I’m sure some other stuff happened that I mentally blocked out after seeing Goldiloxxx’s penis for about the 8th time. Bone says don’t show me your penis anymore.
In all seriousness, though, N.A.R.C. recently announced that this year’s run netted around $300 to be donated to charities dealing with Tourette’s studies, education and treatment. Fucking shit guys, that makes me proud to be a hasher.
Your faithful scribe, Snatcha-terry-ASSSSSSSSSS!