Hares: Fire Tunnel & Hog Straddler

As Remembered by:

Boy George; with help from Titty Twinkles, Cocker, Roller Balls,
and Bald Eagle

*****

Run #945; March 9, 1997

The trail sent 500 of us (give or take a few hundred) running down a narrow path in the woods. Roller Balls achieved hash dominance by shoving slower and less attentive hashers out of the way and screeching in a almost girlish voice, "OUT OF MY WAY!". He was thwarted at the first check when he went north, while true trail and the pack headed east.

We ran across IH-45, through another patch of trees to a very deep swift moving raging creek. No wading here. The pack had to bravely swim for it; except for Will He Peter, who has the ability to ride his bike over water. He's not up to walking over it yet. Wait until Easter.

We then came to the first check that brought the whole pack and FRB's to a grinding halt. The first inclination was to go north; but cries of False trail sent us down the road to the east. Ass Grabber stopped us. He had just run 6 miles and back without out seeing any flour. Another trail was discovered beyond the false (those twicky wabbits) and off we were.

The trail crossed and recrossed Spring Creek. Until a few years ago, the creek was crystal clear with blue backwater lagoons, white sand and teeming with all kinds of wild life. Now it just a muddy trench full of hashers. We arrived at a beer check. The mosquitoes (and I don't mean folks from Moscow, Saran Crap) were thick as maggots on three day dead brangus. They were so big, two of them picked me up. One of them said to the other, "Lets take him to the creek and eat him." The other one said, "What and let the big ones take him away from us?!".

The trail skirted up a scenic tributary with The son of Pits and Strip Me leading the Pack. The Pits' son is in training for his upcumming date with a Marine DI at a San Diego resort called Camp Pendelton. He has chosen to be one of Uncle Sam's Misguided Children. He'll probably have flash backs of this trail during boot camp.

Our two FRB's disappeared around a bend in the creek. Flour also disappeared. The creek walls were close to eighty feet high. I climbed up one side and saw, by sheer coincidence, The Pits running blindly through the woods... Dick in hand, singin' OOOWEEE baby I'm a beboppin' MAN! He must have been following the calls of On On; because I know there was no flour from the direction he came. I did notice a four wheel drive vehicle parked back in the trees. Hmmmm...

A third of the pack had climbed up the cliff by now. Sure enough we spotted flour on the other side of the creek. We had to climb back down one nearly 80 foot cliff and up another to get back on trail. This put Hooter Bill as the pack leader. The Pits disappeared again off in the shiggy and off trail. One of these days I'll follow him; if I can just overcome the fear in my gut of being hopelessly lost.

True trail crossed to the other side of the creek again, with Hooter Bill yelling in a deep baritone almost girlish voice, "HOW DID FLOUR GET UP THERE?! #$@&*!!! Rear Layer came out of nowhere, looking relieved that he found us. He also found Hog Straddler's beer mug; which he must have lost laying trail.

We soon came around a bend and back to civilization. I could almost smell the beer or was that Letch's old running shorts? I spotted The Pits up ahead with a new Harriett by the name of Matilda. She was the FRB to the On Home for our part of the pack (must have been three or four hundred of us give or take a couple hundred). The pack had swelled to seven or eight hundred (give or take a couple hundred or four) at the On Home. There must have been a lot of Chevrolet short cutters.

All in all, some really kickass shiggy. 'Bald Eagle Wannabe' Hog Straddler even shaved his head for the event. Plus there were pearl necklasses on trail. Will He Peter and his gang did have to return to start.

The first keg was dead before the circle started. The second was hot and very foamy. It had to be hand poured by Geek the Guru of properly poured beer. We just had to ignore the green fungus growing under his fingernails.

It's time for a little whining from Cocker: "... the beer situation sucked. There was not enough and it was tooooo hot. There were plenty of hounds out and there should have been ample money for plenty of ice and more beer. This is a good example as to why there should be more than 2 hares. The 2 hares were so busy laying a good trail they did not have enough time to concentrate on the other aspects of making a good run even better. Hares need to remember to have plenty of help and consider the whole hashing afternoon, not just the run."

Down Downs were given to the visitors Strip Me and I don't remember the others; as I was concentrating on Strip Me legs (Oh Yessss). There were two transfers from Scotland who tried to do their down downs from Pepsi cans that they had found in the creek. I think they were fascinated by the colors. One is from Aberdeen and his hash name is Tin Man. The other is from Edinburgh (or Edinburrrah as they say in Brave Heart), named Gabriel who's a dead ringer for Bill Clinton.

Matilda did an excellent first down down. No tits out for the boys though. I believe she said Letch and Cums Daily made her cum. I was too busy gazing at her enormous tits to remember. Two Fingers Up the Butt or something like that tried (for the fifth time, according to chronologist, Cums Daily) to name that tall guy she hangs out with Down in Front, by using a Farside cartoon as a prop. The hash hadn't had enough to drink yet; so they didn't buy it.

I tried to get a free down down by doing a testimonial on my 2nd anniversary with the hash. Ignoring the yells of protest from the pack; Our RA Dick Head threw me out of the circle. Fire Tunnel called out Full Service for her 2nd anniversary of hashing; Boy George for his 2nd anniversary with the H4; and Cock Ring for the his 2nd anniversary of not being laid. I got a down down at last.

Geek was accused of getting inside information and writing up his shortcut strategy in advance. The hash almost bought it, until someone said Geek couldn't read.

The highlight of the circle was the naming, or rather confirmation of a name given by the Brenham hash, to Skunk Dick, formerly Charlie from Seattle. This was followed by some more down downs, a hash revolt against Dick Head; a hash taming by Dick Head and a little sing song. The second keg went quickly (There is a Hash God); so on we went to the On On On.

The Sportsman's Grill or Paradise was a nice place with cheap pitchers for the hash. They had the big full sized pitchers; not those puny little pony pitchers some bars try to pass off on us. Hash cash bought numerous rounds and there was much revelry. Hooter Bill tried to leave early; but I talked him out of that nonsense. I was at the point of thinking I should leave early; then I was glad I stayed; then I wished that I had left; but it was too late; so I stayed and was glad I did.

Now hashers are not known to be a quesy bunch. We've seen too much blood and gore for that. But the sight of Hog Straddler and Tease Me liplocked on the dance floor had brown beer spewing out of more than one hasher.

Skunk Dick was the anchor again.

And a final recap from Bald Eagle: "...Great weather...great trail...great shiggy...great creek...great big mosquitoes...lots of flour on trail...shit food (with the exception ofLazy Worm's Fried Lice) and little of it...one keg of not so bad dark beer...one keg of terrible dark foam...two twelve packs of disgusting Lone Star (cans no less)...as they say drinking shit makes you feel like shit, now I believe it...lot's of reboots...lame accusations by TT and Zoltan...Hog Straddler was supporting a new Bald Eagle look-a-like hair do...we got to see Hooter Bills ass once again, blahhhhhhhh...good on-on-on...free pictures of beer by the hash committee...nice pair of tits on the volleyball court...entertainment watching Pee Pee drool over the said pair of tits...disgusting watching Hog Straddler and new girlfriend Strip Me sucking face all night long (get a room)...long fucking drive home...Gosh, I'm ready to do it again! Can't wait for Saturday."

*A Final Note from the Hash Parlimentarian: " Bacchus is the greek and roman god of wine and revelry. What the hares probably meant is, 'Bacchanalia III', which means a drunken party, or more importantly, an orgy." But then, who am I to kwibble about a great hash, good beer, and I don't remember the rest....

1997/1998 Receding Hareline Page