The day was hotter and more humid than the typical Houston ambiance. In a vain attempt to pass time soberly, I called “SUBHUMAN” and asked what he was up to. He said “these days getting up was a hit or miss proposition.” I understood his dilemma as I suffered from a mild case of heat stroke. Anyhow, we decided to share a pizza from Star Pizza and a pitcher of brew from the G-Man. Returning to a more normal state of intoxication at the G-Man, I saw what I thought was an angel cumming towards me, smiling and waving. (I knew that this was good beer, butt.....) As the image cleared I realized this was no angel; Butt, she was smiling and waving....at me and “SUBHUMAN”? It was “STOP-N-BLOW”. I met her half way with a giant bare hug. In my fantasy I know she enjoyed it. She had just returned from the hospital where her diagnosis was severely infected, poison ivy induced cellulitis. I immediately had her hike her skirt up and reveal the red, spider web looking, mass of putrescence. Then I examined the infected area. “STOP-N-BLOW” and I bid farewell to “SUBHUMAN” and proceeded to “CUMS DAILY’s” shack for a threesome with the “MANHANDLER”; who came late...as usual. So we grabbed our hash bags and drove quickly to the start. The rain along 610 was fierce...but mercifully the Hash gods had spared the Hashing area. Two blocks from the start we had a hare sighting...”MUDPACKER” and “GAS LIGHT” were seen scantily clad, with about 8 locals closing in. This neighborhood was nothing like Kansas...I thought I was back in south central LA. When we arrived at the start it was clear that this Hash would live in infamy. Everyone proudly displayed their poison ivy scars from the previous weeks hash set by Mismanagement. There were 4 new boots, JUNA, KATHY, JASON, and MIKE, and a lot of re-boots. I miss the H4 so much at my new home in California and I was so happy to see everyone and participate in the debauchery that other consider beneath themselves. We gave the hares the usual 5 minute head start and then we were off. I started late so I could hold in my mind the special warm and fuzzy feeling you get, in your taste buds, as they are covered in excess saliva (due to the scientifically proven Pavlov’s hound effect). This was our quest for beer and we would not be denied. “STICKY LIPS” called out, “Cum on SMALL JOHNSON” breaking me from my trip down memory lane...and then I was off! I haven’t got a clue where the trail went. Hashers were everywhere. Suddenly “MANHANDLER” and me were running east....the rest of the hash was going west. I asked “MANHANDLER” if he knew where he was going? He said, “no.” So we continued going west. Turned north up a bayou and East on a busy road. The hash was inside our circle and we knew it! Catching up with the hash I saw “SMELLY TRENCH”...and had a brief conversation with her...She said she wasn’t wearing any! I thanked her for the visual! Suddenly ‘MANHANDLER” and I entered the first shiggy area. There was a rustling in the thick, tall bushes ahead of me. I was startled. Before I could turn to run “ROLLERBALLS” and “SARAN CRAP” fell through the shiggy that was their cover. They pulled up their shorts and scampered away, grinning. ‘SARAN CRAP” had a slight limp in his gait. The first bayou crossing was a cluster. No one could find trail. One of the hashers I don’t know jumped in the water, for his monthly bath, only to coincidentally discover the mark that led across the bayou. And so began the first swim. Cries of ON ON shrieked across the muddy banks of the opposite side of the bayou. Through exceedingly slippery bamboo, in some deep shiggy and surrounded by poison ivy our kaleidoscopic group trudged forward without fear. We arrived at the second bayou crossing and once
again swimming was the norm, lest you be swept away by the current and fail to succeed in
the glory of consuming the almighty, life giving beer potion. At the third and final bayou crossing we did not have to swim. Instead, as was noted by “SHUTTLECOCK”, the hares had laid a conniving trap where the watery ground was wrought with large bricks and had been washed away, thus making crossing very treacherous. Those slippery hares....At one point my left leg fell into a large opening in one of the bricks, and I sank up to my neck. Luckily I only broke one bone in that leg and continued on past what was to have been my grave. After this crossing, the shiggy cleared considerably and the main thing I was worried about was losing my hearing from the roar of the airplanes taking off from Hobby Airport as they ascended overhead. We found ourselves running a cleverly prepared hash through back yards and other private properties. Knowing the end was near “MANHANDLER” and I had let our guard down. We followed trail through two homes and suddenly found ourselves in great duress, with two pit bulls bearing down. “MANHANDLER” let out a girlish screech....I couldn’t speak....Just as the dogs reached us they were brought back by ends of their chains...left to boil and lament over the “fish” that got away! I laughed at “MANHANDLER” who had wet his pants. The ON ON was a great building with a perfect rain location built in, though it never once even sprinkled. (note: “MANHANDLER” and my time was 52 minutes, Hare time was 56 minutes...missed hare snare by 4 minutes! Blasted...those Hares!) As the hounds began arriving, we all rehydrated our bodies with the magical intoxication potion, then took hash baths in a pool of stale, polluted, acid rain, about 6 inches deep, 15 feet in diameter, that had collected in the cement, as a mercy showing by the hash Gods, for our lamentations during trail. Hashers continued to arrive at the ON ON for a long time. We had several who had not shown up by the start of the down downs. On a lighter note one of them was the king of the SCB’s (short cutting bastards) “GEEK”. Good job to the hares for this most difficult task! Unfortunately some of our lost children happened to be new boots...and two “experienced” female hashers. The stories of terror in the hood were everywhere. When “GOES BOTH WAY” and “SPERMINATOR arrived...”GOES BOTH WAYS” eyes were swollen with tears as she recounted the unspeakable horror she felt when “SPERMINATOR” stole her bike and fled to the ON ON. We cheered her up by reminding her of her favorite chore at her farm...which is cleaning her horse’s penis! I sang her a hash song: “She’s the meanest...she sucks a horse’s penis...she’s the meanest, she a horse’s ass. Every time she sees it....all she does is squeeze it...she’s the meanest, she’s a horses ass!” Down Downs were great fun. The guest RA (Religious
Advisor) was “SHUTTLECOCK”. He led the circle with pompass and circumcision.
Many people were accused of retched crimes and some even successfully. I did one or tow
down downs, the hares were given many accusations, “TWIRLY
MAN”...”MANHANDLER”...”ASS GRABBER”...”ROLLERBALLS”...
and many more suffered at the hands of different hashers, including an incredibly brave
sweep of the trail by “BALD EAGLE”, who single-handedly rescued six hashes from
terror in the hood. “HOOTER BILL” even had a clever successful accusation.......
“small JOHNSON” bravely approached the circle with the simple task of accusing “GEEK” of “Sasquach Wanna be” instead, the words “Saskatchewan Wanna Be” came out. The people spoke out, why are you accusing “GEEK” of being Canadian? “PIPES” said “I thought he was calling “GEEK” a Chinese noodle?” Much discussion went on and on...and “small JOHNSON” was found guilty of a failed accusation. This is how the trail was named. We went to XXXXXXXXXXXXX bar for the ON ON ON. The hares had arranged for burgers and weenies to be the main course. We ate, drank, did Mary, and at least one of us puked his guts out for the rest of the night. All in all a totally successful
hash! |
THE SASKATCHEWAN HASH MONDAY,
JULY 28, 1997 HARES: “CALL GIRL”,
“GAS LIGHT”, AND “MUDPACKER”