Run #1031 October 11, 1998

Hares: Chuck, Low Blow, Generic Rock Star Theme: 10th Anniversary of the Polyester Run

My first trash...here goes. There was a great turnout for this hash, probably due to a combination of factors including the recent return from World Interhash of several irrepressible hounds, good reboot turn out encouraged by the nostalgic hares, and the advertised brevity of the trail. Gumby did not comply with the polyester dress code, but that only meant less competition for Limp Noodle, Double Team, Generic Rock Star, and several others who were synthetically clad from head to heel. Many gifts, hauled back from Malaysia, were presented to Hashers who were unable to travel to the World Interhash the week before.

Right on time at 4:30 p.m., the run took off through the K-Mart parking lot toward the Adult Video shop near T.C. Jester and 18th Street. The initial terrain was familiar, covering neighborhoods recently seen on the Miss Texas Interhash Old & New run only a few weeks ago. Insatiable Gumby proved a worthy hound, getting blown by several comrades along the way. A couple false trails made things interesting early on.

Witnessing a mischievous tree snatch Limp Noodle's rainbow Afro from his head was good for a chuckle just before the Beer/Turkey check. The hounds recharged with chilly Schafer, Busch, and Milwaukee's Best Light at the check which was set in a picturesque clearing in the woods. The hares spoiled us with luxury seating, and the mosquitoes weren't too bad.

With all but a couple hashers accounted for and the beer sloshing in our bellies, we set off on trail again, emerging immediately from the woods into a residential area with the streets named after bimbos. The trail was gentle for a mile or so, navigating made easy by frequent "On On!" calls from FRBs Limp Noodle, Eat Tail, Group Sex, and Willy. FRBs were humbled, though, when the trail left the paved streets and led us down a steep concrete bayou. True trail followed the bottom of the bayou beside jumping fish, but the pack was shrewd and stayed up top to find that they could cross the bayou at street level on T.C. Jester (?). The FRB's had to ford the bayou and scale the concrete slope on the other side.

The pack spread out after crossing T.C. Jester. Somehow Group Sex, Willy and I lost trail, entering a powerline easement bordered on the right by some dense forest. We ran beside the woods parallel to the not-so-distant yelping of the pack, looking for an opening into the woods where we hoped to rejoin them. By the time we found an entry into the woods, we could no longer hear the hounds, and paused to choose our next move. Suddenly we saw Ass Grabber coming at us from the opposite direction from whence we'd hashed, and we briefed him on the present state of affairs. Fearless Ass Grabber dove into the woods, inspiring Group Sex, Willy, and me to do likewise. We tromped through the shiggy, flaring an occasional "RU!?" but not getting a response. I split from Ass Grabber and Group Sex, following nothing but a hunch, and was quickly rewarded with familiar sounds of revelry coming from the On-Home. I emerged into a neighborhood playground to see FRB Eat Tail sitting in a swing with a mile-wide smile, beer, and big watermelon wedge. Except for the crack baggies on the ground around the swing set, it was a sight straight out of a Norman Rockwell calendar.

The hares stocked the On-Home, centered on the playground's basketball court, with draught and canned beer, chips and salsa, and the aforementioned watermelon. After the stragglers and autohashers arrived and we'd had a few cups of beer, Boy George circled up the merry hashers with an inspirational rendition of [WHAT WAS that SONG?]. In accordance with ritual, our three hares downed the first of several down downs they would down at this circle. There were no new boots on this day, but this shortcoming was made up for by the many re-boots who all did their down downs sportingly.

Generic Rock Star was promptly accused of bringing an electronic device (mobile phone) that doesn't vibrate into the circle, and the hares ("One Hare Drinks, They ALL Drink!") did another down down. Mr. T was found guilty of losing his passport and smuggling sexual paraphernalia (acceptable hash behavior?) into Malaysia. At some point, Generic Rock Star's phone rang, which may have resulted in another down down, and the hashers were treated to a surreal sight when somebody noticed three polyester dressed goofballs urinating in unison into the woods behind the b-ball court. Somehow the autohashers avoided accusation. The circle gave the best polyester outfit award to Limp Noodle, who hashed the entire trail in long polyester flares and equally sexy retro-collared button down. GRS, in a fit of jealously, offered up Limp Noodle's limp noodle for inspection with a stealthy move culled straight from the schoolyard bully's handbook. There was much rejoicing. The circle ended with a hearty rendition of "Swing Low."

We passed a mislabeled flask of bourbon around the back seat of Mitch's car as he drove us back to the start. From there, just about the entire group proceeded to the nearby Shady Tavern, where the Hare's provided a most excellent On On On. An intimate neighborhood bar, the Shady Tavern had a tiny bar area that hid a larger patio out back where the real fun went down. The hare's made sure that there was a funded bar tab, a monstrous bowl of boiled shrimp, and a grill churning out tube steak sandwiches for the hungry hashers. All this accompanied by the rockin' tunes of the house DJ who sported a hi-fi setup that probably could have powered a good-sized nightclub.

Hashers ate, drank, danced, groped, socialized, and had an all-around blast for several hours. Gas Light took the limbo crown, just edging out Mighty Mouse and High Maintenance. I had finally had enough after riding the Locomotion train (Boy George conducting) that ended with participants dancing on the tables and bumping their heads on the ceiling lamps.

Things were still rockin' along when I took my leave around 10:00 p.m. I didn't escape, though, before being cornered by the Gas Light gang and strongly encouraged to write up the trash.

Thanks to Low Blow, Generic Rock Star, Chuck, and every Hasher that came out for making #1031 a great time…

on on! Jay NFHN Riddle