Hash Trash – January 10, 1999

Run # 1045

Hares: Muscle Phart / Rear Layer

Scribe: Such-A-Puss

Something had gone wrong. Something very wrong indeed. How were we to know, that on such a typical Sunday afternoon, that the events would unfold in the manner that we would prefer to forget. The fact that Hooter Bill finished the so-called trail an hour after the bulk of us, was of no great surprise. However, the fact that as he solely lumbered into the gaiety of the circle, without so much as a complaint; was indicative that the tenets and beliefs that we had come to revere were blatantly disregarded and tossed aside. Was it out of negligence or wanton cruelty that such a trail was laid? We all suffered that fateful afternoon. However, as Hooter Bill pursued the unattainable, he became the greatest victim of us all.

Let us reflect:

The young and handsome protagonist sets out with his companions to frolic in the afternoon sunshine. As if to please his insatiable wanderlust, he veers from the straight and narrow course. Reckless youth, in pursuit of fame, glory, riches? Who can say at this point? Whatever the motive, he committed his regrettable miscalculation. In the final analysis, we have concluded that Non-Euclidean Hashing still remains outside of even the most cunning hound’s grasp. Perhaps next week Hooter Bill will find the elusive pathway, mastering the 4^th dimension, in order to shortcut the straight line between two points. Or perhaps he will continue to find happiness in the pursuit itself.

More scientifically:

Prove: The trail was completely fucked up.

Given: Hooter Bill did not complain about being DFL and left to die on trail.

Theorem I: A line is shortest distance between two points.

Postulate a: Hash trails usually change direction and exhibit interesting features.

Theorem II: Hooter Bill complains about anything and everything.

Hooter Bill did not complain therefore, the trail was completely fucked up.

\ Q.E.D.

What the trail lacked in style and grace was certainly compensated by the sheer terror of transversing suburban hell. Oh well, that’s about all I can say. When the On-Secs ask the hapless scribe-to-be to write the hash trash towards the end of the night (and after numerous quaffs of the amber nectar), there’s no tellin’ what might be reported when the fingers start clicking. I should point out several noteworthy items:

1. Jay has been named: Tumbilina. For his graceful spins and pirouettes, in full Red Dress (presumably including red "fuck-me" pumps) during a hash road-trip. Always the lady, Tumbilina managed to keep her "legs together" despite the unsavory company and challenges of gravity.

Three Cheers for Tumbilina! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray!

2. Linda (McPisser’s honey) had her Full Moon Hash name (given many moons ago) reconfirmed. However I can’t remember what that name is at this point. If the editors can rectify my Alzheimer-ish lapse of recall, please insert name here: _________________.

Three Cheers for _____________! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray! Hip-hip hooray!

3. Pinball kept her cloths on.
4. KY Bitch modeled her Victoria’s Secret "little boy" style panties.
5. Roll Model made an accusation that was coherent and well presented.
6. The keg floated, not before its time, allowing the frivolity to continue to at the Post Time Bar.

And that is it, everything else is just noise.

Faithfully submitted, by Such-A-Puss on this 17^th day of January in the 61^st year of "G".