Hares: Gaslyte, Red Snapper, Eat Tail Suck Head

Mild Panic - Sunday Morning on the phone: Red Snapper calls Heartache asking about sources of beer in North Houston. Are we in the crapper??? Heartache explains the concept of closed liquor stores on Sunday……. Red Snapper promises they have found a place to supply kegs on Sunday…….

A Pack-limiting Precursor - Saturday Space City/Pool Confessions: This annual event is famous for excessive behavior requiring a few days of Intensive Care: stomach pumps, organ replacement, CPR, etc. Guaranteed to weaken the resolve of those foolish enough to partake. And they did. In large quantities……

Certainty of Disaster - Sunday Morning Hash line: Instructions to "leave in time to trek to the North Pole. Bring complete change of clothes, Bug Spray, Poison Ivy repellant, Tetanus shots, Train deflectors. And a threat that hash cash will close and if you are late you will pay double." Directions to follow a road which does not exist on the key map……….. All guaranteed to bring out the wimpish Houston Hashers in quantity…..NOT!

Well, a few of them, maybe…….. After the long trek to the north, the extra mile excursion along Cypresswood (that which does not exist in its glorious continuity on the key map…) to arrive in plenty of time to "mingle and chat with your friends" as suggested by RollerBalls. A relatively small pack, swollen at the last minute by such tardy individuals as The Worm that Turned and disjointed dignitaries such as BlueBalls and RollerBalls, both apparently convinced the hash would wait for them. And Group Sex, cruising the street with a totally paranoid Willie trying to tear a hole in the side of the trusty Volkswagen van on seeing the pack formed up for the off….

…but being held back by a gun-toting Dickless Tracy, who was press-ganged into delivering the hash bags to the end when the hares, in their totally organized pre-departure check, realized that they had two wagons loaded with beer (Yes!) and bags and only one driver……

So, we kindly waited for the late-comers to don suitable garb for our incursion into what looked like very promising shiggy and gave the hares an excessive head start of 13 minutes……

…and were off, led by PeePee, who quickly ran to the mini-bayou and silently sprinted East into the distance, reserving his wind for himself, while Heartache followed at a modest pace blowing his low-decibel whistle… The rest of the pack stood on the banks of the bayou and discussed the fact that Gaslyte and Red Snapper had gone east while ETSH had gone west. A check some 300 yards along to the East dragged them out of their stupor and they got in motion. After some milling around and a couple of falsies, it was north into the Woods on a narrow track, beautifully slick and muddy from the rains, and deeply rutted to catch the unwary. First to belly-flop, I believe, was Pipes (or was it Mitch? Either way, the tidal wave of stinking mud drenched half the pack……).

The trail followed a succession of branching trails, all similar in their slickness, twistiness, muddiness and nicely rutted character, guaranteeing much revelry. Frequent checks kept the pack accordioning nicely. Wonderdog Willie insisted on patrolling the length of the pack, back and forth, at about three times the speed of all others, causing much tripping and mud-eating…..

The usual suspects were seen to FRB to the checks, patrol the false trails and return to join the back in the pack. What joy! All went well for this scribe, maintaining a modest pace mid-pack, until one lucky break caused him to lead the pack to the east off the wanker check (where a W and arrow pointed the walkers to the west) and quickly to the next check at a pipeline sign. Common sense said check ahead on the trail. Perversity said dive into the impenetrable woods to the left of the trail. And off he went, driven by that stupid pig-headedness and adventurous spirit possessed only by real hashers such as Geek, Dickhead, Heartache, etc. Once in, and all alone, your scribe heard the pack calling on-on, as expected, on the trail to the west. However, superior hash cunning and local topographical knowledge overcame common sense and he continued to go straight on into the woods, sure in the belief that true trail would loop back and this short excursion in rough terrain would be the perfect short cut……

Right, but Wrong! Yes, the pack was heard to be making the predicted curve around first to the west of him, then returning to the north, then into the distance to the east…. While our antihero continued to drag his bleeding corpse through endless bramble patches, stagnant pools and slimy streams, all the while being devoured by rabid horse flies, each one of which was capable of removing a pint of blood and replacing it with a pint of venom. After much tearing of flesh and shedding of blood, swear ‘n’ tears, he eventually rejoin the trail way behind the tail-enders. Catching up to a seemingly fresh Bald Eagle, your scribe asked where the fuck the trail was, to be informed that there was apparently a back check ahead.

Once more, using years of hash experience to solve this back check, your scribe rushed off to the north, finding beautiful trails in totally pristine condition, worthy of hashing. But those damn hares had not had the sense to use them! Instead they had led the pack off in entirely the wrong direction……. Once more, a long struggle at top speed along the river bank, to once again come across a smiling Bald Eagle, who indicated " they went thataway…", as he continued to progress at a modest pace. At this point, we crashed down the riverbank onto the picturesque sandy beaches of Spring Creek, where Hooter Bill was found to be gazing in wonderment at the beauty of it all. Trail went west and seemed to follow the left-hand bank. Your hyper-intelligent scribe again knew better and waded up the right hand bank. Apparent success came after about five minutes of wading through deep water (as the pack ran off into the distance on an easy trail along the bank on the other side). Hand Cream burst from the woods in the distance and ran down the bank and into the water, apparently intent on crossing the river toward me! Ha! The perfect opportunity to convert an ignominious defeat to the glory of FRBism…….. So straight up the bank to try and find the trail that Hand Cream would no doubt come running along……

Wrong again. It was just wishful thinking that he would run towards me…. And as he and the pack was heard to be making their way once again to the West, it was necessary to beat a trail through virgin forest to catch the pack. And finally - hashers! It was a pleasure to finally be running with someone else as I stumbled across Sticky Lips and Bump Slut. We ploughed West through the undergrowth until eventually the pack burst out onto the sandy beach. At this point, RollerBalls, Hand Cream, Grind Slut and NippStick all seemed to come from different directions to converge on the river. Trail then crossed to the South bank to another check and then proceeded west to eventually enter the woods once more, where we continued to run nice trails carved by ATV’s. Multiple checks and falses worked well to confuse some of the front runners. With pleasure I allowed Hand Cream to pass me up in the closing stages as he made a futile effort to catch Grind and RollerBalls. The end appeared to be close and the pack eager to get out of the woods as most of us were being chased by horse flies the size of small buzzards….

Your scribe was feeling pretty pleased to have made it back to mid pack and without a single dive in the mud when he felt his feet go in one direction and his torso in another, with a small sapling dead ahead to complicate matters. The beautiful noisy splat into the mud was enough to cause Bump Slut, running just ahead to turn around just enough to run his head into a tree limb, causing stars to appear rather early for him…… But that was almost the end of our excitement, as we quickly picked ourselves up, turned a corner and bingo! On In! A nice empty dead-end street, all to ourselves!

On-In at last…… Where’s the nearest water, begged your scribe, who was dripping with shiggy…..

How’s about that there fire hydrant???? YES! Eat Tail Suck Head had the tools, Heartache the knowledge and in moments the hydrant was preparing itself to disgorge its contents….

First a gurgle, then a whistle, then a slurping of brown fetid water…… Then a gradual build-up, through smelly water to pristine, pre-chilled, pressurized pleasure! As they staggered in, almost the entire pack was seen to jump into the gushing fountain and cleanse and cool their bodies. Never before has a hot sweaty pack been freshened up with such efficiency! Even Hooter Bill was seen to partake…… RoadKill, however, decided he preferred to remain like his namesake until urged by many to partake of the fountain of youth……

Group Sex sent Willie into a furore of jealousy by returning to the waters numerous times, each time positioning her body just so that the high pressure jet induced the maximum pleasure.

And then to the keg for essential fluid replacement. With a reduced pack of about forty (all others, who failed to come, should be banished to run asphalt trails for the rest of their hashing existence……), the hares decided to tap only one keg.

Wrong! The circle got going, with much good humor and drinking of yellow piss. The hares were made to do numerous down-downs for the perfection of the trail, the weather (which had turned out perfectly for the run and on-home), and any other excuse. NippStick also became the butt of the circle and ended up doing a large quantity of down-downs, just because he is NippStick.

Grind Slut is slowly making his way back into the RA mode, with frequent prompting from Boy George and the keg…. Our cop-out RA, Such-A-Puss was given his un-induction ceremony. Grind also bestowed a gift on the absent Dickhead, using Hooter Bill as the bearer of gifts. Some hope of Dickhead ever seeing the gift, which was a suitably low-class porn videotape……..

As the yellow piss began to run out, the hares decided to tap the second keg, of Shiner Bock. This caused much pissing and moaning from those testosterone laden hashers as Boy George, who would have preferred to get stuck into the dark stuff from the get-go….. And the circle resolved to break up to get down to the serious business of emptying this second keg. But not before Eat-Tail-Suck-Head announced he had prepared a Venison Stew for our delight! Can this get any better, wondered the pack? And it was devoured and announced to be excellent by all…..

A small group led by RollerBalls and Boy George attempted to get a singing circle going, but just demonstrated that this is becoming a lost art in the Houston Hash. A resolution was passed to bring songbooks to the next run……

The On-On-On was declared to be superfluous by all. Why leave a quiet paved dead-end street, fresh air and free beer for a smelly Icehouse? The pack settled in for the long haul……..

So, for all you wankers who decided a trip to the shiggy was too much for your tender ankles (and all those who used the feeble excuse of excessive debauchery at pool confessions), piss on y’all. You missed a great hash, with strong legs to make it to Run of the Year.

Oh, yes! And the T-shirts! Each one a work of art, with imprints of breasts and buttocks delivered by the Hares. Only one small whisper of dissent was heard, regarding ETSH using his butt rather than a frontal portion of anatomy for his imprint……….. But then he probably does not wish to give too much away…..

Thanks to the Hares who did their job without fault. You have our permission to do it again…..

Thanks to the hares for a great trail yesterday...

If the long drive scared you off you missed a good one. This hash had it all, T-shirts, lots of shiggy, sand, water, woods and horseflies the size of small birds, not to mention two kegs of beer (which the 37 of us tried our best to kill off), and delicious deer stew. It just doesn't get any better than this.

Thanks again Gas Light, Red Snapper, & Eat Tail, Suck Head . . .

Great job! Bald Eagle

Amen, Bald Eagle. It was pure, whole hashing. Beautiful and shady, green woods and creek crossings. And I have Grind's birthday gift for Dickhead, as his stand-in. Hooter Bill.

Thus far the best hash of the year. What more could we ask for? Shiggy,

shade, not too long or short. A nice swim(?) at the ON ON. It was awesome

man; except for all there lame and vindictive accusations on NippStick. All

you wankers that missed this trail ought to be publicly pissed on ...Nipp

Ah yes, I finally feel truly baptized in my second term as R.A. I woke up in

my car at 2:30 a.m., still parked at the start. GS

Good trail, perfect weather, and no lack of water on trail or beer at the end. After the circle, a great venison stew and two kegs in a perfect location- there was no reason to go to an ON ON ON anywhere else. Truly a magnificent hash! Gravity Sucks

Stop rubbing it in....I'm don't wanna hear how good yesterday's hash was. Can't run because somehow I stumped the shit out of my toe at Pool Confessions at around 2 or 3 in the morning. Also got a bunch of chigger bites from the On Home (I guess). Anybody else get chigger bites?

Limping, Itching Noodle