"Saran Crap and I have scouted the most pristine forest inside the loop. It would be impossible for a bad hash trail to be laid there." Hand Cream (7-15-1999)
(Don’t you hate it when a hare says something like this before a hash?)

2^nd Edition

July 7, 1999

Hares: Hand Cream and Saran Crap

It was a glorious Sunday for a hash. The weather was unbearably hot; but the hares promised us plenty of shade in the triple canopy 100% shiggy trail they laid for us. I arrived at the start at 5 PM, paid my hash cash, bug proofed myself; and loaded my hash bag into the sag wagon. At 5:15 I was about to pop the top on a cold Lone Star to hydrate myself; when Roller Balls decided to implement his new powers of JM and send the hash off early. It was only 5:20 and the hares weren’t there yet; but who needs hares? Roller Balls found a few dollops of flour; pointed us in the right direction and off we went.

We ran along a ditch to the first check. The first mark was found a few feet away on the opposite side of the ditch, running in the same direction. Half the hash opted for staying on the same side of the ditch they were running on. Another check sent us scurrying into the woods down a winding and very muddy trail. This was fun. So far, the first mark off each check was found quickly; but the FRB’s were quickly losing the pack and the pack was becoming strung out with nothing slowing down the FRB’s.

At the third check on a road torn up by bulldozers, Blue Balls, Sin Bad, Balute, SCUD and your scribe were leading the pack. The FRB’s were out of earshot; so we had to solve this check ourselves. We ran in three directions. Sin Bad quickly found flour that sent us off the dirt path directly into the shiggy. I was thinking, "What a glorious hash trial." The only problem was that this is where the pack split into two different sections. About 15 of us dove into the shiggy on trail. The rest of the pack hadn’t caught up with us and by the time they got to the check, we must have been out of earshot; because it took them 20 minutes to solve this check. It was a good check. We lucked out (I mean cleverly utilized out hash skills); while the rest of the pack must have gotten unlucky.

SCUD, Sin Bad, Oz (formerly Omar from Kansas) and your scribe were running abreast of each other following the zigzagging trail very quickly. Running this way, one of us was always in sight of a mark. True trail made an abrupt turn to the left. Oz and I went straight to a path that followed a swift flowing stream. I told OZ to go to the right; but not to run further than the next bend; while I scouted left. Yells of On On could be heard a long way off to our right. This must have been the FRB’s. I opted for staying on flour and followed the sounds of On On to my left; where I ran into Sin Bad, SCUD, Blue Balls, Trail Head and Lube Job leading the way on a mud path that led away from the sounds of the FRB’s. Going in the opposite direction of the calling FRB’s bothered me a little; but there was lots of flour here. Oz had not caught up with me yet and I was concerned that he was following the sounds of the distant FRB’s instead of staying on flour. That might work on a street run; but not in this dense shiggy; where it is real easy to get disorientated. Whoops! Big word, I meant lost.

We came to a check at a raging muddy stream. Flour was spotted on the opposite clay bank. SCUD and I dove in and banged our heads on the bottom. It was only waist deep; but the current was strong. It would have sucked weaker men down stream. SCUD and I, being the manly men we are, valiantly fought against the current and crossed to the very slippery clay bank on the opposite side; where we gave up our FRB spots to give a hand to the other 20 or more hashers climbing the bank. HumBugger stopped to help as well. The valiant bugger.

After helping the last hasher, we dashed along the bank up stream where trail led up a creek that fed into the main stream. Our cries of On On attracted the FRB’s of the second pack. I saw Bald Eagle and Oz and yelled at them to cross the stream where we were. This would save them some running and they wouldn’t have to climb the clay bank. Oz crossed; but Bald Eagle opted for following trail. I think he must have been delirious at this point. I’ve never known him not to shortcut, when given the opportunity. Little did I know that this would be the last I would see of Bald Eagle on trail.

Oz told me he followed the sounds of the distant FRB’s until he could hear them no more. He still wasn’t on trail and was nervous about being by himself in that primordial forest. He decided to catch up with us instead. Good move. I thought I was going to have to go look for him and miss my turn at the keg. Yeah right!

The trail led out of the creek into some more dense forest. The marks were very close together and the trail zigzagged to the left; to the right; then in a circle. We got the impression that the hares must have gotten lost or at least a little bewildered at this point. I don’t believe the heavy flour was laid for our benefit. We figured the hares were afraid they might have to follow their own trial back out. I don’t blame them. The landmarks were scarce and the forest was so thick it was easy to get turned around in there. We were hoping that they brought a lot of flour with them.

The next check was across a fence. Sin Bad, Lube Job, Balut and I were leading our portion of the pack. I took a left; which led me to a false about 50ft away. I knew then that the hares didn’t want to get too far from each other at this point. I caught up with Lube Job and Sin Bad as trail went down a steep almost vertical 50ft cliff. The trail ran up and down some more 50ft embankments; then led down into a creek bed. Running/walking up this creek was the toughest part of this hash. The shiggy was shoe sucking thick mud. Sin Bad said she felt a shoe with her bare foot buried in the mud with

someone’s foot still in it. Gross! One of the FRB’s must have been so determined to pull his shoe out of the mud, he must have pulled his foot off as well. He then kept up the pace so as not to lose his turn at the keg. Makes me proud, I mean prowd, to associate with hashers such as this. A tear is coming to my eye as I write this.

In the creeks, you had to run bent over most of the time under the low hanging tree limbs; leaping over submerged logs that would bang your shin or catch your foot and trip you and tramp through knee deep clay like mud. I saw some strange rare orange moss. It must be rare because I’ve never seen anything like it before. Snakes hung thick from the cypress trees like sausage from a smoke house wall. I believe Ol’ Black Hattie must live around aroun’ there somewhere.

I was at the point where I was thinking it would be nice to be out of this creek, when I heard Estrus and SCUD yelling On On about 100ft ahead up a 30ft embankment that led to a road. We got there just as Saran Crap was placing bottles of water on the check. The time was 6:50 PM. We had been on trail for about an hour and a half. He told us we were at the halfway point. He would have been killed a horrible death, if he hadn’t driven away so fast. As it was, he had meant to say Beer Near. Trail ran down the road for another quarter mile to the On Home.

The On Home was on a secluded bridge that crossed Greens Bayou. It was very scenic and remote. Several of us decided to wash the mud and crud off ourselves in the muddy bayou. Sticky Lips took some enticing photos of scantily clad GasLight and Dick Chaser posing on the edge of the bridge. She said that the magazine "Hot Redneck Mamma’s"; which sits right on the shelf next to Cosmo on store shelves in Iowa; might be interested in them. Actually, I think her uncle, who is also her brother, wanted copies to send to his favorite mag "Hot Muddy Bayou Queens".

Thirty minutes later a tired group of walkers came in. Role Model was distraught at having lost her dog. Some hashers were saying the dog had probably been planning that escape for a long time. Lorna Dune was beside herself, gnashing her teeth and biting at the wind. It seems they walked several miles down one road only to find that they had to backtrack. The rest of the walkers looked pretty ragged as well. Will He Peter tracked down Role Model’s dog, by cleverly thinking like a dog and going back to the start. Who would have thought the dog would have thought of that? Well, Will He Peter did. Go figure!

Now we cum to the part about the demise of Bald Eagle. It seems that the skinny Bald Eagle was concerned about putting on a few pounds; so he went on a diet and lost ten pounds the preceding week. He had just driven up from Corpus Christi and didn’t eat much before the hash, two spoonfuls of rice and a pubic hair from Lazy Worm. He also wasn’t properly hydrated after a three-day gin drinking binge. An hour and a half on trail and he began blacking out. Bald Eagle became disoriented and thought he was in Muri (a Muri whorehouse no doubt). Of course the real reason he was blacking out had nothing to do with the heat or dehydration. He had only brought enough gin for an hour-long trail. He ran out and started getting the DT’s. Next time Bald Eagle, either bring more gin or try the gorilla diet. It works quicker and is a lot more fun; well... except for the last part.

That was what Bald Eagle told everyone what happened. What reaaaaaaalllllly happened was; and this is no shit; when Bald Eagle attempted to swim the swift stream his skinny, yet buoyant, body floated down stream. He got stuck in a logjam and couldn’t get out. 5 naked wood nymphs with pert breasts and almost hairless quims, that had the sweet smell of coconut, pulled him out of the logjam; thereby saving his life. Bald Eagle told the young girls he would be happy to repay them in any way for their brave effort. The girls said that their only desire was to be sexually satisfied.

Two and a half-hours after the start, the second portion of the pack came in with news that Bald Eagle was down on trail. John Boy, Roller Balls and a few others ran off to render aid, or was it to give him aids? I don’t remember. Personally, I had already written him off when he didn’t take an obvious shortcut. I was thinking about all the extra beer we would have with Bald Eagle out of the way. After all, Never Score did buy the piss in his honor. They managed to rehydrate Bald Eagle a little and bring him back in. He looked like warmed over death; but wait… that is the way he normally looks.

With Bald Eagle and the last of the stragglers in, our Religious Advisor, Grind Slut, conducted the Circle. The hares were away again; so he started with accusations; but wait. the hares were the ones being accused; so Grind Slut moved into welcoming the New Boot, Susannah, brought to the hash by Sin Bad. We had two transfers from New Delhi, OH! Sir Roger and Whoresplay.

The hares, Hand Cream and Saran Crap, arrived and we showed them our appreciation of the trail by giving them numerous down downs. Grind Slut showed us the true path to enlightenment and that no prisoners would be taken for those wearing new running shoes to the hash, by doing a down down from his own new shoe after tea bagging the brew with his sock. His only comment afterward was. "Hmmmm... that was mighty crispy."

The hares had advertised two kegs; but were thwarted by our supreme all knowing leader Roller Balls into getting only one. One word of wisdom, Never underestimate the drinking ability of hashers in small groups. Roller Balls was properly chastised for talking the hares into providing only one keg; which was actually purchased by Never Score as his going away keg. We sang "O’ Canada" to Never Score who is going back to Canada to resume his professional hockey career/ lawnjuray (Canadian spelling) salesman. 15 minutes later, to the dismay of those that came in late and had only one beer, the keg was dead. Long lives the keg.

Master Chugger managed to rescue a half-gallon of brew; which was enough to wet our throats for a little sing along; while we were waiting for the cars to come get us. The kind folks who shuttled everyone to and from the cars did a great job. Will He Peter must have thought the car dealership told him four wheel drive, when they said his car had front wheel drive. I swear he drove that car like a veteran mud dogger. He only got stuck once; where as James, driving a four-wheel drive Isuzu Rodeo, got stuck twice. Luckily, he had John Boy with him. John Boy pushed James’ Rodeo out using only one arm. He had his beer in the other and didn’t spill a drop.

The hares figured we would never make it to the On Home; so they didn’t plan for an On On On. Again, never underestimate the drinking ability of hashers in small groups. Trail Head said she saw a quaint little place called, of all things, "The Place" on E Mt Houston just before the freeway. She also swore she was not a regular and wouldn’t know anybody there.

The On On On was one of the best parts of the hash for those missed it. About thirty of us showed up at The Place, covered in mud from pushing out stuck vehicles. The locals were real impressed with that and with Will He Peter’s mud covered car. The said they didn’t know that model of Buick came in four-wheel drive.

Trail Head came in about 20 minutes later. Funny thing, the locals all stood up and welcomed her by her street name.

Omar from Kansas was going back to Kansas; so SCUD organized a presentation and got some going away gifts for him, an H4 sarong and two H4 bandannas. Omar had earlier asked how to get hash paraphernalia. We did an impromptu circle with your scribe as RA. Omar was presented with his going away gifts, fashioned to make him look like a woman. Hooter Bill went into a tirade; because no one had ever done that for him. I told Hooter Bill that he had to go away first. We then named Omar Oz. Geek was in attendance to make it official.

We retired to the bar where everyone went on a beer buying frenzy. Everyone was buying everyone else beers. Oz got caught up in it and bought the whole house a round. It was pandemonium run rampant. Rednecks and hashers bonding. Dogs and cats living together. Then... the singing started. James requested a soft love balled for the barmaid. Dick the Boy Wonder started off with the song "Yo Ho Yo Ho". We sang the one about her lily white tits, then brought the house down with the Keyhole song. The barmaid turned off the jukebox ask asked us to keep singing for the owner who was on his way over. The next two hours we sang the most disgusting hash songs we could think of and still the locals were belly laughing and asking for more. Not only did we close The Place down singing, the owner locked the door and asked us to keep it up; which we did for another 30 minutes. He wants us back there and offered to cook and provide free food the next time. All he wants is to hear us sing and maybe get a quick peek down Sticky Lip’s shorts.

I thought it was a glorious hash. The checks could have been a little more clever and the beer a little more plentiful; but overall, it was well worth the scenery and the song. For those who thought it was too long and hard, why if you want to know what long and hard is you should try 12 weeks of U.S. Marine Corps boot camp or 8 weeks of U.S. Army Ranger School or six weeks of U.S. Navy SEAL training or just one year with the French Foreign Legion or maybe... you should see me when I’m naked and in a romantic mood, now we’re talking long and hard. Those woods were awesome. It was glorious.

To quote Hand Cream again.

"Saran Crap and I have scouted the most pristine forest inside the loop. It would be impossible for a bad hash trail to be laid there." Hand Cream (7-15-99)