Date: September 24.2000

Run no: 1141

Hares: Sinbad, Balut (beer bitch)

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It was a glorious hashing day and would prove to be a glorious trail. Hashers congregated at the PipeFitters parking lot (near Broadway and 610) for another infamous Sinbad run. I greeted the hare at the start, and she appeared amazingly unscathed, all the while telling us tales of poison ivy, briars, and great shiggy.

At Sinbad's signal, the pack headed south along Broadway and into a neighborhood. Then we detoured into the shiggy near a creek. Trail led to a great creek crossing that involved boulder hopping over the only rock in Houston - concrete. We then scurried up a hill - which must have been the point where I planted my face, armpit, and right nipple into a grove of poison ivy.

We headed out of the woods to a check. The pack followed false trail through a church parking lot. Entranced by the revival music, I lost sight of the pack. Then suddenly, I spotted them again, but noticed Hooter Bill was in the lead and they were running in the opposite direction - hmm. After a lengthy false, we ran back through the church parking lot. The pack apparently couldn't get enough of the revival band (it was Sunday after all)

I caught up to Richard (the hasher formerly known as "just Richard," that is, until Geek told me I could never again use the "just" term in hash trash due to the fact that it might show disrespect to hashers who actually had the word "just" in their hash name) just as we ran beneath 4 pair of running shoes dangling from a telephone wire. Was this the result of a satanic attack on some unsuspecting hashers, we wondered? And where were those FRBs? It sent shudders down my spine

The pack continued on to a giant underpass (610) where we enjoyed shade as far as the eye could see.

Then we entered a stint of woods carpeted with poison ivy. On a narrow strip above a creek, Little Pussy elbowed me out of

the way - almost sending me plummeting into the creek. Damn racer.

The pack then headed through another neighborhood to a pedestrian bridge. A cute little old man tending his garden started shaking his hose at us. Hashers ran up and danced in the spewing fluid. I climbed the stairs to the bridge, only to find FRB's running toward me, cursing something about a false from hell. The pack weary from the bridge ordeal went back to the check and found true trail up an interstate ramp. Ah - the glories of Houston landscape. After solving another check, we headed through a park. Then, we spied the barefoot hare - waiting nervously for the pack. What had taken us so long - she wondered? And why didn't anyone pants her? The Beer Near symbol was soon to follow, and we ended at this great little dump with yummy food and 2 kegs.

Circle highlights included the naming of Crack of Dawn, dubbed for her glowing white posterior that kept many a hasher awake at the Crab Hash. Saran Crap and Roller Balls had to drink for racing, and DTBW made sure he had control of the circle by making Bildo Dildo drink for sitting. Gas Light escaped similar down-downs, but she had a good excuse.

The on-on-on was the true highlight of the evening -taking place at an icehouse advertising ICE, BEER, and POOL - but living up to so much more. Dickhead was the first to step up to the Kareoke mike. I can't remember what he sang. I think I tried to block it out. Then - the real gem - Sinbad, Donut Holer, Slumbag, and Whore Dog singing "Crack of Dawn" to the tune of Delta Dawn. DTBW did a not-too -shabby rendition of "Momma Don't Dance. The night couldn't have been called complete, though, until Whore Dog purchased and gave away to a few lucky bimbos duck shaped vibrators. Why-oh-why did I leave early?