Date: Nov. 26, 2000

Run No: 1150

The run started under glorious Indian Summer skies on Houston's near north side. Tucked into one of Houston's seemingly infinite supply of dead end streets, the Pack assembled. The Responsible Few prepaid for the Hash Christmas Party (scheduled for Saturday, Dec. 9th). The rest depended on the good graces of mismanagement who, in their magnanimity, extended the twenty five buck deadline to next Sunday.

Fearing the worst of shiggy on a Pee Pee run, Shit On A Shingle allowed herself to be wrapped in duct tape. Until that point I had never thought of SOS as a duct.

At 3:30 sharp, the Hash was off in a generally northerly direction into the dense and watery shiggy north of Rankin Road, with ankle deep water, cow patties, cows and shiggy the whole glorious way. The pack zig-zagged in a generally Northerly direction. Putrefied Penis ran into some barbwire and fell into a puddle of water. Certain lowly hashers and various habitues of the trailer park were hugely amused. The pack stayed together over most of the trail, circled a trailer home park near the end, and came into the On On within ten minutes of each other.

And that's all you get when the Hash trash writer doesn't actually do the trail. Meanwhile:

Your Unfaithful Scribe, astride his bicycle, put in about 15 miles meandering about, then passed north of the On On site up Imperial Valley Road. Taking a side road, I encountered another dead end. Preparing to turn about, I noticed a car parked next to the barricade. Inside were a young man and woman engaged in, how shall we say "relations". It was a Toyota Celica. They were doing it in the passenger seat (what a considerate young man). The seat reclined. Nothin' but the best for my baby....

At the On On, there was a variety of goodies (and beer acceptable to all), including pickled eggplant. This should be a Hash staple. Having consumed a half of the jar, I am here to tell you that there were no unpleasant side effects. Combined as it was with the usual staples and chocolate peanut butter to boot, it was, as Will He Peter is fond of saying: Too good for the Hash. Hooter Bill, take note.

We will now refrain from referring to ourselves in the third person.

In the circle, there was a naming. Congratulations to 'Hairy Bellyfonte', the hasher formerly known as Just Bruce, the last of the "Just" Hashers to be so named. It came about after Half Moon told a story having something to do with Just Bruce's hairy body. He then called out a name that nobody remembers. Yours Truly then turned to Slumbag and Saran Crap and said "they ought to name him Hairy Belly", which technically qualifies me for giving him two thirds of his name except for one thing: it wasn't funny. Saran Crap, an impish grin growing on his face, said, "Hairy Bellyfonte", and a Hash name was born.

Peterbilt was visiting from Chicago, and that was no coincidence. There was a couple of New Orleaners joined us. Lorna Dunes was in from San Francisco. We have it on good authority that they rolled her onto the return flight in a wheelchair with a big ice bag between her legs and a smile on her face.

Meanwhile, here are a couple of E-Mails lifted, unedited, from the Internet further describing the On On and the On On On. In this first, Half Moon indulges certain homoerotic fantasies involving beefy bikers and Village People wannabees all lusting for his body.... Hey Halfmoon, when you refer metaphorically to "giving them a big 'ol fat stinky cigar", what are you trying to tell us? Side note about your criticism of the On On snacks: Did you even TRY the pickled Eggplant, you pussy?

From Halfmoon:

What no comments about yesterday's run?? Well, good run hares. Halfmoon seal of approval... aakk aakk!

...water, mud, shiggy! skeeters and dark beer.... I45 Icehouse again! My only criticism (minor) was da snacks.... you guys are obviously bachelors who don't entertain! Anyway, good run!

fyi....I dodged the I-45 bullet a 2nd time... But this time, it wasn't James. ...it seems I parked my car in the zone reserved for bikers. Three guys in leather biker gear and pony tails come in about 5 minutes after we got there.... "whoz damn Infiniti is dat out der! Dats da bikers spot! Damn it!"..... Luckily I was able to sweet talk them by moving my car, buying them a beer, and giving them a big 'ol fat stinky cigar! I wouldn't have given them the cigars, but somebody whispered "Hey, that one guy is the president of the Bandidos". Man was a scared there for a minute. After the cigar, I think I even got another hug, or maybe am I still dreaming about James? Roller, don't feel inadequate, it's not you!

AHNS responds:

"The snacks were my responsibility, I was a little pressed for time and the grocery stores were packed. Next time I co-hare a run I will consult you, Half Moon, before I head to Randall's. Maybe you should produce a list of Half Moon approved snacks for hash consumption. By the way, was that a fur ball (Half Moon seal of approval... aakk aakk!)?

I would also like to take this opportunity, while I am on the soap box, to thank Ass Grabber for the tasty Pollo he brought to us on Sunday.

On On and sarcastically yours
All Head, No Shaft"

Not to worry, AHNS. I don't think you want to get within a country mile of Half Moon's seal of approval, if you know what I mean.