Hash: Not Just a Hash

Date: Jan 7, 2001

Run No: 1156

Once upon a time, in the fair land of Houston, there were five hashers without names. It was not that they were bad hashers, just that they had not yet done something stupid enough to be granted names. Feeling sorry for themselves because they were nameless, these five young hashers decided to deflour themselves by laying a trail together. The hash was called "Just a Hash", and these hashers were designated by their lesser names; "Just Julie", Just Jim","Just Elizabeth", "Just Brianna", and "Just Bruce". The "just" hashers laid a fine trail, but all was not well in the land of Houston. An ogre across the valley became angered at the use of the "just " names. He stated that the "J" word could no longer be used (especially in hash trashes and such representative documentation). Houston hashers from far and wide put their heads together to come up with names that would be suitable for the five nameless hashers. In the following order the names were received: Cums Happily, All Head No Shaft, JusTits, Shit On A Shingle, Hairy Bellyfonte.

The Houston Hash named five new hashers, and the hash knew it was good. The five newly names hashers said "let there be a hash" and there was a hash. And the hares said, "Let the hashers under the heavens be gathered into one place, and the place was the start. And the start was cold and the start was windy. The start would divide the wankers from the true hashers. The true hashers, like "that cold chick, Jill" would wear garbage bags, and they would not complain. They would run happily through the cold and mud and wind and they would exude nothing but joy, and there was joy. And Firetunnel exuded such joy, but was later made to drink for it, and it was good.

The hares made a trail in flour before the rain, and the hashers saw the trail and saw that it was sparse. And the hashers did not follow trail, but instead went up the hill because it was a hill, and hashers spread out in all directions looking for flour. Many maintained the high road and some like "Rain Bitch" would not go down for just anyone. All did eventually go down and crossed the muddy stream And the trail crossed below the interstate . And when the hounds did exit the tunnel, there was light, and there was a check and it was good. And the check was hard, and the check was long. And finally Poke Her Face found flour. And the pack went off in the direction of flour. And the trail (or lack thereof) led to a cemetery, where dead people were buried, and where Hairy Palms stole (from dead people) a bouquet of flowers to present to WoW MoM WoW. And the hash saw that it was good.

And after a check or two and not much flour, the hashers ran into a park and joggers looked like hashers, and hashers looked like joggers, and the trail led to a highway. The check at the highway led to a dollop of flour and the hounds went into the woods. And the hares said let there be a trail in the middle of the briars, and let the hounds divide the briars. And it was itchy and it hurt. And the hares called the trail heaven. And the hounds called it hell. And it was so. And the earth brought forth mud. And the hounds waded through the mud. And there were rumors of Beer Near ahead, but no indication in flour. And then there was beer, and it was good.

In the middle of the circle was Hairy Palms, and he was the R. A., and there was much drunkenness, and nudity, and accusation. Such a Puss was made to drink for aggressive masturbation. Paper towels flew and somehow ended up in Grind Slut's pants with a pint of beer. And there was the Scottish visitor Joy Toy who accused the H4 of something, and Pipes tried to translate, and no one understood anything (but I did note that Joy Toy had his pants down for a good 5 minutes and the hash decided it was not good, and The Pits re-pants him). The young Cameron almost got named "Buddah Belly", for his belly, which was good, but the hash decided the name was not good, and it was tabled. All Head No Shaft spoke some ridiculous comment about the hash being a man's hash, and Wow MoM WoW, Shit On A Shingle, Fire Tnnnel, and Pump Me) demonstrated who's hash it really was, and the hash thought it was good, except for All Head No Shaft, who was blindfolded, but wished he wasn't.

The hares made the on-on-on far from the end. And when hashers finally found it, it was good, and everyone had to pee. It was the Triple Crown, and there was free hot food and cheap beer, and T-shirts financed by EZ Fag (so BUY SOME). And in the end there were blow jobs, and the men (P.P., Pipes, EZ Fag) and the harriets (Gaslight, Fire Tunnel, Group Sex, Shit On A Shingle, Rain Bitch) competed and the men sucked faster and swallowed more, and claimed to be good. But we harriets know the truth: Slower is better anyway.