Having been fortunate enough to survive both the flood of a lifetime and last week's hash of a lifetime the faithful optimistically began gathering for the so-called Reboot Reunion. The crafty hares once again utilized the semi-permanent hash starting point, in the Metro Park And Ride lot, near the junction of I-10 and I-610. Ominously, after a relatively short wait, Ass-Grabber announced that since he wasn't sure of the exact location of his co-hare Letch, he would start immediately. The first four miles of trail were to be laid live by Ass-Grabber, he would take a bold five minute head start, and the final two prelaid by the not so bold Letch.
After an appropriate period of time, two minutes, five minutes, ten minutes,
(it always seems like thirty minutes to me), who can really say, the pack was
off. We immediately crossed Old Katy Road, went under 610, and headed down the
feeder. The pack paused momentarily to see if Rain Bitch could successfully
restrain Ripley as he seemed to want to hash a little faster than her normal
blistering pace, (NO CHANCE). A short but successful demonstration of backfield
moves proved Ripley would have been equally at home playing for the Aggies or
the Longhorns. The hashers trying to catch him however really must have cracked
the books at some point in their college career.
On the feeder we hit flour immediately and after two or three hundred yards
found our first check. I checked right, left, then went straight mainly because
it was the only way left to try. I found some of the pack off the next check
and we headed into an industrial park. Mo Better Ho, Tool Shed, Salt Water Taffy
and I followed Such-A-Puss through some twists and turns eventually coming to
a check near some railroad tracks. True trail went left down the tracks to another
check that was situated at the intersection of several railroad tracks, next
to an industrial park.
The pack came together at this point and the trail began to take on the feel
of déjà vu all over again. The FRBs led by P.P, The Worm That
Turns and Roller Balls, among others, twisted and turned though a familiar office
park, circled some railroad tracks we had a little experience with last week
then zigzagged their way through some neighborhoods. Not wanting to follow this
reasonable course of action I attempted to follow a different route.
Noticing that Such-A-Puss had made a quick turn and begun to speed up, a few
blocks in front of me, (HEY, he could have been on trail!! Really!!). I cut
across an office complex eventually getting cut off by a very large, nasty fence.
Since I couldn't get under the fence I decided to try to go over. A few minutes
latter, having reached the top of the fence and finding no easily accessible
handholds or places to put my feet to climb down the other side, this option
looked poor at best. In the end, it was the pack that decided the issue. After
watching them disappear into the distance it was over the fence and damn the
injury. A short struggle latter, shaken but luckily not castrated, I was on
my way again.
From this point on the trail meandered through some neighborhoods heading in
the general direction of the White Oak Bayou. After being on and off trail for
a few blocks I began running with GasLight and Roller Balls as we approached
the Bayou. We followed trail along the Bayou until we simultaneously found a
false trail and Hooter Bill. The false trail was pretty long, but more importantly,
it sounded like Hooter was beginning to warm up for a lecture on the correct
hand signals for false trails. Since this scholarly diatribe may well have lasted
the rest of the run, it was time to check the other side of the Bayou, (send
me a taped version Hooter, I'll listen in my car, NOT!). We didn't find trail
but we avoided the lecture so we broke even.
The pack found trail and Ass-Grabber across from us near the bayou. So we headed
under 610 for a much needed water stop. The pack paused just long enough to
drink some water and get Ass-Grabber's version of how Dick Head caught him and
we were off again.
I was told the rest of the trail was pretty good but I didn't see too much of
it. Shortly after the water check Such-a-Puss and I, while ranging off a check,
managed to cover quite a bit of ground. Unfortunately, most of that ground was
in the direction. After turning around and heading back in the opposite direction
we ran into the hash crossing under highway 290. It was a relatively short run
from the highway until the end of the trail and the hash was definitely ready
for it. Ass-Grabber had joined us for the last section of trail and was immediately
greeted by friendly shouts (YEA RIGHT) of " Hey Ass-Grabber, take the most
direct route", " Where's the god damn end" and the tried and
true "are we there yet". Luckily, the end was just around the next
corner. The Worm that turns and Ass-Grabber quickly led us into the familiar
surroundings of the St Arnold's parking lot. Déjà vu all over
again.
The circle was a lot of fun from beginning to end. It was the debut of our new
R.A Easy Fag. He did a great job. Not only did he run a good circle but he was
able to finish his official duties on his feet as opposed to face down drunk.
Much to the chagrin of those who sought to heckle him at every turn. The highlights
of the circle were a Small Johnson accusation that stuck and an illegal search
and seizure of Hooter Bill's one ball by Donut Holer. Also of note, we had three
namings. Stuck on the Bone, Mo Better Ho, and Menage Myself were all given names
appropriate for their crimes against, or contributions to, the hash. Finally,
as it was the Reboot Reunion we had some long absent friends who graced us with
their presence. C.I.A, Jailbait, Reverend Bob and Patty Cakes just to name a
few who came out to hash with us. Hey, reboots, don't be strangers.
The party continued inside St Arnold's. The hares provided plenty of good beer
and Ass-Grabber provided good food. Last call came at nine-thirty but I left
at ten and the fun was still under way. Letch and Ass-Grabber did a great job
from beginning to end. The trail was fun, well laid but not so easy that it
was boring. The food and beer were both plentiful and tasty. Nice job hares,
thank you. If you didn't make this run, (flood victims aside), it's O. K. wanker.
We tripped the urban shiggy fantastic and drank the beer without ya!!! ON-ON!!!
Your Faithless Scribe
WOMB SERVICE
ON-ON-ON!!!
More Hash Trash by Silent Dick
June 10, 2001 Hares: Letch, Ass Grabber
The theme of the reboot reunion in most years is nostalgia. The theme of this year’s was staying above the flood waters in sunken Houston. As we gathered at the Park & Ride on North Post Oak, Ass Grabber warned us that Old Katy Road was going to be I-10 for a while. It was.
Letch was not visible when Ass Grabber took off to re-lay the first four miles of the run. Letch had pre-laid much of the trail but feared that much of it had been washed out by the later stages of Tropical Storm Allison. It’s usual to give a live hare at least ten minutes but Ass Grabber sportingly asked for only five.
The first part of the run went through the industrial parks close to Belt 8 and Hempstead Highway. My lame old age held me to the rear of the pack as we came to an iron gate which no one except for Small Johnson could possibly slide under. Laura tried it all the same. First she complained, “My tits are stuck!” I looked down and it was true. I don’t know why she kept on trying, but she did, and soon complained, “Now my pubic bone is stuck!” I suggested that if she wanted to slide under that gate, it would be easier if she disrobed but she ignored my sage advice and eventually climbed the gate on the anthill-infested motor box like the rest of us. Even that wasn’t completely necessary, since one could go around the whole industrial pack just by treading the railroad tracks behind the warehouses. Laura was accused at the circle of being “stuck on the bone”, which is now her hash name.
The trail led northeast through streets and neighborhoods populated by diminishing numbers of old white people and increasing numbers of the Hispanic. We broke out onto the bayou at T.C. Jester and found the water check on the outside of the North Loop. At this point you could see the fresh marks alongside the rain-spattered ones, so maybe Letch’s concerns were well justified.
By the time we exited the neighborhoods and crossed under 290, I could see Ass Grabber leading a walking pack. Dick Head had caught him in an astute act of shortcutting. Instead of pantsing the hare, Dick Head helped him lay the rest of the trail up to the Shrine of St. Arnold for the on-home.
Reboots on hand included Jail Bait, the Reverend, and Patticakes. There had been a prize for bringing out the most reboots but the minimum standard was at least five and we didn’t have that much in total. It could have been the weather, but more likely it was rising intelligence levels among Houston runners.
Your faithful scribe,
Silent Dick
“Eat my shorts.” That was the comment of Administration spokesperson S.O.S. at a recent press conference where reporters asked why the new Mismanagement has been in office for a week yet most of us still haven’t gotten laid. Nor have they enacted the promised tax cut while they have allowed one of the most damaging, expensive floods in recent Houston history. It has been a devastating record of weeklong failure on the part of an administration whose successful campaign theme was “we’ll get you bastards for this.”
What has become of Dick Head’s education policy, “Not One Beer Left Behind”? Gaslight cannot even boast of “not one bag left behind.” Under the present administration, Metro suspended operations for the first time in its history.
Asked to admit numerous failures, Dick Head and Gaslight pointed out that if we didn’t admit failures we wouldn’t have our present level of membership.
Hadn’t Dick Head proclaimed his intention to be “the Education joint master”? Yet, since his election, hundreds of schools in the Houston area have ceased holding classes. In an entire week of the Dick Head-Gaslight administration, all we’ve learned is that cars don’t float for long. Ted Kennedy taught us that thirty years ago. Hasn’t the administration’s week of inaction and neglect taught us the futility of government-sponsored education?
According to Dick Head, “See? You’re getting smarter already.”
The opinions reported in the Hash Trash do not necessarily represent the views of the Houston Hash House Harriers membership, Mismanagement, advertisers or sponsors, or anybody with a grain of sense for that matter.