Houston Hash House Harriers-Trash Run #1190 Requiem for a Worm.

Like many days, I woke up to the melifilous sound of an alarm and a cold snout in my face (no, it wasn't our sweet Out of Tuna). Only this day was a hashing day. It was not a hash day like most others, but it was more of a lamentable day because it was the day of the Worm's Last Turn. I knew that after this day, there would be one less excuse for me to risk my balls on swamp nettles, to get face-to-face with banana spiders, to be duped by masterfully laid trail, and-of course-to over-imbibe hopped, frosted, malted beverages. While all came true for sure, I am certain that the last will somehow endure to rear its ugly head on my liver again some day.

The trail was south of town somewhere near (or in) the southern suburbun metropolis of Pearland. Our hares the Worm and Heartache, were waiting in a park where they had apparently been driving around offering candy to small children in exchange for rides on the tollway. Another forty or so hounds were waiting in the parking lot discussing the prospects of changes in the speed of light over billions and billions and billions of years. Or was that changes in the smell of shite after billions and billions and billions of beers?

Nevertheless the pack soon hurried off into the swamps, Dickhead led ahead staying on true trail the whole time. Never left it, I swear. In the meantime, Roller Balls and Ass Grabber were sloshing through the muck on toward a long false trail. When they got to the four-flagged mark they spent a good thirty minutes arguing about whether four was a false or three was a back check. That was when our recently land hoed Gulp came with and red the passage directly from the Hash Bible where St. Antioch of Gispert states that "none shall pass before a flag that has a count of three, without exception, unless of course that count is post-ceded by the a count of four, no more-and
without any exception further unless also, of course, that there be only two flags denoting a check which could lead the whole pack again to a count of
four." ...Who could argue?

Back on trail, the pack was lamenting the loss of three Bimbos, whose remains closely resembled Sticky Lips, Gas Light, and Mo Bettah Ho, who were apparently swallowed whole by Geek-who being recently made Ninja was nearly impossible to defeat. Luckily at the circle, all current and former RA's joined hands in a circle, reciting more ancient incantations from the Hash Bible, and were able to reincarnate these three. The sacrifice, however,
was the Worm and a pair of Sneakers. Sad, but I think it was worth it because, all-in-all it was a truly shitty trail.

ON ON

ANAL 101

George W. Bush is sitting in the White House kitchen putting together a puzzle
and having a very difficult time of it. The first lady comes into the kitchen,
and asks what he's doing. Very frustrated, George says, "I'm trying to do this
tiger puzzle, but I can't seem to make the pieces fit right." Laura Bush
sighs and says, "Put the Frosted Flakes back in the box, dear, and come to
bed."