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(607) DUST 4 JR
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12007 January 15 17:59:32 EST
OK so maybe this isn't the 500th rehash of the Ithaca hash, but it is
the rehash of the 500th run of the Ithaca hash. And a shitty hash it
was!
Over 70 harriers (for a while we thought there would be 69 of us, but
then a few more showed up) from various kennels across the
northeastern US and Canada, came out to enjoy truly crappy weather,
thick sloppy mud, disappearing hash marks, and BEER. The hash started
with Butt Floss (in varying amounts of clothes) explaining how the
Ithaca hash works for all of the out of towners and virgins. Checks
are cirles in Ithaca where check means you wait till there are 5 of
you, Y's the trail splits, X is false, yada yada yada… I wasn't
paying attention; I knew all this, I was eager to hunt beer.
Off we went across the rain soaked forest, despite Floss's chalk talk, out of town hashers responded with confusion upon seeing a Y in the road. But that Y, like many other Y's and T's that day, was part of a large false trail network. One of these false networks in the area around all the ponds tricked the majority of the pack at one point, including Co-Hare Little Oral Annie. Eventually we found our way back to true trail, a large back check, and BEER!
At this point I feel I need to interrupt this rehash to point out how much our hare's rock. For those of you who haven't been following the Bürpenstain beer saga, I will sum up the messy affair by saying that for the last 2 months I have been quite limited in the types of beer I can drink because of food allergies. Our Hares made sure that there was beer like fluid fit for my consumption at the beer stop. Thanks Floss and LOA!
The sloshilizing was excellent, partly because the fluid I was
sloshing was beer (sort of), rather than the water I had been having
at hashes recently, but mostly because of who we were sloshilizing
with. Once satisfied we went off in search of more beer.
The trail leaving the beer near was full of deep puddles, probably avoidable, but what fun is that… After a while we realized we had been fucked, and we went back looking for a Y or check from which the trail could continue. Between the many half-minds on trail we managed to assemble a sufficient number of full-minds to realize that we hadn't seen a Y or check since the beer near… The hash was confused, but soon our hares showed us a mark, that had at one point been a Y, but had been obscured, so off we went checking trail, and finding it.
The misdirection continued… After more puddles (these deeper, and
with chucks of ice in them), and back checks, and running, we came
upon another beer near, with more gluten free near beer for your's
truly, and hash 'beer' for the rest of the pack, as well as mimosa
ingredients (another gluten free way to get drunk). Some dirty songs
were shared, as was conversation, and body heat (we were all cold and
wet by this point).
Then, the hash got really confusing. We were told to expect a turkey-eagle split, and to take care to avoid string used to aid in the search for some guy who didn't have enough respect for the forest (or the forestry workers and volunteers who had to look for him) to kill himself at home. We ran for a while with no sign of a T-E split, and then wound up running on some trail where all of the marks were on the back sides of trees. Normally I would expect this kind of misdi-erection from Floss, but when we came to a back check where would could find no true trails other than the one we came in on, some of us took a gamble and figured we had been running no-no… We had… I was still looking for the T-E split when I saw On-In on the ground and a pavilion in front of me. As the pack came in we started carrying fire wood (thanks Hot Lips!), the keg (thank god!), and some livestock (In the hopes we could entice Roadkill to join us for the circle) from the parking area back to the pavilion. There we warmed ourselves and drank for a while before starting up a circle.
The circle was a drunken affair marked by skull receiving his Ithaca
hash mug after it went missing several years ago, many Ithaca hashers
getting their Ithaca hash mugs (for the first time), numerous 'head
gear in circle' down-downs, the many virgins drinking, visitor's (by
home hash) drinking, songs getting fucked up, hashers getting fucked
up. In short, it was great!
After the circle, the party moved of the Chez LOA, but in my inebriated stated I couldn't move myself to Chez LOA, so Extra Testicle, being the good man that he is, transported one hasher (too fucked up to drive) and one car (managing to not fuck it up). Thanks man! At Chez LOA we would find pizza, more drinking, nudity, a variant of Jenga I hadn't seen before that led to much fondling, and exposing of body parts, and the old stand by Beer Pong; you know hashers acting like hashers. A shitty on-after to follow a shitty hash…
Thank you to everyone who made this happen, especially our hares!
On-on to run 1000,
Lord Bürpenstain
------------------------------------
Great re-hash Burpy!!!
A couple of points:
1) I have a suspicion as to whom it was that sabotaged our wonderful Turkey/Eagle split and...if I'm correct....the rotten #$%@%^@#$%$^ sob will drink for it. :o)
2) You forgot to mention that the reason I had to explain...AGAIN...about the string in the forest at the Champagne check was that a LOT of hounds went off into the woods following string just before the second check. The worst part about this was that the hare who was sweeping....didn't finally make it to the Champagne check before it was all gone. Who'd a thunk that 11 bottles of bubbly weren't enough for trail? :o)
3) We had some birthday side-sides at circle. QuarterStick...and some one else. Had our very own F'em & C'em been there...she would have done one also because Saturday WAS her birthday! :o)
4) At the on-after....Harry Condom Jr gave ET a taste of his own medicine with the help of LOA's "Pink Friend"...and then Floss unwittedly had a "taste" as well. GAG!!!!
5) And, most importantly....a list of all the hashers! (Though, for those of us in the know....Burpy didn't have this list when he posted the re-hash.) :o)
Ithaca Hares:
Butt Floss
Little Oral Annie
Buffalo Hounds:
Gazellaria
Hard Ass
Hash Hoots
Just Jay
Kris-T-Kremes
Mount Me in the Mudd
Pink Cosmo
Soup
SS Crash
Too Good to be Goo
Udder
Erie Hounds:
Ho
Sir Licks Alot
Flour City Hounds:
Bobber Balls
Fetch
Horse Jerker
Klinger
Lolly Poop
Party Doll
Red Snapper
Robin Wood
Skull
Strokes Alone
Sucks in Deep
Half Mein Hounds:
Hypovaginemia
Pig Fucker
Willey Wanker
Harrisberg Hershey Hounds:
Quarter Stick
Hog Town Hounds:
Cougar
Sex Toy
Ithaca Hounds:
Bedside Pole Dancer
Bürpenstain
Captain Slimy
Cocksmith
Country Cock
Dances with Head
Extra Testicle
Hairy Condom
Hot Lips
J'SUAD
Just Alva
Just Ann
Just Chris
Just Diane
Just Jason
Just Joel
Just Karen
Just KC
Just Lauren
Just Nadia
Just Nancy
Just Paul
Just Phil
Just Rick
Just Robert
Just Roger
Just Scott
Just Stephanie
Just Steven
Just Sue
Just Zach
Mr. Stiffy
Nut Roper
Pippi Schlongstocking
Porceline Goddess
Pussy Pong
Scooby Snatch
Spike
Toothy Lunker
Twisted Fister
Unidentified Feathered Orafice
Women There
New York City Hounds:
A. A. R. Penis
Salt Licks
Swain Full Moon Hounds:
Big Stones
-------------------------------
Things were a little different in Ithaca; An X was a false trail and a T was a 3-way check, but then again, so was a Y and an O was our X, but once we got used to the backwards marks it was On On with 70 hashers making our way through the Finger Lakes National Forest. Buffalo (the New Erie) had an impressive turnout of 11 half-minds: Crash, Goo, Udder, Hoots, Cosmo, Gazelleria, Mount Me, Kristy Kremes, Soup, Jay Charles, and Heart Ass. Other H3s representin' were: Flour City, Philly, Albany, Hogtown, Erie, Nittany Valley, New York City, and even a few from Ithaca.
Butt Floss and LOA laid a long shitty trail, winding through muddy paths, prickers, puddles, trees, and string. (Some type of marking left by searchers looking for a suicide victim.) We didn't find the body but we did find beer and champagne at the 2 BNs. There was an alleged Turkey/Eagle split but it seemed to be an act of trail sabotage involved.
The circle finally got underway and a raging fire kept us warm (Floss note: THANKS Hot Lips for a super fire that thawed us out so we could drink BEER!) as we sang The Dawning of the Age of the Hairy Ass to the rest of the kennels. Surprisingly, the keg held out to the last accusation and 9 of the 11 BH3ers followed the TimTim GPS to Ithaca for a great dinner where we ran into Virgin Just Phil and his birthday party. One last nightcap at the Commons and back to the Hash Hotel.
Thanks to Heart Ass for the parting gifts and hashpatality!
On On,
SS Crash
Mon, 29 Jan 2007 18:30:09 -0500
It was a cold day, that day in January (like the 28th) when we hashed from east hill plaza, but not so cold that harriers would pass up an opportunity to hunt beer while running over varied terrain. So those who were more thirsty than chilly including myself(Lord Bürpenstain), Pussy Pong, Extra Testicle, Butt Floss (LOA was being a pussy, and doing homework, even though she had time on Saturday for r*cing, which she could have skipped to do homework), Just Nancy, Just Steve, European Whore (visiting from Nittany) and Just Joe (virgin from Nittany), as well as our hares, Dances With Head, and Just Joel (who has been haring a lot, thanks man!) decided to go hash.
After staying warm in cars until the last minute, chalk talk was given, and off we went. At first we had a hard time finding the trail, but soon we were off past all the horses next to the plaza, and then through the horse trails that belong to cornell and onto the east hill recway. Most of us soon abandoned the wide plowed trail to follow koolaid through the thorny shiggy. Some of the hash (OK, it was just the visitors, I guess Nittany hashers are smarter than Ithaca hashers) found the beer near behind that building where the solar house was built without going through all the shiggy and were already enjoying their beerverages when the FRB's arrived.
After quenching thirst, and demonstrating penis penmanship (the letters DWH were found in yellow snow) the hash was on-on again. Heading over towards campus, zigging and zagging along roads, through parking lots, and along trails... Soon we had run across Ho (haha, prostitute...) plaza, confusing many undergrads, and were heading into north campus, crossing one bridge over fall creek, only to return to the south side of lake beebe via another bridge within 200 yards. And then there was more beer, and rejoicing, and a visit from Women There, who had encountered the hash while driving around. WT gave us a lame excuse about an injury that prevented him from hashing, but fortunately it didn't prevent him from joining us for a beer.
After most of the hash was shivering, but no longer thirsty we set off again. This time we wondered over towards the vet school, meandering behind the green houses, and then down to pine tree road for a long section in the shoulder to get us back to the cars.
We moved the on-in to the location of the first beer near so we could avoid police scrutiny. We also gave J'Suad a call, since he had left a note on Floss' car expressing a desire to bobbit our trail. Once we formed circle, we punished the hares: J.Joel, and DWH , the bleabs and blabs: Floss, and EW, the FRB: myself (would have been the FRBs, but Just Steve and Just Nancy had to take off pre-circle). We welcomed the virgin and visitor: J.Joe, and EW. Some time around then, J'Suad showed up. We made him drink for having cut off the trail. We made him drink for leaving his hat on. We made him drink for competing the previous day (Floss and I had to join him for that...). We made him drink for forgetting his mug... Basically we tried to see how fast we could get J'Suad drunk. Several hashers decided to do on-after at wings over Ithaca. And we went in peace, and then got a piece.
-on-on,
Bürpy
Sun, 11 Feb 2007 22:45:25 -0500
Hash #502: Hammond Hill Hashilarity
#502 By the Numbers:
Number of Hashers in Attendance: 17
Virgins in Attendance: 1
Skiiers in attendance: 3
Skiiers by the end: 1
Snowshoers: 11
Runners: 2
Hashers named: 4
Protestations of Hash Name: 1
Largest Simultaneous Down-Down: 6
Dry Lips Down-Downs: 1
Number of Hash Hounds: 6
Number of times we got to see Butt Flosses' underoos: 1
Pairs of underoos that looked like a filled-up diaper-thong: 1
Significant trail markings obscured due to ill-advised placement: ≥3
Bearded Hares: 2
Hash crashes: 3
Harriers: Butt Floss, Little Oral Annie, Lörd Bürpënstäin, Cocksmith, Pippi Schlongstocking, Extra Testicle, Toothy Lunker, Twisted Fister, Hairy Condom, Jr., Just Ali, Just Jason, Just Alex, Just Amanda, Just Steve, Just Nancy, Just Joel
The hash convened on Star Stanton road under the sun of a brisk midwinter afternoon. People drove up gradually, avoiding the occasional snow machine that intruded on the otherwise peaceful calm of the day. Here and there, a cross-country skiier would slide by, gazing sidelong at our motley crew, perhaps bemused by the presence of alcohol on state lands. Several remarked on LOA's daring choice of headwear - a fashionable skunk headdress befitting the most rugged of Daniel Boone-types. Sadly, she chose not to take it on trail, perhaps for fear that a wolverine would attempt to mate with it.
Hares Extra Testicle and Bürpënstäin welcomed us, with Bürpy giving the Hashpiel for the benefit of Ali. We embarked on trail - three on skis, two on foot, and the rest floppity-flopping along on snowshoes. We continued uphill and on trail for a league, working our way through several nested Y-checks. The trail was quiet, well-packed and fairly easy... however at one point Just Ali caught a toe on a branch and did a remarkable face-plant to the amusement of several. At one point FRB Just Joel had to wait several minutes at a check just to make sure tha entire hash wasn't consumed by a brace of ravenous grizzly bears, however the eventual sight of Toothy dispelled the notion.
Skirting along the crown of Hammond Hill, the hash continued on for another kilometer or so, eventually finding the revered Beer Near at a crossroads of trail, maintenance road and snowmobile path. Some minutes had passed before we missed ET, who apparently had stopped to flagellate himself before catching up for a restorative beer. Some amusement was had regarding Toothy's pooch, who enjoyed lording Alpha status over the other hounds.
Once the beer was depleted and the chill had started to set in, the pack was off once again, tentatively scouting several paths before determining the maintenance road was the true trail. Down the way we wended, passing another
couple of x-country skiers before hitting a BC 5, forcing a turn back into the woods. Down we went, negotiating more curves amidst bumpy terrain. At several points, the hash was held up due to questionable markings. Although we rightly assumed the presence of checkpoints, the inconvenient placement of trail markings amidst the path caused the hares to be subject to much scorn and derision. The high point of the second leg was Toothy's hash-crash, causing Just Joel to leap gallantly to her aid.
On we went, dodging rocks and snowmobile debris. As we approached the second Beer Near, Pippi decided to try some off-trail action, resulting in a ripped binding and a bruised ego. Some mockery was rightly made, but Cocksmith removed her skis in a show of solidarity. (Not at all due to trepidation about going downhill). On the trail the harriers continued. Curiously, many made it to the second beer-near by blowing through a false trail, rather than the intended path which only a few chose to take.
We caught up at the Hammond Hill parking lot. We were fortunate that none of the other hikers had found our beer; likewise that the beer was not hidden in the porta-john. We warmed up to ruffled chips, Genny Cream Ale and Old Mil Light, a suitable combination for a lovely day. We were in good spirits after a trail frought with multiple false and obscured trails, but we were not over yet. Several of us felt the impending twilight chill, so we hastened on trail as soon as the last beer was finished.
On we went, this time through an open field, as yet unspoiled save a single pair of snowshoe tracks. Just Nancy sneakily checked out a possible false trail as the rest of the group laboriously trudged their way towards the checkpoint. The journey in seemed slow, as we were clearly fatigued and in need of additional malty goodness. At last, we returned from whence we came. A decision was made to adjourn to the Crooked Board Tavern, where the warmth and indoor plumbing was a boon indeed.
Many down-downs ensued, to the delight of all. Attempting to recall....:
Hares: ET / Bürpënstäin
Virgins: Just Ally (Bürpënstäin got it started, LOA/Butt Floss finished 'er
off)
BLEAB: Twisted Fister
BLAB: Just Alex / Just Amanda
Short cutters: Butt Floss, LOA, Toothy, Cocksmith, Pippi, ?v
Racism: Floss
Hash Crash: Pippi, Toothy, Just Ali
Chivalry: Just Joel, Toothy, Cocksmith
Cums Lately: Just Amanda, Just Alex, Twisted Fister
FRB: Just Joel, Toothy
DFL: Just Amanda
Early checking: Just Nancy
Headgear: LOA
Of particular note, this circle was the first time in recent memory in which
four hashers were named. There was an initial nomination phase, after which
point those in waiting were banished to the desolate wastelands of the
ante-room. Upon their return, those so named are as follows:
Just Alex shall be henceforth known as - Burr Balls
Just Nancy shall be henceforth known as - Freeze Frame
Just Joel shall be henceforth known as - Master Baster
Just Steve shall be henceforth known as - S.S. Thunderthighs
We celebrated the naming of the four with additional beer and good humor,
until it was time to go in peace, and to get a piece.
On-on,
~Your Happy-Pantsed Master Baster
Mon, 26 Feb 2007 09:53:58 -0500
The hash gathered at the Chanticleer in downtown Ithaca yesterday for a raucous romp around the city.
Our hares, Dances with Head, and Nut Roper were a little loaded since they finished setting trail a couple hours ahead of schedule, and decided to have a "hare beer near". Master Baster was fucking with Nut Roper, trying to get him even more drunk, so he could take advantage of him later. Just Brian made his 2nd hash appearance, and expressed his regret at not having been at another hash sooner, due to work requiring him to be in Detroit... Spike was taking hash cash gleefully, having been pleasantly surprised that the hares had set trail, Spike was expecting a relay hash. Women There was there, as were Pussy Pong, and Porcelain Goddess. And of course your hash scribe, Lord Bürpenstain, was there was well...
After a chalk talk that was actually about chalk rather than flour, the hash went searching for trail, which was soon found. The hash got very frustrated in the early part of the trail, since the hares can't count, and some Y's in the trail didn't seem to indicate the correct directions to search, either that, or we were drunk... There was one very frustrating check, that took several minutes to solve in the middle of that park on west Buffalo street. Eventually, the hash overcame all obstacles between them and the beer, which was on tap at castaways... I had a gluten free mixed drink, it has alcohol, but it just isn't beer... There was pooch hanging out at the bar, who befriended Nut Roper. We wondered what kind of dog he was... He looked like a small Irish Wolf Hound, but the bar tender informed us that he was a labradoodle (chocolate lab, standard poodle mix). Before leaving the bar, WT told us he had seen trail vandalism in progress on what was likely the next leg of trail.
Leaving Castaways the hares were very tricky. They led the hash across snow, that was devoid of foot prints, having taken alternative routes to get to where they put the marks. We went along the inlet, behind the new fitness center, and across more snow where my frbing ass face planted in a most spectacular fashion, when the snow suddenly got much deeper than I expected, for the viewing pleasure of the entire hash... We wound our way up the inlet, past a pair of mobile residences made from nylon, past many mobile residences made from aluminum, and across the flood control channel to the back end of wegmans, and then along 6 mile creek. Leaving one check Women There, and myself were shouting "on-on-on" and then "beer near" and for some reason about half the hash decided to run the other way, and past a false trail mark... It seems that the trail vandalism had been performed by capt. Slimy, and led to an extra beer near on WT and Slimy's back porch. But this beer near would only be enjoyed by Spike, DWH, PP, WT and myself. We figured we would catch up to the hash at the next beer near.
So off we went following trail to try to find the next beer near, which we knew would not be far, for we had been running for a while when we hit the vandalized trail. But then we found Nut Roper (the hare) running by himself. He told us the hash was lost, rather than at the next beer near. So we figured we should check the chanti for them. On the way there we found them. They had been running aimlessly looking for beer the whole time we had been enjoying a beer near. We led them to where the trail vandalism ended, and on our way from there to the next beer we encountered a sign from the beer gods. A salt stain on the sidewalk in the shape of the letter B, or perhaps it was the virgin Mary's boobs, we weren't sure, but we knew it was special... And then the hash hopped over a fence into my back yard, where there was more beer. We discussed the virtues of nerd sex, and it was agreed that nerd sex is the best sex. But being so nerdy that you forgo sex to participate in any kind of role playing games is very bad, and that if one is going to do so much of something that it would cause flunking out of college, it should be drinking and screwing.
Then we ran some more. We went up the south hill, and then down the south hill, and then across 6 mile creek and up the east hill. While crossing 6 mile creek, there was some talk of a view that was missed behind me, so I decided to give those behind me a view. The hash was mooned... The trail ended at an apartment above the chapter house, where there was much beer, and evidence of Master Baster's nerdyness (liquor bottles had been labeled elixir +3 and so on...). Porcelain goddess received some beads from the male hashers present when she showed us her thong during a discussion of what an athletic supporter was.
We held a circle, and welcomed virgin bobbit roommate Just Greg. Just Greg enjoyed our festivities so much that he is pondering taking up running. We also punished the hares, those who crashed (me), the bleabs and blabs (Pussy Pong and Porcelain Goddess). We made those where were recently engaged drink (Congrats DWH and PP), Nut Roper made the mistake of setting trail with Dances, so he had to drink too. Nut Roper got an up-up, Just Brian Got a side-side. The FRBs (Master Baster, and yours truly) drank with the DFL (PP). We made other people drink for other stuff too, but I don't remember what things those were, or who drank for them.
The hash went in peace, and got a piece. And then the hash drank more, had a ass pastyness comparison (despite her name, PG's ass complexion is darker than that of the the Bürp), played some Foosball, and a game of flip cup... The festivities were ongoing when I had to leave, hope you all had a blast...
Date: Tue, 13 Mar 2007 15:18:52 -0400
This hash was a historic occasion, an anniversary of sorts... My virgin hash was set by Toothy Lunker, and virgin hares starting from Braley Hill road in shindagin hollow, and it was a fine hash. This hash was set by Toothy and virgin hare, Twisted Fister, starting from Braley Hill rd, and it too was a fine hash.
Much more snow than I expected was still on the ground throughout shindagin hollow for what was most likely our last snow hash of the 06/07 snow hashing season. Not only was there more snow than I expected, there were more hashsers. We had a large pack, with many regulars, and cums latelys, and virgins Just John, Just Daniel, and Just Jason.
The hash got underway a bit late, which was good, as Just Ali and I were running a bit late. When we did get around to searching the forest for beer, we started out going up a hill where the third mark seemed to be rather far from marks one and two, Toothy was up to her old tricks again, and she has corrupted Twisted Fister... When we came to the first check I realized the hares were being quite tricky indeed, as there were no tracks in the snow following the true trail. At the next check, a nipple check, we learned that LOA manages to maintain a tan even in the upstate NY winter... After a short jaunt through the shiggy, we arrived at a beer near, and there was much rejoicing... And Country Cock, who was not present at the start of the hash, came into the BN with the tail of the pack... There was some taunting among the hashers who recently had children. I believe Tequila Bill and Staffy Puller told CC that _their_ child was sleeping well. Among the other things going on was a discussion between myself and Liquor Harder of the relative quality of gluten free “beer” and hash “beer”, and Cocksmith trying repeatedly, but with little success, to keep Arlo from the “deer nuggets”.
When the hashers had finished their beers, and Arlo had had enough of that shit he was eating, we decided that it would be good to follow the trail, and then a little bit later, we did follow the trail. The second leg of this hash was long, and twisty with a very nice variety of Y’s, checks, nipple checks, two breasted checks, back checks, wide trails, shiggy, and suicidal downhills... Among the features and occurrences worth noting on this leg of the trail were the double nipple check, with large symmetric breasts, the BC 5 which the FRB JuShUAD ran past, leading the hash to think he might be lost forever, Butt Floss attempting to knock over all hashers getting between him and the next beer near, and the suicidal down hill, which was responsible for several hash crashes. It should be noted that the hares were not cruel and placed beer very near the bottom of the suicidal downhill, so all wounds incurred through the inevitable hash crashes could be anaesthetised quickly.
This second beer near was next to a creek along side a road, and the road had a dead squirrel on it, which Hot Lips removed so it wouldn’t become a chew toy for one of the hash pooches present... While resting at the beer near, the hash enjoyed many goodies, including cookies and guacamole flavored pringles. Now, the hash was tired, and most of the pack walked the final leg of the hash back to the cars, where Just Jackson got all bundled up in his blanket, and we held circle.
So we circled up, and punished the hares Toothy and Twisted Fister. Then we welcomed the virgins. Just Daniel was made to come by Freeze Frame and SS Thunderthighs. Dances neglected to ask the next question, because he was uncomfortable with the incestuous implications. I think we should have called for a religious advisor down-down at that point. Just Jason was made to cum by “That fuck over there” gesturing towards either Nut Roper or Master Baster. I didn’t catch who made Just John cum, but I think it was Floss... At some point around here we realized that we would need the additional hash beer that was in my car, so I went to get it, and on my way back to the circle the box I was carrying the beer in broke, and cans of cheap beer went everywhere, with one of them going into full geyser mode... Being a group of people who can’t stand the thought of a beer in distress, the hash came to the rescue and transported the ale-ing beverages to the circle. I was then made to drink for alcohol abuse, which Dances joined me for, since he had spilled his beer while I was away getting more. A huge number of hounds had to drink for participating in, or discussing competition, including Spike and ET. FRBs JuShUAD and yours truely, Lord Bürpenstain, were joined by DFL’s Master Baster, Nut Roper, and Just Jason (who didn’t care that virgins need only drink once) for a down-down. We had a new fathers and grandfathers down-down for Tequilla Bill, Country Cock, and Butt Floss. For this down-down Toothy provided a new song, about a hahser man who’s hung like a pringles can, and has much bedroom skill, but not much bedroom endurance. This was not to be the only new song for this circle, co-hare Twisted Fister had another song, or a chant about the debauchery that is taken part in by the IH3. This prompted a musicale hares down-down. At some point we closed the circle, and went to our much warmer cars...
on-on, Lord Bürpenstain
Mon, 26 Mar 2007 13:54:40 -0400
After a rather frigid morning, I pulled up to the hash, got out of the car, and realized that is was turning into a warm day in Ithaca. Master Baster, UFO, Bedside Pole-dancer, Crazy Eyes, and an Ithaca-newcummer Just Rob were there drinking Rolling Rock in the parking lot. After a couple minutes, Butt Floss and Spike both pulled in also. Floss was hurtin' something fierce, having crashed a day before the hash, and had just showed up to sell a Hash shirt or two. Meanwhile, MB noted that there were chalk marks on the other side of the Creeker, which was a surprise to me - I'd brought chalk for a "spin the bottle live hash" - and Burpenstain and Just Ali pulled in too.
So there we were, with a pre-laid trail before us, but no clue as to who the hares were. Burpenstain said that he heard Porcelain Goddess might have set, tipping us off that he had some fore-knowledge of what was in store for us, but we were still uncertain as to what role PG, Burpenstain, or Just Ali might have played. It was a mystery!
The mystery having been established, we explained the marks to Just Rob, who'd hashed once at Princeton but forgotten how hashing marks worked, and bid Floss farewell as he went home to recover from his injuries. Then we were off, an on up past the old gun factory, to Stewart Ave, where we hung a left. We passed over the bridge above the Ithaca Falls, with great views, and on-up and -up. Master Baster found the trail leading into Sunset Park, where there was an "HV." Apparently he had never seen a "Hash View" rest before, or even thought such a thing as a "dry" rest might exist in the hash, and so went looking for the stash of beverages nearby while the rest of the pack struggled to catch up. And, surprise, he found a bottle of well-aged vodka - leading him to conclude that "HV" stood for "Hash Vodka."
Once we'd all caught up, gotten our breath back, and enjoyed the view of Ithaca and the lake, we were off again. Crazy Eyes ran about the place as we passed another dogwalker, and we started going on-down the hill. Soon, we came to a check, leading into a small nature preserve, and found a glorious "BN"! After the consumption though, it was down the ridge of the preserve, which took us right down to the Ithaca High School. UFO and Bedside took this opportunity to radically cut-off the rest of trail, and head back to the Creeker. The rest of us turned right and ran to Stewart Park. There, we found another "BN" along a wooded path on the far end of Stewart's shoreline.
The beverages were tasty, and the banter while we drank was fun, but it ended all too soon again. We continued on trail again to the footbridge over to the woods in Renwick Preserve at Stewart Park. We passed under the Route 13 bridge over Fall Creek, and up the footpath to the Fall Creek Movie Theater, and back to the Creeker, from there. Pussy Pong bobbitted, joining us for the On-in, and down-downs commenced. Burpenstain and Just Ali were accused of being the "Mystery Hares" and drank. FRBs, DFLs, Bobbits, Moyls, BLEABs, BLABs, Crashers, SCBs, Ithaca Virgins, Cums-lately's drank, dog owners, and mugless wankers drank. Discussion of a name for Just Ali was brought up, but was tabled - some ideas included facts such as: (1) she kept falling on her first hash; (2) despite her husband's hash name (Burpenstain), she is anatomically incapable of burping; (3) her knee has a hole in it; and... um, what else? ;-)
I think that's it, but then again, the entire day was pretty much a mystery to me!
On-on, Dances With Head
Date: Mon, 9 Apr 2007 19:18:11 -0400
Why is it so freakin cold in April? The April showers are supposed to be rain, not snow...
Anyway... Even though it was snowing on beaster many hashers came out to the top of the rice hill sled slope to hunt beer in the anal Ithaca Hash Beaster Egg Hunt. After waiting around to make sure that everyone who was going to cum had cum, and a chalk talk for our visitors from Rochester (Mudman, Horse Jerker, Lollypoop, RU-486, and Red Snapper), and the numerous beaster egg hunt virgins (circle checks have a number in them, that's how many goodies are hidden near by), we set off searching for flour, which we knew would lead to the general area of beer.
As we were running Country Cock, JuShUAD, and myself (Lord Bürpenstain) didn't see a Y, didn't see the X on the leg of the Y we ran, and then did see flour further ahead, so we kept running... Fortunately for CC and I we could hear the calls of beer near from behind us, and went back to quench our thirst with little rolling rocks and fill our stomachs with easter eggs, jelly beans and chocolate body parts (I had a peanut butter penis, and a mint chocolate vagina, and they made sweet love in my tummy). Unfortunately for JuShUAD he was out of earshot when beer was found. But after making it to the next beer hunt, and having a beer, he came back to find us at the first beer hunt, to have a beer with us...
When we verified that we had found all of the goodies in the area, we went on-on to the next beer check, which (as JuShUAD knew) wasn't far. We had more goodies, and BEER. When the time came to leave this beer check there was some confusion about how many goodies we had found. We started looking around for an unfound beer, only to realize that JuShUAD had already been here and drank a beer.
On the way out of this beer check the hares were tricky, and put all the marks on the side of the trees that faces away from the false trail right next to true trail (if that didn't make sense, try to make sense of it after having a couple brewski's, you'll see what kind of trouble the hash was in). After a bit of hinting from a hare, the hash found trail, and eventually a back check, and then another beer hunt check.
As the sloshilization and consumption of chocolate asses and nipples continued Maxi Pad decided to act like a dog (fitting considering that Maxi Pad is a Lab...) and pick up a 6 foot long branch and swing it wildly in vicinity of hashers. Just Ali (stay tuned) had her back to the pooch action and was unaware of her impending doom; fortunately ET was aware and bravely pulled her out of the way of the swinging branch. As a result of this selfless act of hash bravery, ET became entangled in roots and branches, and hash crashed as a result. I am recommending ET for the Hash Medal of OnHer. After this we broke Maxi's stick into more manageable pieces, and continued sloshilization.
Once done with our beers we ran out into a field, and along the edge of the woods until we came to a Y at a road. We followed the road down into some camp sites, and another beer hunt check. A few hashers took advantage of near by facilities (which were heated) to break the seal I thought about moving the beer near into the heated, and pretty darn clean mens room, but we were almost done with our beers by this point. and decided we should run on in search of more beer to get warm.
We left the camp area and were soon at a Psi next to rt 89 and the bridge across taughannock creek. True trail was found (or so we thought) going up, up, up the stairs. We shortly found that JuShUAD, myself and Porcelain Goddess had all been fucked (more on that later...). Trail was located across rt 89, in a field. Then we came upon our deer near. We aren't really sure how the dead dear wound up in the middle of the lakefront trail, it might have been hit by a car on 89 and staggered in to the woods... It doesn't really matter, but it was fairly recent. After running through another camp site where we were sure we would find beer, but didn't and then trotting along next to rt 89 for a few yards we did find beer, and candies.
We hung out in the woods, drinking beer, eating jelly beans, and talking about the kinds of things that hashers talk about. Somehow a conversation about sexual positions that took place on the list serve came up, and Toothy asked PG what “Reverse Cowgirl” was. I attempted to explain by stating that it is just like cowgirl, but backwards. After it became clear that it was not clear what “reverse cowgirl” was Just Ali (sometimes referred to as bride of Bürpenstain) asked if the hash would like a demonstration. I (Bürpenstain) promptly laid down, and Porcelain Goddess promptly straddled me facing my feet. After the demonstration it was clear that some confusion had been resolved, and other confusion created. Porcelain Goddess declared that she was grateful to have already been named.
After verifying that we weren't littering (counting the beers found) we followed trail to rt 89 and the bottom of the rice hill sledding slope. up-up, up-up, up-up... we went. It would have sucked, but we knew that there was beer on the top of the hill, so we continued with great determination to make our way to the top, stopping only for the beer near 2/3rds of the way up. Here we continued discussing sexual positions: Farmers daughter is like reverse cowgirl, but the guy is sitting in a chair, rather than laying on his back. We tried to remember what it is called when you are both sitting, facing each other... When done there, we staggered off towards the cars, and the warming huts at the top of the slope. Fortunately one of the warming huts was open, and we didn't need to send someone in through a window.
Before we could start a circle CC, Tequila Bill, RU-486 and Red Snapper had to leave.
When we did get circle going Floss ran things, and Mudman helped with songs. We punished the hares (Little Oral Annie and Butt Floss), for they had set shittily. We didn't have any virgins (I think this was the biggest hash I have been to with no vigins) so we punished the Beaster Egg hunt virgins, which to everyone's surprise included hasher extraordinaire, Toothy Lunker, and many other hashers, mostly the hashers who have hashed for less than a year, like PG, Twisted, Just Diane, Just Nadia, Just Rob, and several more... We punished Hot Lops for being at the circle. We made Twisted Fister drink for leaving us (he is off to North Carolina soon). We pondered making Women There join him, but he isn't leaving for a couple more months, so we will get him later. We sang to FRB JuShUAD, and DFL Just Ali. while they guzzled a cup full. ET drank for his hash crash, and Just Ali joined him out of guilt. We welcomed to the circle the early (Mudman? Horse Jercker? it was someone from Flour City) and late (Just Nadia was navigating for Toothy) arriving bastards. Floss was forced to drink for getting busted on marijuana possession at the Rochester hash weekend. (and when one hare drinks...) Spike and Harry Condom, Jr. drank for having dry lips. PG and I were punished for simulating sex on trail. LickHer Harder received ET's Extra Testicle. The Cums Lately award was passed from PG to Just Nadia (stay tuned) because PG says she doesn't cum often enough. And the HaShit was passed from PG to Harry Condom, Jr. because PG says Harry has a really nice ass. (but if having a nice ass was the criteria for getting the HaShit, I think PG could have kept it; her ass looked just fine from my point of view at the penultimate beer hunt check :-o)
We decided that since it was nice and warm in the hut, we could make the festivities last extra long, so we sent Just Ali, Just Diane, and Just Nadia out into the bitter wind while we considered naming them. We should always consider namings at highly attended hashes, the brainstorming is much better...
After leaving them out in the cold long enough that we were certain they would be glad to get their hash names, we brought the ladies back into the hut.
Just Ali crashed over, and over, and over again at her first two hashes, and she even managed to get punished for crashing at this one without actually crashing, and seeing as we were hunting Beaster Eggs all afternoon, that reminded us of the story of Humpty Dumpty (who had a great fall)... The hasher formerly known as Just Ali shall be known as Hump-me Dump-me from this day forward.
Just Nadia doesn't talk much on trail, but she can drink herself blind. From now on there is no Just Nadia, there is Helen Yeller.
Just Diane's email address is composed of her intials followed by a number, as are the emails of many Cornell employee/student hashers. In the case of Just Diane, that happens to be dry2, which made us wonder if she might be too dry. We didn't know, but... when in doubt, go for some lube. Just Diane is no more, please welcome Jiffy Lube to the hash.
ET decided to punish himself for having been named in the very hut we were standing in, twice (does anyone remember Paper Clit?) and we sang him my favorite song, which Scooby Snatch taught me at last years Beaster Egg hunt at this very location. (If your girlfriend tastes like shit flip her over...)
There was some more punishing that went on after this, but I drank enough that I don't recall what the offences, or who the guilty were.
And since all that drinking can work up an appetite, we had an on-after at the Pourhouse in T-burg, a fine establishment...
The next hash will be set by Dances With Head, and Hot Lips. Details TBA
On-on,
Lord Bürpenstain
Date: Thu, 26 Apr 2007 01:18:13 -0400
The sun rose across the spring-dewed Ithaca morning. The hashers awoke; some to make breakfast for their family, some to quench the thirst of a painful hangover, others to take a pre-hash run, and the rest to engage in activities of only the purest variety. Drinking. Blasphemy. Flagellation. Wanton Acts of Carnality.
Dances with Head awoke with a start, reeling of flashbacks of what he thought was a bad dream. Images of the Three Sacred W's - whips, whipped cream, weizen echoed in his mind. Was it a nightmare, or an enchanted vision? Only Pussy Pong knew for sure. Upon bargaining for his release, he braved the blinding light of the great star to make his way to Castle Hotlipschwanstein, home of the wily and elusive Down-Down-Devil himself. What fate would await him? What would be his quest?
Hot Lips stirred, his slumber interrupted by his unholy offspring, bearing libations eggs, oatmeal, melon, and Coffee +2. His mind soon whirring like a Pratt and Whitney turbofan, he laid his plan for the day's main event. Springing to action, he rounded up his Attack Rabbit and Vorpal Sheep, bending them to his nefarious purposes: yard patrol. For he soon knew that many half-minds would be upon his territory, threatening his sacred beer supply and despoilment of his pristine lawn.
Apprehension hung like a fog about Dances With Head as he approached Castle Hotlipschwanstein. “Knowing your fate does not make it any easier,” he thought. He allowed a grimace to show through his steeled visage, wincing from as-yet-undiscovered perineal twinge. An ache, really, burning slightly as though one might slow-roast one's testicles over the embers of a campfire at dawn. He soon arrived at the Castle, regretting the decision to apply so much Gold Bond.
No sooner had the intrepid Dances debarked his car when he was saluted and thrust a can of beer and a bag of flour. Looking up, he knew his task was already at hand. The two malefactors raised their hoppy delight to the sky, said a slient tribute to Reverend Lickerthizer, and dispatched their dram in an instand. Looking at him with the sly grin of a used-car salesman and the arch tone of supervillian, Hiptlips intoned: “To the Hash!” And so they were off, setting the course for what was to be a memorable event indeed.
The virtuous, charming, and wise hashers began arriving at the Castle.
So did Pippi Schlongstockings, Cock Smith, Spike, Just KC, Burr Balls, Just Amanda, Liquor Harder, Just Karen, Master Baster, Virgin Tom, Pussy Pong, Freeze Frame, S.S. Thunder Thighs, Virgin John, Virgin Shelly, Just Rebecca, Virgin Justine, Just Sue, Jiffy Lube, Twisted Fister, Unidentified Feathered Orifice, Bedside Pole Dancer, Lil' Dimmer, Country Cock, Butt Floss, Little Oral Annie, Bürpenstain, JSUAD, Just Eric, and Phil McCrackin, in their own way and due time.
The hash checked themselves out, unconsciously selecting which Virgins were to be fucked the most. Hash Hounds introduced themselves to each other - many times in some cases - and found their running buddies. Some lamented the lack of beer, others commented on the warm day. All seemed to agree that there would be blood. The time was ripe, as the season of rebirth saw a new generation of nascent hashers descend upon the scene, making everyone think about even more sex than usual.
Hotlips strode outide, seeing that Bürpenstain had finally made his arrival. Taking command, he gave the standard chalk-talk, delivered in small words and in simple sentence structure for the partially enfeebled. Whereupon the entirety of the crowd packed into the Accursed Arcane Chariot of the Damned, a jalopy so mighty it towed thirty-three hashers, 6 hash hounds, and the feared Queen of Hotlipschwanstein for three miles along the wilds of rural Trumansburg underbrush, shiggy, and varmints.
No sooner had the Hash Hoopty arrived at the designated start than the pack surged out, already tasting the sweet kiss of the sacred beverage that awaited them in the hinterlands of County Tompkins, beyond the reaches of civilized man and law enforcement officials. Picking up the pace, they soon were loping down the road, urging one another with shouts “On-on!” Several front-running bastards soon separated from the pack, assuring them adequate retribution at the end of the trail. Not long after they had gauranteed themselves a place in the down-down circle, they were alerted of their ignorance of the accursed false trail, marked cleverly next to a mailbox in the ditch.
Quickly reminded of their folly, the FRB's charged back towards the pack, primed for the journey that was to follow. True trail having been discovered along another road, the pack soon turned into the forest. The nefarious hares watched with sinister amusement as the pack was led into their fiendish web of cross-country carnage. Some of the elder hashers knew a maze of brambles, shiggy, torrents, gas cans, discarded bottles and the dreaded woodland yeti awaited them, separating them from the revered elixirs that promised to restore their already parched livers.
On-on amongst the skunk cabbage, coltswoot, bloodwort, saplings, logs, and blackberry the pack loped. At times walking, at times at a canter, the hashers made their way, calling out to each other, cursing the devilish hares and their trails. Often the trailblazers would count four, five, sometimes six hash marks before discovering the dreaded false trail. But this did not deter them, for the Thirst could not be slaked, could not be deterred, could not be dissuaded by anything except the warpath for their philosopher's brew.
The hashers soon found themselves along the banks of the languid Taughannock Creek, lapping lugubriously like so much lubricant in a licentious limerick. The trail beckoned. The check upstream turned yielded another false trail, approximately the eighth. As they started to cross, Little Oral Annie suddenly slipped in the torrent, indirectly allowing Hotlips and Dances to get her wet. Much innuedno ensued. LOA was quite pleased though.
On-on the trail continued, following the creek upstream to the west, as is the proper direction for seeking beer. On-on the kilometers ticked off. The hash negotiated its way through a challenging array of false trails, shiggy, pointy things, trees, weeds, mounts, ravines, sticks, stones, hounds, and critters. The sparrows and downy woodpeckers watched with bemusement as the strange, noisy bipeds crashed their way through the underbrush like so many rabid badgers on PCP. “What would cause a mammal to do this,” they wonder? Only Dances with Head knows.
The trail led up and down across a treacherous series of ridges more slippery than the American Gladiators' Challenge Arena covered in KY and sea urchins. As soon as the pack mounted a swell in the terrain, one trail seemed to delve back into the floodplain. No sooner had the pack seemed to make progress then a new set of obstacles presented themselves. However, a sign! The Route 96 bridge was in sight! Surely that must mean a change of some sort! Virgin Tom, ever the eager beaver with the battle cry “And-On!” surged to the head of the pack, no doubt anticipating a chance to relieve himself and recuperate his spent energies.
Within moments of Tom's arrival, the prized cache of malty refreshments was discovered. The FRB's quickly tore into the pack like so many crazed hyenas. Rending the delicate cardboard with an inhuman energy, they soon gorged upon the nectar as a vampire would sup the flesh of an innocent. Choruses of approval rang from under the bridge, beckoning the pack near. Soon they arrived, bearing battle scars of the shiggy that preceded their destination. Blood was discovered, mud was admired, acquaintances forged and renewed. Beer and water was proffered, welcoming each new arrival with a hearty “cheers and well met!” Or something.
After a fashion, Baron von Hotlips once again addressed the half-minds, chastising the guilty for their aqueous overindulgence. Forever burned in the skulls of the unworthy is now the phrase: “Drink ye not fully of the unholy hash water lest ye be depriving deserving fellow half-minds.” With a grunt and a swig, the pack soon turned once again towards trail. The case finished, the last satisfied belches uttered, the harriers soon turned towards the next objective: more beer!
So they went, back down the road towards Ithaca. As the path veered off, they could soon see the remnants of the mighty Halseyville bridge, rent asunder by the demons of neglect, age, and weather. And men with large tools. So they crossed without artificial aid once again, this time sustaining no waterborne tribulations. They followed the stream back into the woods, skirting the omnipresent shiggy, tracing their way along the flour-kissed route towards their final goal. Once again they discovered the joy of negotiating the wilds of T-burg. Along the trail went, criss-crossing only the carefully selcted path. Past abandoned sheds, through hobo camps, alongside signs of civilization.
Suddenly, shouts from downstream! Someone had crossed a ravine near a clearing, discovering a jerry-rigged bench handsomely outfitted with the exalted Hash Cooler. Libations of the houses of Genessee, Miller, and Milwaukee were dispensed to the thirsty crowd, who remarked of the ideal proximity between their beer stops. Some headed down to cool their feet in the waters running below.
Like General George Patton addressing his troops, Hotlips once again took center stage, urging the hashers on towards their ultimate destiny. Somewhat to his consternation, the hash had grown by degrees uncooperative, although not entirely unruly. Although it took several more proddings at his behest, Earl der Hotlips stirred enough of the rabble from their slackery to see to the goal at hand. Final leg: Castle Hotlipschwanstein. The group at once felt the beckoning of Its immense gardens, plentiful wildlife, beckoning pond, roaring fire, and additional quantities of beer.
As if under a spell, the half-minds surged forth towards the end of the course, driven by their shared goal of warmth, camaraderie, beer, and sex, sex, everywhere sex. The ninja zipline was pulled out for the pond, the fire was lit, the beer was opened. Soon articles of clothing were falling away like inhibitions. (Not many, but enough, mind you.) Señor Floss took it upon himself to baptize Just Karen in the sinister, yet tranquil waters of Hotlipschwanstein Manor. True to form, he demonstrated his inimitable style in a sexy black number, as was demonstrated when JK undertook retaliatory measures. Her cries did not dissuade him and into the water she went. Soon others were to follow, happily without the aid of the lewd and indecent.
At last, circle was drawn nigh. Benedictions were given unto the gods of the Hash. The hares were roundly derided and cursed for their trail, for lack of adequate sunlight, shiggy, rocks, length, false trails, water, and general awesomeness. Dances With Head knew what torment lay ahead of him. Quivering, he wondered if he was feeling the lactic acid in his muscles, the built-up stress of sleepless nights in chains, or the beer in his veins. Hotlips but glanced at him with a knowing smile; he too shared this deep, unspoken secret, born of debaucherous nights and sinful traditions.
And so they drank.
So, too did others. The virgins were fucked, but not quite good and proper. John, Shelly, Tom and Justine all were properly welcomed and greeted with full ceremonies and honors. Salutes were given for the over-enthusiastic front-running bastards, the over-relaxed dead-freakin'-lasts! The glorious hash crashes, both terrastrial and aquatic! The cum-latelies, the four-letter words, the same swag, the headgear, the dry lips, and everyone deserving! Beast-or-Eggs were handed out to the crowd unable to attend the epic hash of a fortnight ago.
As the festivities drew to a close, their voices rising with the smoke into the evening sky, ribald hymns of bacchanals past and future poured forth from their throats. The pack, united in a bond of endorphins, ululated exultations to the agents that watch over us - the crow, the brewer, the dove, the lecher, and the eagle.
And so we did go in peace, and we did get a piece, and all was good in the land.
On-and-on-and-on,
~Måaster Båaster
Date: Saturday, May 12, 2007 3:53:31 PM
The Story of the Hash-Slinging Basher or is that the Stash-Bringing Hasher?
Buttermilk Falls Hash
Ok, before this hash gets any foggier than it already was that day, here is the rehash- Having just gotten back from Harrisburg’s Stinko, C-Smith, Pippi, Floss, and I arrived late (later than normal) to the start of the hash to see Lickher Harder, Hot Lips, and the virgin hares, Jiffy Lube & Just Sue, standing around wondering if anyone else would show up on this beautiful, rare, sunny Ithaca day. Hashers slowly began to arrive in no particular order: Tequila, JSUAD, Road Kill, Hot Lips, Phil McCrackin, Women There, Pussy Pong, Dances with Head.
After a long wait (with NO beer!) for the illustrious Flour City children to arrive on the mystery bus (they seem to be hashing with us frequently these days, apparently there is a beer shortage in Rochester?) the pack gave up and took off in direction of the trail, only to loose it after a mile or so. Back and forward tracking we went, but no flour? Were the hares conserving it for some reason? On-on we went until we found flour and after following many false trails, we see the Mudmobile pulling into the park across the street.
After scrambling up a hill to the awaiting beer stop, the Flour Children quickly followed: MudMan, Lollipoop, HorseJerker, Wigas, Dr. S., Water Prick, Douche of Hazard, and Robins Wood. All quickly began talking about the debauchery of the weekend past, when the queen of Ithaca debauchery herself arrived! Porcelain Goddess arose out of the darkness of the forest to join us and trailing close behind her, MasterBaster and Burpie (who managed to make it home from H5, “drop” Alli off at the airport AND make it to the hash! At this point, the pack totaled 26 hashers in all! After drinking the rest of the beer, it was on-on around the lake at Buttermilk Falls and on-on to the next beer stop.
On-up this large hill the pack went- Do you smell it? That smell. A kind of smelly smell. The smelly smell that smells... smelly- like a back-check!!
Before we knew it, it was on-in . . . and here’s where things really got weird . . . Dances finds a plastic bat and begins “testing” the sound resonance against PG and Burpie’s ass. It was determined that Burpie is much too bony, and that PG’s gave the most pleasant sound as well as giving a kick-back to the bat.
As circle commenced amongst the mayhem, something was mentioned involving Road Kill, JSUAD, and a murky moment of sorts involving RK’s whole package, but it was quickly lost and circle went on.
Virgin Hares Just Sue and Jiffy Lube drank, FRBs, BLEABs and BLABs drank, all those who traveled to H5 for the weekend: LOA, Floss, PG, Pippi, C-Smith, Burpie, MB, JSUAD, and the MudMobile crew.
MasterBaster and LOA drank because she made MB get naked, which apparently some of the males in the crowd didn’t like, although I heard no objections from the harrierettes. MB also drank for having the worst tent in Harrisburg, although Burpie did clarify that MB never slept in it, because he actually was sleeping in his tent and used his hip as a pillow—anyway, not sure how that one got by the hash and wasn’t punished with a down-down! Poor hasher, he seems to offend everyone!
Water Prick did a down-down for peeing in circle, but explained he just had an ice bag on his knee to cover u injuries sustained while fire jumping. Listen up kiddos, don't stand to close to a hasher. You'll catch it's stupid.
Circle finally ended with a surprise from our virgin hares- a Spongebob Square Pants piñata! Is there a possible naming for Just Sue in all of this? I think it’s something we need to keep in half-mind. All the hashers had fun whacking away with the bat, sticks, and their hands/feet until Spongebob finally spewed forth his guts and all the hashers gobbled them up. Hey, good people don’t rip other people’s arms off!
On that note, the next hash will be hared by Lickher Harder and Burpie . . .
The rains of Ithaca did not deter the brave and intrepid hares Butt Floss and Porcelain Goddess, who mercilessly taunted the hashers through the wilds of downtown Ithaca. Long did they run through the forests of concrete, brick, and oak, misdirecting the harriers with cunning use of checks. Taunting the assembled half-minds, Floss and Goddess eluded the pack through strategic placement of false trails, checks, and back-checks. Fortunately for the hash, they were not able to catch the hares while laying trail.
This did not prevent a gross public infliction of wanton nudity and debauchery, as there were myriad instances of indecent exposure, lewd conduct, and flagrant public drunkenness during the afternoon. No less than six instances of junk-flashing occurred, due in most part to Butt Floss, Minister of Copulation. Doing his best impression of the Republican Mascot, he revolted dozens of onlookers with underwear of pachydermal proportions. It was determined by the herculean efforts of Porcelain Goddess that the trunk was not, in fact, filled by turgid manflesh, much to the disappointment of the assembled females.
Due to the previous aqueous deluge, much of the original trail was eradicated. Sensing doom, Floss left the hash start in a panic, nervous that down-downs for shi**y trail would ensue. By the time WT and Country Cock arrived, precisely on time by HST standards, Floss had returned to lubricate the thirsty harriers. After determining that the hash would be Live, the hares set out, eager to confuse the gathering of Half-Minds. A drive-by by the local constabulary did not deter the hash; the policeman gave a supportive wave as he passed.
The gathering of half-minds bayed in unison, eager to chase the trail ahead. A good ten minutes passed, allowing ample time to de-soberize and limber up, whilst the hares set what was to be a maze of confusion. On the harriers chased, following along the neighborhoods surrounding Route 13. A confusion of false trail ensued, no doubt preparaed with the help of the Floss Chariot. Fortunately, the hash chased through the Fall Creek neighborhood, sensing the call of the Ithaca Festival. The hashers were at one point greeted by a mohican six year old, urging them on from his perch on a stoop. By twists and turns, short-cutting through private property and city streets, the half-minds barreled down along Cascadilla creek, past Gimme Coffee, eventually heading east towards the old Ithaca Fun plant. Country Cock foiled a back-check to lead the pack towards the sacred Beer Near, just off Fall Creek,
Speculation of the hares' activities arose, as several used condoms were revealed. Dances with Head ensured that no hasher was lost, gallantly braving the false trails with aplomb. A cache of Miller was uncovered, to the delight of all. As the sun dries grapes in the Tuscan sun, so also did the hash become parched. All did partake of the restorative ambrosia, waxing rhapsodical of trails run, benders underwent, and adventures had. Just Tom won the Bender prize, for 19 consecutive drunken days between finals and graduation. The harriers toasted the departure of the hares as they set off on the second leg of the trail. Just Tom gallantly offered to take the cooler, so the rest of the pack down-downed as much as could by safely taken. Off they went down Lake Street, past the high school and towards Boynton. Cries of dismay could be heard as they encountered an “X13”, however the hash continued undeterred, cantering along the soccer and baseball fields, under Route 13, and into Stewart Park.
The front-running bastards cut a drunken swath through the park, as they ignored quizzical looks from curious onlookers. Passing by the pavilions, the hash continued through the main fairground, skirting the merry-go-round and inflatable moon bounce. The tennis courts paused mid-game, wondering what bunch of crazy people would run through the park in the mid-afternoon head. The trail bent around the lazy loop by the municipal golf course, prompted certain hashers to shortcut towards the next Beer Near. The glistening malty nectar perched jauntily atop of the pile of wood chips, jealously guarded by Goddess and Floss. Steaming like exposed pudenda in February, the pile proved a worthy challenge to those eager to surmount it. One by one, the harriers scrambled up the dendrous refuse to quench their burgeoning thirst. One by one, the cooler's contents were replaced with empty cans. Just Tom noticed a wounded can, bruised by Master Baster's short-cutting tendencies. The bleeding beverage was quickly put of its misery. Bets were taken on the amount of time needed to find Dances with Head and Every Other Dick. Jiffy Lube bravely made inroads towards the festival, but was ultimately unsuccessful in her quest. Toasts were made for her intrepidity, and there was much rejoicing.
Many had to relieve themselves, as a hasher must do. Country Cock provided the best source of amusement, as his devil-may-care attitude had him at one point astride the hill, wedding tackle in hand for any commuter who cared to look. The woodchips gave way without warning, causing much amusement to the high-spirited onlookers. By degrees, the team had their fill of refreshments, and they decided to continue on the final leg of their quest. A decision was agreed upon: The Beer Must Go. Country Cock, Pippi Schlongstocking, Master Baster and Just Tom took up their bubbly burden, and the pack was off again. Down they went on Willow Avenue, knowing the stench of the treatment plant was soon upon them. Passing through the remnants of the Farmer's Market, the hashers skirted along the railroad tracks. The quest was soon over, as the pack reconvened with the long-lost Dances and EOD.
Fresh offerings of beer were procured, and the hash toasted each other. Pippi Schlongstocking, WT, Country Cock, Just Tom, Just LeeAnn, Master Baster, Jiffy Lube, Dances With Head, Every Other Dick toasted each other's shortcummings. Longcummings were doubly rewarded. Suggestions for a naming of Just Tom were proffered, as he had presented Goddess with a peony. Tiny Penii, Stop and Smell the Penii, and Eat My Peony were among the entries for a name, however the motion was tabled. Multiple punishments were granted for the usual FRBs, DFLs, EABs, LRBs, as were those who flashed, crashed, and hashed. Additional heapings of scorn and sorrow came forth, as we acknowledged we missed those who could not be with us. We therefore drowned our sorrows in beer, hoping that our brethren would among us again for the Great Ithaca Weekend this coming August 17th. Much wankery thereforth ensued, and it was agreed that those assembled would go in peace, and get a piece.
Hornily Submitted,
BASTER
Date: Mon, 25 Jun 2007 11:29:23 -0400
A pack of thirsty harriers descended upon the Mulholland wild flower preserve for running, drinking, debauching, and saying goodbye to Women There?, who is off to Costa Rica soon.
Present on the occasion were Just Tom, Just Leann, Just Shane (the hashing Tuba's), Butt Floss, Dances with Head, HumpMe DumpMe, Pussy Pong (who would not be running the trail, for she is a wanker), your's truly (Bürpenstain), Quasi-virgin Just Joe (who hashed once in Buenos Aires), Road Kill, Hot Lips, Porcelain Goddess, and Liquor Harder, as well as our hares, Women There?, and Master Baster, and hash pooch Just Bullseye.
The hash started, normally enough, with a chalk talk. But this chalk talk came with the additional warning that not all false trails would end in X's. We were directed to go 'that way' to start the trail, and so we did. under the bridge, and back up to the road, then down the road... check here, Y there, Y with no X on the trail sent me off on a wild goose chase. By the time I got back on true trail I was damn near DFL. We hashed our way up to the south hill rec way with Bürpy and Dances bringing up the rear, and then we spotted a BC11 that the whole pack had missed. Shouting at the pack commenced. but not all harriers could hear our cries. FRBs Liquor Harder, Roadkill, and Hot Lips continued down the trail for who knows how far...
The rest of the hash back tracked down to the foot bridge, and down the trail into the gorge. crossing the creek multiple times while working our way upstream the hash endured soggy sneakers and twisted, bruised ankles, until we reached our reward, the Beer Near We played in the water downstream of the waterfall as we guzzled our cheap libations, and waited for the rest of the hash to arrive, they never did... Liquor, Lips, and Roadkill had an extended 3-way murky moment. Also at this rest, there was splashing of hashers by hashers, splashing of hashers by dogs, and I learned that what Porcelain Goddess and I had, that I thought was so special (see rehash of the Beaster Egg hunt) was really nothing, as she had simulated sex with another hasher, right in front of me (that cut deep PG, deep).
At some point we continued the trail, going up the hill towards giles, and back into the parking lot where the hash started, this time we were di-erected to hash the 'other way' and we did, into the woods, across the creek, across the creek, across the creek, and across the creek, heading (HEAD, WHO SAID HEAD?) upstream the whole time. Somewhere along the way, we picked up Lil Dimmer, and Strap On. We hashed up the circle greenway trail to the maintenance road that goes to the 30 ft damn, where we found a BN, but it took us a while to find the beer, for Baster had hidden it under a pile of mulch. We were enjoying our brews in a manor very civil by hash standards when we were approached by gorge authorities who forced us to dump the remaining beer, and move on (BOO!). At least she was nice about it... Lil Dimmer volunteered to carry the cooler, and Strap On back to the parking lot (the man is like a pack mule).
So off we went along the maintenance road, till we hit a BC 17 which took us all the way back, past the beer check, and down the hill into the gorge. Upstream we went towards the little damn below the 30 foot damn. where I slipped a little, and the water bottle I had been carrying went flying into the creek. Being concerned about litter, I followed the bottle, flying into the creek for a little swim. I was followed by most of the hash, in levels of undress varying from fully clothed, to topless, to wearing fishnet thong underwear, to just wearing shoes...
After playing in the water for a while, we decided to continue on the trail. After seeing the hill that needed to be scaled in order to follow the trail, WT decided to go back to the cars. The hash started climbing the very steep gorge, grabbing onto the roots that were right in front of your face was the easiest way to maintain stability while climbing... Soon we came out onto a trail along the edge of the gorge, and followed it to that popular cliff diving spot at the 30 foot damn, where trail went over the edge... the hash once again played around in the water for a while before following trail from the edge of the reservoir over to the steep grassy hill which we climbed and then ran back along the access road and Giles road, to the on-in... Where we found Liquor Harder, and RoadKill (Hot Lips had to leave early, as usual)
We decided to caravan down the road for the on-in, due to our previous encounter with Johnny Law, and Just Joe's generosity in offering use of his nearby parking lot for ceremonies... A call was placed to Bobbit, Pussy Pong, and we circled up in the parking lot.
All the standard punishments were handed out.
the Hares: Master Baster and Women There?
Virgin: Just Joe
Marking the trail poorly: Master Baster and Women There.
Leaving Ithaca: WT (and when one hare drinks...)
FRBing: Just Tom, and Bürpenstain
DFL: Just Shane
Bleab and Blab: Liquor and Floss
Bobbit: PP
Competition: Bürpenstain
Cums Lately: Bürpenstain
Murky Moments: Liquor Harder and Roadkill had a murky moment for the
whole hash... and Just Shane had several masturbatory murky moments
Nudity: PG, DWH and Floss
And a long MIA hash award reappeared... A blue hashit that (suposedly) had been hidden in the garage of Tequila Bill by JuShUAD many years ago, was found, and passed on to WT for the purpose of returning the award to hash circulation... In the time that the shirt which shall never be washed was in storage, the usual funk was replaced by a mustiness that only comes with years of being crumpled up in a dark place. WT attempted to pass the award onto PG without first wearing it himself, so the hash laid down the law, and forced him to put the vile piece of fabric against his skin before he could force PG to do the same...
That concludes what I can remember...
The next hash will be hared by Dances and PP, and will unfortunately be the last Ithaca hash that I, or HumpMe DumpMe will be able to attend for many moons, so...
COME TO THE NEXT HASH!!! WE WANT TO HASH WITH YOU WANKERS BEFORE WE GO!!!
And in the tradition of departing Ithaca Hash scribes such as Hound Whore (who requested my naming prior to his departure from the Ithaca Hash), I would love to see the naming of some of our newer hashers, so think about names for all of those unnamed wankers...
Date: Thu, 05 Jul 2007 13:53:27 -0400
What a beautiful sunny day for a drive. That's what i keep telling myself, anyway. What a beautiful sunny day for a drive. Cool breeze, bright partly sunny sky. Just a feel-good early summer day.
That sign did say Old 76, didn't it? 'Cause i could swear that the map shows this road to be West Creek Road. And the directions say to start counting miles from West Creek Road. So maybe i shouldn't start counting yet.
Such a picturesque drive through the countryside of Central New York. Hmm... that dirt road looks like a road, but it could be a driveway. Hard to tell since it's so narrow. Well... it doesn't have a road sign, so it's probably someone's farm access. Oh... there's Howard Hill Road. I'm looking for Alison Hill Road, which i think is one road after this one. And i do see rising dust in the distance. I wonder if that could be hashers. It's probably someone gunning their four-wheel drive up some dirt road somewhere.
No wait... that's way too much dust in the air for a car on a dirt road. Even the hashers don't make that much mess. Ooooh... motorcycle dirt rally. Riiiiight... Central New York country past times. How quaint. Now where the hell's that road. Okay... passing the fat guy in the overalls and red billed cap. He looks grumpy. He's not a televised stereotype. He's not a televised stereotype. But he probably drives a red chevy pick-up truck and drinks hash quality beer in a lawn chair in his driveway.
Hey look.... i'm in Candor! Wait, isn't that way too close to Owego for the hash. And where the hell is this Alison Hill Road. I thought it was supposed to be one after Howard Hill. That next road off to the left isn't even close. Time to pull over and find a map.
Oh....
Oh dear....
Well... at least it's a beautiful sunny day for a drive. Alison Hill Road should have been one road before Howard Hill, so i guess i just drive back until i hit Howard Hill and then find the next road. According to the map, there's this Jeek-something road just after the turn, so i'll know when i've gone too far back.
Okay... so there's Howard Hill, there's that farm with the narrow dirt driveway right after it, and there's Jeek-something on the left. Wait. Okay... there's that dirt drive. Hmm... there is actually a pole for a road sign on that dirt driveway. It could be Alison Hill. Oh... look. Someone put this small little “HHH” on the ground in flour near the road. How sweet. What a beautiful sunny day for a drive. Yeah... that's it. What a beautiful sunny day for a drive.
So i show up in this parking lot and get out of my car. What a beautiful sunny day for a hash. If only there were more people here for the hash. I can see Dances and PP, the hares. Oh... and CC, Freeze Frame, Hot Lips, and Jiffy Lube are there. And there's this Just i never met, but he says his name is Just Joe.
But wait... isn't this a goodbye hash for Bürp? Shouldn't Bürp be here? Ah, right, it's a beautiful sunny day for a drive.
So Just Scott shows up. We decided to wait a little since it's such a beautiful sunny day for a drive, and the hashers seem to be taking advantage of that, which we know when we get this call on Dances' cell phone from Pippi, who says he's in Candor. Yeah... i remember that feeling. Such a beautiful sunny day for a drive.
J'SUAD jogs in from somewhere, saying it's such a beautiful sunny day for a drive to Ford Hill Road, which he claims was much easier to find that Alison Hill. Everyone else feigns ignorance. But we all agree it's such a beautiful sunny day for a drive as Pippi, Cocksmith, and Floss finally pull in.
Right behind them, the hasher's of goodbye, Bürp and HMDM, finally show up after their beautiful sunny drive. Now that the goodbye hash is official, chalk talk is had. Now, at some point in the chalk talk, Dances happens to mention to us that there would be this back check with an undisclosed number after it. This is an important detail to remember on this beautiful sunny day.
At this point, the hounds are off, and the Tubamobile arrives from a beautiful sunny drive with Just Tom and Just Leann. Porcelain Goddess stumbles in as well and quickly catches up to the hash, donning the beautiful, though not quite sunny, Hash Shit.
There's some running through the woods. There is a lot of complaining about the thorny vines on trail. There's initial paranoia over the back check. There's J'SUAD, who has already run some of the trail on his way to the hash from Ford Hill Road and simply blows past all checks and marks to lead the pack toward true trail. There's some controversy on the second check, however, when people argued over which direction is true trail and which is the aforementioned back check.
After some deliberation, the hash moves on, through the river and through the woods and up the road to the first hash rest, which offeres a wide range of beer-like substances.
The trail then proceeds through the woods, up the hills, around the corners, and to the right-hand turn. Well, it looks like a right-hand turn. That's how it's marked, anyway. But, as some of the front running bastards point out, there are these hash marks to the left, as though there was a trail running in that direction. Hmmm....
HMMMMMM......
Well, three of the Justs run to the right anyway, while the rest of the hash contemplates the possibility of a back check. What a beautiful sunny day for a back check, as our explorers Just Scott, Just Tom, and Just Joe discover. The rest of the hash continues on, blowing right past the next hash rest and the beer-like substances hidden in the tall weeds there. By the time the liquids are found, and the hounds called back for some refreshment, the three Justs come sweating in, and a good time was had by all. What a beautiful sunny day for a beer-like substance at a hash rest.
The hash continued on for a friendly jog through the woods until we hit the “ON IN” that was chalked on the ground. As all hashers know, this signals the end of the trail and the start of the debauchery. Well, all except Country Cock, who decides that the large X right before the cars signaled a false On In and starts telling people that we need to turn around to find true trail. Needless to say, a few of the Justs are fooled by this ploy, but the rest of us more experienced hounds just ignore his rants and go back to the car for a beer-like substance.
Well... all of the us except the hares, who happen to be the only ones with keys to the car containing beer-like substances.
Well... a riot almost ensues, as we consider all sorts of evil hash-like things to do to the hares when they returned, but Dances comes jogging back in and placates us with some mostly cold beer-like substances and flavoured chips. Circle then starts with mostly placated hounds and fumbled hash songs.
Accusations are had. Beer-like substances are consumed. Just Leann gets the bobbit and proceeds caress it with the inner part of her thighs. Butt Floss shows off his “elephant”, which has a wimpy limpy trunk, until someone suggests that it gets fed some of the shelled peanuts that happen to be in Dances' car. Then it got a lumpy limpy trunk. Conspiratorial proceedings are held to determine evil hash names in an attempt to reduce the number of Justs on the hash.
Then, to complicate matters, Just Karen and Just Amanda show up, increasing the Just troubles.
Then, all of a sudden, in a cloud of spinning tires and throwing dust, Master Baster comes careening into the parking lot, a little bleary, but quite ready for some beer-like substance.
After much deliberation, beer-like substance is drunk by all.
Oh yeah... and the following decisions are made.
Because of his e-mails to the hash list complaining of lack of seafood at the downtown Hilton and his demanding a mouth full of clams, Just Tom shall be renamed Mouth Full of Clam.
Because of her willingness to take off her shirt on trail, and because she's a vegetarian, Just Leann shall be renamed Tits Out For Us (TOFU for short; yeah... we're witty).
Because of the way she is constantly doing splits on trail and getting her crotch all dirty, Just Karen shall be renamed Summer's Eve.
Because of her love for kittens, the absolute horror she expressed in finding out that God kills a kitten every time you masturbate, and the way she sat on the kitty-litter container of beer at her first hash, Just Amanda shall be renamed Kitty Litter.
Then there is more drinking, some photography, some lying around in the sun, and some sobering up.
Have i mentioned what a beautiful sunny day it is for a hash.
Spike
Date: Wed, 25 Jul 2007 21:10:25 -0400
Billed as the early Blonde Bimbo/Lucky Leo hash and being “Up Behind Greek Peak,” I knew I couldn't miss the last hash, so I was rather distressed to be driving further and further past Virgil with no signs of Van Donsel Rd. I turned the car around, and drove back into Virgil, only to find one possible road that could have been the missed turn, and it was missing the sign on the corner. Getting desperate, I called Pippi Schlongstocking for directions - my suspicion was correct, that unmarked road was the correct turn - and look, there was a small washed-away “HHH” on the ground below the missing sign!
Talk about payback - exactly the same situation that others fell into at the previous hash, where I was the hare. Oh, the irony!
Well, arriving to the start, I found just about everyone milling around and getting warmed up. The hares were there (Toothy Lunker, Helen Yeller, and Little Oral Annie), as was nearly-virgin Just Jason, Mouthful of Clam, Tits Out For Us, Nut Roper, Master Baster, Butt Floss, Cocksmith, Pippi Schlongstocking, Jiffy Lube, Just Sue, Spike, Hot Lips, myself, and a slew of canines. I changed into hashing attire and chugged a beer, just in time for chalk talk.
After chalking and talking, we ran off in all directions, calling “on-on” and “are you,” we were on. The trail guided us through a few nice running trails, past a couple of barren ski lifts, and to a Turkey-Eagle split. Most of the hounds went downhill with the “Eagle” or “Easy” trail, but Nut Roper, Just Sue, Just Jason, myself, Helen Yeller and Toothy ran (okay, walked) on the “Turkey”/“Tough” trail. After 200yds, we started to cross a virtually vertical ski slope, when Toothy stopped us - the Turkeys turned and went a little bit off the trail to see the Eagles far, far below. They were beginning a murderous ascent, and were pretty darn well exhausted by the time they reached us.
Having been reunited with the Eagles, the other Turkeys and I resumed trail. What can I say - the trail was pretty long, with no sight of a “BN.” TOFU though was seen rolling in the mud, in her Hashit shirt, and some silly FRBs found a Back-Check, but eventually Beer Near was seen. Yippee!
That first BN had quite a bit extra beer and snacks, which we wondered about. Toothy gave it away by saying that this was the next BN also - tempting some of us to just skip the second part of trail. But after much consumption, all of us went back out on trail, bushwhacking our way through the woods for a while, before looping around to another trail, and back up the hill.
The second BN looked rather familiar, and somebody had broken into our beer and snacks - oh wait, that was us.
Most of the rest of the beer and snacks were consumed, and we started to get itchy for trail again. Pippi, Nut Roper and Spike displayed their asses quite well for the rest of trail, and plenty of private parties ensued.
After getting a few things sorted, Down-downs commenced. Among those that stood out - TOFU gave the filthy Hashit to LOA, Mouthful Of Claim gave me the Bobbitt award, and the Turkeys drank for not going up the ski slope from hell. General wankery ensued, and a shitty time was had by all!
On-on,
-Dances With Head
Date: Tue, 7 Aug 2007 23:08:21 -0400 (EDT)
Hey kids. Sorry this took so long. We had a traumatic experience sans internet yesterday and have been busy busy packing for home (won't be at the meeting, but would be willing to be part of “clean up crew”). Here's your rehash:
Word on the street is that I’m supposed to write the rehash. Umm, thanks guys. Enjoy.
I was lost…again. This time I was without my tuba partner in crime, Mouthful of Clam, as Master Baster was popping his haring cherry somewhere in the Robert Treman State Park. Thankfully, Baster dropped Mouthful off at my car after my two virgin friends, Just Rachelle and Just Stacy, and I had explored several entrances to Treman, which included a fun conversation with a rotund foreigner. Then we arrived, but we arrived before the beer. After a thrustful greeting from Uncle Floss, introductions were made. The group was rounded off by Dances With Head, Porcelain Goddess, Spike, Burrballs, Just Amanda, Helen Yeller, and Toothy accompanied by a handsome young fella. Goodies from Ithaca Beer Co. arrived (finally) and were consumed (with some frustration as Spike is the only one classy enough to carry a bottle opener on him at all times).
The calls of “on-on” and “are you?” echoed throughout the Treman State Park as the hashers explored trails, lots of steps, and pretty gorges. After wading through the campground area, a beer near was spotted. Everyone filled up on a delightful munchies and cheap beer. Tensions in the tuba section were slightly exacerbated by a pie eating competition, but we’ve decided to not talk about it. A few enjoyed splashing in the swimming area, a few had to jump in to get out all the whipped cream out of their hair.
At this point, I consumed too many beverages, which resulted in a hash crash during quite an extended murky moment with PG and Uncle Floss. The murky moment was good….Then I woke up Monday morning with a swollen, bruised ankle and lacking any memory of circle. The peaches were delightful though.
I think an addendum might be necessary.
Much love,
tofu
Date: Thu, 16 Aug 2007 09:33:57 -0400
THE DRAMATIC CONCLUSION TO THE TREMAN RE-HASH:
BACK CHECKING FROM HELL
*All characters and events are pretty much made up and any relation to actual events is more luck than anything else. This rehash is pretty rambling and should not be read by anyone . . . ever*
Silly TOFU. So much to learn about being responsible. I remember when I was younger and more foolish, drinking and smoking until I found myself bleeding from the head and throwing up in the band house. Ah, so long ago ( . . . the night before said hash).
I believe that TOFU's memory became shaky after the extended beer near. Shortly after that, the merry hashers found themselves on a rising trail on the other side of the river. Things were pretty uneventful until a mysterious T directed people to shimmy along a chain fence looking over a wonderfully steep drop-off.
I believe this is near where Butt Floss thought, and I quote, “Fucking mother fucker! I'm too old for this shit. And with that Master “wanker” Baster haring this leg, it will only get shiggier. Well fuck that, I've got better things to do.” By things he must have meant PG and TOFU as he took them off into the privacy of the public park for who knows what.
The few that remained (later to become known as the suckers) bounded and skidded down the embankment until they reached the edge of a cliff with a small wall along it, a relic of ages past when the trail used to be there. With markings being a worry of the past, some of the hashers started along the only way that made sense. Just when they were started to lose hope they reached an outlook to the stream and the still-pretending-to-be-benevolent hare asked if there was a marking down on one of the rocks, which there was. ON-ON!
Little did the hashers know that the way was booby-trapped with giant (3-foot) rock towers that would crash down around you when touched. Caution again set in, but once past the primitive stone-hedge the hashers got to enjoy what became a leisurely jog up the stream, slowing every now and then until Pippi or some other FRB found a dastardly hidden mark. Everyone took the false on the next T except for Bur Balls and Just Amanda, who waited for an FRB to turn around. As such, they were the first to try to scale the 10 foot rock wall back up to the trail. Pippi's best friend Arlo decided to try to squeeze in ahead and nearly fell backwards upon the two hashers and started a mild avalanche. Luckily everyone was ok and back on the trail.
On and on, the hashers eventually took a clearly marked right turn up what became a mile-long 45-degree-elevation uphill-both-ways-in-a-blizzard back check. After a moment of stunned disbelief that someone could make such a horrendous back check, the mob turned ugly. The hashers looked to lynch the hare, but without any rope handy they put it high on the to-do list for circle.
The rest of the run became a blur as the hashers only thought was of survival . . . and beer. The 1,000 step stone staircase opened up to more ascending slopes as the trail tried to hold the hashers back with every trick it new. And yet, most if not all of the hashers survived. Toothy and her date were not seen again, but rumor has it she's somewhere in the Adirondacks and has trained a falcon and a wolf to catch deer and small game for them.
The circle moaned as the beer ran short and the hare took the chance to “escort” PG back to the beer near and retrieve the leftovers. With their return, the circle began. The virgins were called to the center, and had to be instructed that the chant of “down down down down” meant they should drink, and that shaking their asses to the ground was optional. Pippi found the beer to be too cold and took some bags of ice out for the hares to rest themselves upon as the circle continued. Yes, that is hares as in plural. Helen Yeller pointed out that only one of the hares was ungodly dastardly that day, but the enraged mob would not be reasoned with. TOFU joined them to ice her ankle, which was now the size of a large black and purple grapefruit.
As circle winded down, Baster pulled out his new hash trash: the mystical plunger. After eating some shit out of it, Baster explained that one lucky hasher would get the pleasure of drinking from its cup and taking it home. His first choice was myself, but TOFU would not have it in the tuba house and hit Baster with a point-blank flash. After coming to, Baster was persuaded to choose Pippi, no matter how much he and his apparent ally PG employed the same tactic. And the rest of the hash shook their heads.
With that, the hash called it a day and slowly broke up. I have some fond memories of Dances with Head literally knocking TOFU over by telling her she was writing the rehash (not her last fall of the day mind you), Uncle Floss telling one of the virgins that it just wasn't going to work out between them, and myself being so very sore. Just you wait Baster, just you wait . . .
Mouthful of Clam
Date: Sun, 12 Aug 2007 21:13:47 -0400
I stumbled into the Fall Creek House around 3:05 for the hash, and knowing that I was early, I headed to the bar for a beer while I waited for fellow hashers. And then I had another. Then, after two pints of Blue, it was quarter-to-4 and I had given up on the hash - paying my tab, I checked the parking lot, and found Master Baster. “Finally, someone shows up,” MB says to me. :-)
Luckily he has a couple cold beers in hand, so we went across the street to sit in the shade, drink, and chat - two hashers would've made for a lousy trail. After chatting for the length of another beer, who shows up but Mouthful Of Clam and Just Trevor (whom Mouthful had made cum). Well, four people was enough for trail, and luckily, Baster stashed the supplies for two BNs throughout town. So I grabbed two sticks of chalk from my backpack, handed them to Baster, and he was off!
Mouthful and I showed Just Trevor the Ithaca Falls for a couple minutes, to give Baster a headstart, but we were soon off on trail ourselves. We found the first mark on the bridge in front of the Ithaca Falls, and went down Lake St towards 13. After continuing on a couple hundred yards without another hash mark, we started to figure out that this would be a sparsely-marked trail. Eventually, we found a mark on one of the school buildings, and proceeded to run around a couple other buildings, until we were led back onto the footpath there along Fall Creek. We followed the footpath to the next road, and were lost again. After searching in vain for further hash marks, we just decided to go straight across the road, and under the bridge - and Yes!, we found hash marks on the RR tracks.
Next thing we knew, we were going through the wooded trails leading up to the Stewart Park suspension footbridges, and a check. One bridge led into Stewart Park itself, and actually had marks close enough to each other to be found easily - that should've been our first clue, as it turned into a BC7.
So we were on again, this time headed through the golf course. I had the distinct impression that the golfers didn't like us being there all that much, running over greens and across fairways, and one surly ranger in a motorized cart gave Mouthful an ugly sneer. But we made it through, and found our way over to the TCAT parking lot - and we got a kick out of hashing straight through one of the buses.
And then past the Haunt; and then past the sewage treatment plant; and through the Farmer's Market...
But then, there was Baster! Apparently we'd spent so much time sniffing out trail that he'd gotten bored and came looking for us. Well, he'd found us, but we didn't give us any clues where to go for beer. That's okay though, because it was close by anyway - by the IC Crew's boathouse.
Drinks were had, and then it was my turn to hare a portion of trail - and off I went. I led them through Purity Ice Cream, through the Washington St park, the Dewitt Park, the Commons - oh, sure, they might tell you they'd been lost, but don't believe them! They found the trail, leading up Buffalo and down the Original Lane, without all that much trouble.
The second BN was at the foot of the Cascadilla Gorge, which we turned into the Circle, as it was getting late. Pussy Pong joined us as a Bobbit, and drank. Baster and myself drank for haring. Everyone drank for both being FRB and DFL. The Virgin drank. Hats-in-Circle's drank. And, um, we ran out of things to drink for.
For being lost so much though, we had fun, and the rest of you sure missed out!
On-on,
-Dances With Head
Date: Wed, 5 Sep 2007 15:58:38 -0400
It was the best of hashes, it was the worst of hashes. It was an age of shiggy, it was an age of pavement. It was the taste of true brew, it was the taste of swill. It was the joy of beer, the quest to find the coldest.
So it was for the thirsty souls of the Ithaca Hash, as they gathered by the banks of the great and mighty Fall Creek, one balmy August day. They gathered, among other reasons, to honor the return of their out-of-town guest, False Erection, who had journeyed many miles from the shores of the river Rhine. He recounted many tales of Valkyries, of Alpenhorns, of German scheiße videos, and carried eine grosse geflugenschplugen indeed. Having not seen him for so long, Toothy Lunker was indeed impressed with how the years had treated him.
As the brave men and women made their treks from all points, they each wondered what the day had in store for them. There had been rumblings from the pre-trail contingent that it was to be a shiggy trail indeed. Who knew what obstacles they had to conquer? Only Herrs Butt Floss, Mouthful Of Clam, and TOFU were savvy; the comely scout Porcelain Goddess knew as well, as the privileged one deemed worthy enough to scout trail, by virtue of her proximity. Yet as each harrier tried to wheedle the secrets from her, they were met with but scorn, derision, and flirtation.
With legs a-limbered, and staffs at half mast, the crew arted to circle just as the wily and elusive JSUAD arrived, earning him the vaunted BLAB award. After many additional rounds of salutations and catchings-up, Butt Floss gathered the restless half-minds together for the chalk-talk. Once business had been settled, Master Baster, clad in his ceremonial crimson robes, drew forward to anoint the brave Herrs and bless the trail. Once Herr Butt Floss' bitching had subsided, the hash was off.
The tone was set quite soon, for FRB Pippi Schlongstöcking soon found a BC 8 not 100 yards from the outset. Happily, trail was discovered through a patch of field towards the woodsy hills lining the banks of the creek. And so the pack went, meandering up and down the slopes, tripping over roots and jumping fallen timbers. Several times, the hares attempted to throw the pack from the trail, only to have them quickly pointed in the right di-erection. Pippi Schlongstocking stopped to hurl invective and potatoes at the passing pack, only to be met with indifference and return fire. Not to be disenheartened, he continued his wayward path, FRB though he is.
At last, a bridge! A bridge in sight! A landmark! Surely, surely something
interesting was about to happen. Trail could be spotted, fording the raging
torrents of Fall Creek, tumescent - nay, engorged - with the drenching downpour
of rains the night before. Gingerly, as if quietly creeping to avoid the wrath
of a virgin's protective father, the pack made their way across the creek. But
wait! Hound Min was stuck! Unable to cross the torrents, the poor rat
puppy was about to be swept downstream, when the RA gallantly swept her up
before she was swept away, despite suffering grievous injuries to his legs and
knees. Hound Arlo fared better, although he rewarded the pack with his own
unique form of happiness: Eau de Chien Mouillé.
Having made it safely to the other side, amidst the bemused stares of a cute brunette and her beau-come-lately, the pack was about to press on, when BEER! Sweet, delicious BEER was discovered, perched behind an area rock pile. Harrier Just Aron was the first to discover it, and he alerted the others to its bounty. And thus the pack did rest, and all was right in the hash. Goddess baptized herself in the creek, prompting rumors of a wet t-shirt contest. Alas, it was not to be.
The pack, hardened once more by the beer and the view, decided to press on. So they continued on-up to the Plantations Arboretum, where they soon discovered the joys of the myriad trails that presented themselves. Laughing like the wretched bastard he is, Butt Floss perched atop the stone wall overlooking the scene, superciliously surveying the hashers as they scouted out the variegated options. All took their turn foraging trail, each cursing, swearing, and fuming with each progressive False Trail found. Mouthful of Clam, unoccupied with the trail search, instead gallantly provided di-erections to a passing couple in a fashionable Volvo, no doubt drawn to the beauty of the stately matron and her husband within.
Having exhausted all options, the thirsty lot eventually turned towards the water tower, the last refuge of hope. And so they proceeded, meandering aimlessly until coming upon two front runners, Toothy Lunker and Porcelain Goddess, who were amusing themselves with a burro and a pony they found in bondage in a nearby stockade. Having been appropriately chastised, the two harriettes trekked on, with the others close behind. The pack was off across Route 366 and into the experimentation fields, where Cornell grows their radioactive tubers and Money on Trees™.
On-into the woods, where the wild things are. . . and no sooner than the pack had gained entrance to the woods than FRB JSUAD rallied the hash with the allure of. . . MORE BEER! One by one, the hash caught up, with UFO and Bedside Poledançer sweeping the trail for fallen hashers and doggies. Once refreshed, they moved onwards, skirting across Game Farm and heading into the wilds of northern Varna. On-down the trails and farm roads they went, jumping Cyclone fences and sniffing out the laughably plain false trails as they went. A hash view was spotted, and they stopped to take in the fresh, bracing scent of composting manure and wood chips. Having refreshed their senses and renewed their desire to never live in that part of town, the hash continued through much muck and shiggy, coming to the Varna Playground, a delightful mélange of former fridges, decrepit dryers, and other assorted dangerous household detritus.
Amidst the wreckage and litter, Turtle Whacks discovered a hidden cache of sweet, delicious BEER! Mouthful and Just Shane soon discovered leftover hot sauce and slightly superannuated mayonnaise, aged to perfection like a fine Stilton. Testing the integrity of the separated food product, Baster splashed some mayo on a discarded dryer. Hound Arlo set upon it with alacrity, ensuring that none of the delicacy was left for poor Hound Min. The hot sauce was saved, along with a super potato saved from Schlongstocking's barrage, for later use and abuse.
All of the sudden, some fair damsels happened upon the Hash whilst out walking their pooches. Virgin Angela and her unknown friend made our acquaintance and stayed to chat, drawn in both by the collective attractiveness of the hashers and the presence of the tasty nectar which they jealously guarded, but graciously offered. After having secured their contact information, the hash decided it best to strike out again, and so they did. After negotiating several more trails of varying treachery, fording streams of questionable integrity, the hash emerged into an oddly familiar clearing. Strangely, the trail ended coincidentally at Porcelain Goddess' fortress. Upon this revelation, the pack dispersed to collect the trail beer and their cars.
At the on-after, fire and food was soon produced in preparation for the festivities. The hash soon drew together for the closing of the hash.
We welcomed Virgin Delana to the hash, as she had inexplicably not escaped or run screaming into the wilderness, despite all efforts by Herr Butt Floss.
FRB awards were duly issued to the likes of Pippi Schlongstocking, Just Zack, Master Baster, and Just Shut Up And Drink. Just as enthusiastically did they run trail, so also did they quaff their beverages. UFO and Bedside Pole Dançer were thanked graciously for their brave trail-sweeping, each presented with a special beer to commemorate the occasion.
Birthdays were skipped by the RA, as he was amidst a down-down at the time he thought of and forgot the award.
Herrs Butt Floss, Mouthful Of Clam, and Tits Out For Us were summarily called out for laying quite the sh***y trail, despite all efforts otherwise. Try though they might, they were unable to satisfy the assembled hashers. Mouthful was unceremoniously urinated on for deserting the hash - pisspot as he is - and it did seem like he enjoyed his special down-down a little too much.
Visitors, Cum-Latelies, and R***rs were invited to join the party, and so False Erection, Turtle Whacks, JSUAD, and Toothy Lunker obliged. Sadly, they did not fail to down-down their chosen beverages.
One by one, the remainder of the hash came to the center — Spike for bobbiting the trail, Just Aron for discovering beer (and being a wanker all around), and Cocksmith for possessing a lethal hound without a hound license.
It is at this point that the circle took an interesting turn, for better or worse. Just Shane and Just Zack were deposed from circle and ostracized to the far reaches of the Castle Goddess whilst the hash engaged in deep, spirited, intense discussion. After much talk, laughter, and trenchant comments on the penis size and masculinity of the banished hashers, they were re-welcomed and instructed to kneel in the circle.
The Religious Advisor, in a fervor befitting Elmer Gantry amidst a testimonial sermon, launched into a passionate canonical tirade, culminating in a rousing, spirited baptismal of cookie crumbs, flour, and beer:
From here on, for blatant losses of trail despite clear visual evidence and general failures of masturbatory performence, Just Shane shall herefrom be known as: BEATS IT BLIND.
From here on, for flagrant fireside flirtation and pincushionings with toothpicks in uncomfortable places, Just Zack shall herefrom be known as: COCKTAIL FRANK.
After a couple abortive attempts to introduce additional minstrelsy to the circle, the RA adjourned the circle, somehow forgetting to secure either a re-hasher or a next hare.
However, O dear hasher, you may find your way to the next hash rather close, by the Airport, on September 9th at 3pm. What a wonderful way to work off the hangover you will doubtless accumulate at the Ithaca Beer Fest in Stewart Park from 4-8pm the previous day!
On-out, in good service and better servicing,
~Master Baster
Date: Wed, 5 Sep 2007 16:56:00 -0400
A couple other interesting things I “remember” from the hash:
TOFU twisted her ankle early on and lamented being sober enough this time to feel it.
Then Just Zack was shot multiple times above the plantations. May he RIP.
Someone marinated just Aaron in hot sauce, which is weird since he's already so . . .
Jalopeni poppers with raspberry jam = amazing.
Hot sauce with beer = less than amazing.
Pippi passed some hashit onto TOFU, who kept her top on this time - again, sober :(
Oh, and I played with PG's furry little pussy. She named it Danger. It scratched me.
Mouthful of Clam
Date: Tue, 11 Sep 2007 18:05:41 -0400
It was 3pm on a bright, sunny Ithaca Sunday in early September - oh wait, scratch that - it was dark and rainy… as I pulled up looking for 20 Brentwood Dr. There was 10 Brentwood Dr, and then - bang - dead end.
Parking at the dead end, I was greeted by Laa Laa (of Carolina Trash, Tidewater, Aloha and Nittany fame), and Pre-cum (in town on business, and from the Phoenix-AZ hash). The hare, Master Baster, pulled up shortly thereafter, and there were beers to be shared. MB took off to set the BNs, and we waited. Cocktail Frank, JuShUAD, Spike, and finally Little Oral Annie all pulled up as well.
After two beers and 35 minutes, MB returned, and gave us the scoop for the day's trail. From the first BN onwards was pre-laid with a mix of flour, toilet paper, and chalk, and we were told that the toilet paper might've been a bit on the brown side (eww…). The first part was to be live-hared, so he took off, begging JuShUAD to give him at least 5 minutes headstart. And Pre-cum, who was on crutches, saw the copious shiggy ahead and bid us a fair adieu.
A few minutes later, we were on-down the road Brentwood Dr, and then left to a path into the woods. On-one! we shouted. On-two! On-three! On-right onto a narrower path. On-… nothin'.
We searched and searched, around the forthcoming field, paths turning off of the field, the baseball field beyond the first field, the junkyard beyond that, the playground, BOYCES (or whatever it's called)… nothing. Laa Laa, LOA, and Spike checked straight from the On-Right… nothing. After 45 minutes of searching, covering an estimated 10 acres, we went back to the cars, where we still had a cooler full of beer.
Not knowing what else to do, and hoping MB would just come back, we started circle - which got shut-down as soon as I mentioned “Hare, get your ass front and center!” Oops. Oh well… but we did give LOA an Up-Up for her 33rd birthday!
Then, around quarter after 5, MB shows up! Yippee! Much cussing was had, and much rejoicing.
MB asks, “What happened?”
Us: “You didn't put any marks after the On-Right.”
MB: “You didn't check straight?”
Us: “Yes, we did. Wait… how far straight?”
MB: “The metal gate.”
Us: “The one that we would've come to if we'd have gone straight for a quarter mile?!”
MB: “Yes” (It went something like that. By halfway through the exchange, I was laughing too hard to remember anything)
But having sorted out the confusion, we had to figure out how to get more beer, as the first cooler was getting empty, and we hadn't run much trail. MB informed us that all of trail would've been 8miles according to GoogleMaps, minus the false trails and other shenanigans, but he would be kind and spare us, since it was almost 5:30 already. We agreed to carpool to the second BN, and run the rest of trail.
Where to? The Post Office - great! Nobody will mind white powder near a post office… hehe… actually, to be fair, Baster had thought about that fact, and laid this part of trail with soggy bits of crumpled up toilet paper. So we drove there, hopped out of the cars, and ran half a mile to get to it in some brand-spankin' new development between Warren and Triphammer Rds.
The BN was alongside the development actually, and littered with used blasting caps and tons of blasted bedrock. Beer and Nilla Wafers were passed around, and there was much rejoicing.
Then off we ran again, and found ourselves on Triphammer Rd shortly thereafter. Down to Target, straight in front of the stores front doors we ran (thoughts of being arrested like New Haven hashers came to mind, but again, Baster used TP), and along the front of the Pyramid Mall. After passing Dicks, we almost had to crawl through a drainage culvert, which would've sucked big time, but it was a fake.
Instead we ran up and all the way around Tops, behind the Hollywood Video/Applebees building, and up onto Triphammer again. In fact, next we ran straight through the Triphammer Mall, and out the other side, and on through some sardine-apartment complex developments. Then we came out on Warren Rd.
JuShUAD had made it to the cars first, and returned to pick MB and myself up, who left our vehicles at the post office. We then returned to the start, and had a mini-circle.
The hare drank repeatedly, and not just for the sh*tty trail - but also for taking his hat off, only to put it back on just as his beer touched his lips (among other offenses, such as making us all Bobbitt trail). Laa Laa drank for being a visitor and early-arriving bastard, LOA drank for arriving late, we forgot cums-latelys, JuShUAD and myself drank for FRB/DFLs, LOA drank for being blonde, MB won the Bobbitt award, and I won the new Danger award (a blasting cap, for planning to wed soon) and, um, I forget the rest of the accusations. So sue me. ;-)
On-after was at the Ale House, where JuShUAD, myself, MB, and LOA rendezvoused, and Pussy Pong and Rowdy Bush joined us.
On-on till next time!
-Dances With Head
PS - Master Baster's version of events:
The day was wet, the grass was high, the trail long and shiggy. The brave, intrepid hare did his best against the elements, knowing of the challenges they presented. Having laid most of course ahead of time, and having set beer nears appropriately, he returned to the circle for the first part of trail - the live hare portion. The first branch of trail, like famed porn swordsman Rocco Siffredi, took the back way into Sapsucker Woods. Were the hares on trail, they would have discovered numerous false trails, designed in anticipation of JSUAD's legendary FRBing. A Hash View stop would have provided a glimpse at a Great Blue Heron.
Once out of the woodsy trails, the trail would follow streamers of toilet paper through a thicket, across Sapsucker Woods road, and into a private access road. Down the road and to the left pointed the trail along the runway landing lights, bright and shining, pointing the way towards the first beer near. Sadly, one would have to cross route 13, following the fence along the back portion of the airport along an off-road trail for a mile, down an access road, and across a field to get to it. Picture this: a laughing hare, perched atop a gravel pile, welcoming the incoming thirsty hashers with a pile of cold beer.
Having finished the first load of beer, the trail wends its way along Snyder Road, skirting along the airport fence. Several checks along the way would ensure that trail would hold up, then continuing down Cherry Road. At this point, you would see instructions to continue down Warren Road, past the sheriff's office and into a check at the post office. Sadly, due to the weather, we were not able to laugh at the cops as we passed by, waving our open beers as we ran through. Sadly, this will wait for another day.
Date: Wed, 3 Oct 2007 10:56:37 -0400
One fine Sunday (last week), I happened to be in town and convinced myself to go hashing before motoring towards the hills. What a good idea too, I hadn't seen my mother (hash) in quite some time.
Spike and I chatted for a while then headed over to the Buttermilk falls area, for what we knew would be a great time - it always is in Ithaca.
When we arrived we found our hares lounging around. Tits Out For Us was on top of a car pretending to be a book worm, and Dances with Head was laid back sitting on a huge piece of construction equipment.
After a few warm hellos, I pulled out a little trail mix (Saranac Trail Mix that is) to enjoy with those arriving a bit early.
The first fella I met wea Pre-cum a visitor from somewhere in Sunny, CA. He didn't look well equipped for the run tho... his foot was in a huge immobilizing brace.
Soon we were joined by a bunch of other kind faces, including the likes of: Cocktail Frank, Mater Baster, Virgin Mary<,Butt Floss, Pippi Schlongstocking, Cocksmith, Just Brian,Porcelain Goddess, Unidentified Feathered Orifice, and Virgin Borris - he's lived in Ithaca for 5 years and never been to a hash. We'll now he's scarred... )
Dances did a quick chalk talk for us, ended with 'Check it Out.' The pack then milled around for a few minutes before finding trail out of the back of the lot. He had warned me that it would be steep, but not too long. Well, he meant it when he said steep. The trail basically went straight up. There were a few moments of normal confusion with checks, but that sorted itself out pretty easily.
Several minutes later we found ourselves at a BN and looked around for the frothy object of our desires. It was actually out on a somewhat precarious stretch of ground stretching out over a stream bed. There wasn't enough room out there for all of us, so we created a line led by Floss and Spike. They quickly and skillfully passed back beverages kinda like they used to pass bucket to put out firest in the old days. However, the pack used the liquid to damped their brain cells. Meanwhile, Porcelain Goddess must have had too much energy... she started doing laps down through the stream bed and back up to into the thick of the pack. Note to self - bring Vicodin <<sp?>> for over-enthusiastic harriers and harrierettes.
Next thing you know it, 'ON-ON!' was called, thus summoning the pack upwards once more (damned, sadistic hares). And up the trail did go. The pack traipsed through gorges, up a steep embankment or two, and generally found a good bit of wholesome shiggy. Eventually the trail poured out on a paved road, which the pack descended a bit before turning off back into the elms. Okay there weren't any elms, but it sounded good didn't it?
After a few minutes of scampering around on trails, the pack did what the pack does - it got lost. Yet, it did a good job regrouping too. ...and nothing regroups a pack better than, that's right - BEER. Yup, we hit our second BEER check. Good thing we found more frothy goodness too... we lost some of the pack. And well... we actually gained one or two. Wouldn't you know it someone said they saw Extra Testicle riding a hog back on the road we had just cum off of. Yeah, I know, your thinking we saw him drunk, riding a chubby chick. No! It was a motorcycle. PG led a search party (okay it was two half-minds) looking for UFO... and miraculously Pre-cum gimped in to the check. The pack finished quaffing their brews - ON-ON!
Long story short - what goes up must cum down. And we did. My tootsies were quite sore when we finished. No matter. Good trail.
Circle was convened by Master Baster. Nothing to crazy, but definitely eloquent. Folks did their obligatory down-downs.. Let's see what I can remember (I know some of it is missing). Feel free to correct me.
Down-downs -
Hares: TOFU, Dances with Head
Virgins: Just Borris
Visitors: Pre-cum (from Phoenix)
Bleab / Blab: Spike / ET
Comes latelys / bobbits: Scooby
Autohashers: ET / J'SUAD
Accusations:
- Side-sides - UFO, Master Baster
- Up Up - PG (I was trying to provide support, but it was eerie. Her crotch was staring at me.)
- Head-Who Said Head-Award - Pippy (His locks were shorter so obviously he needed more head)
- Hashit - Master Baster
- Dry Lips - Cocktail Frank
On-After - Lehigh Valley House
ON-ON!
~Scooby Snatch
Date: Mon, 15 Oct 2007 09:49:12 -0700 (PDT)
It was a beautiful Fall day as I was scurrying around the house cleaning while baking a couple of cheesecakes with fresh raspberries buried deep inside of them. The thought of digging into them with a fork had my mouth watering as I mused at how they might be received by others.....oh yummy!!!
Now...are they done yet???? Checking the oven and the clock....HOLY SH*T!!!!! It's 2:40 and I need to get my Arse out to Shindaigan Hollow for Cocktail Frank's virgin trail!!!!!!
But first....ARE they done yet????.....yup....just right!!!! OK...off I dash to the hash!!!!!!!!!!!
As I came speeding up the road to the start of the hash...there's Toothy Lunker waiving me down as though I'm some crazed fool about to drive through them all and the hash-pooch. NEY say I! I'm just thirsty. So, I park my beast and head up to the gang. Quite a group was assembled. We had:
Cocktail Frank - Virgin Hare
SS Thunderthighs
Freeze Frame
TOFU
Toothy -Hare Cherry Popper du jour
Hot Lips -- Where the hell has he been?????
Spike
DWH
Floss
Tequilla Bill
Pre-cum -- visiting us yet again from Phoenix....we must be doing something right! LOL
As we had no virgins for the trail....we were soon off in search of our first BN......
The trail went ALL OVER THE FRIGIN PLACE in Shindaigan. LOVE that terrain!!!!
Up here....over there......around that corner....FALSE!!!
Try again....down there....side ways here....FALSE!!!
Maybe here......................LONG ARSE Back Check.....BASTARDS!!!!!!!!!
Yup....Toothy was showing her true colors and extraordinary trail setting techniques and Cocktail Frank was catching on quickly......much to the dismay of the pack.
Soon though......we stumbled upon a WONDERFUL marking.........BN!!! Though not the FRB at that moment...some how the task fell upon Butt Floss to grope his way through the brambles to fetch the cooler of refreshment and snacks for the rest of the pack. No complete fool was he though....he grabbed the first BEER before bringing the rest out for every one else to forage through.....
All sorts of talk went on at this BN....much of it by Freeze Frame, SS Thunderthighs and Toothy ...some thing about “R” things!!!!! OH!!!! MY POOR EARS!!!!! Enough of this!!!!! Besides...the beer was gone.
On we go......all over the wooded, trails and roads of the forest zone.
Ahhhhh..... a very long stretch down a road....Hhhhhhhhmmmmmm.....I wonder to myself as I'm the FRB at this point..........could this be a ..............BACK CHECK!!!!!.....Sonsabitches did it to us again!!!!! Screw'em.......I wait a bit before heading back...just to have a bit of company. :o)
So...where does this bleepin' trail go???? OH...of course.....down this long trail just off of the road..... NOPE...wrong again...another false!!!!!
Finally...we find true trail....and eventually another road. Why the hell am I always out in front on these stupid roads????? Oh well....pensively....I venture forward....not too quickly though........
This time......I am finally rewarded though. For there....off to the side of the road is a nice carpet of invasive week beneath an old cemetery. We've been here before....many moons ago. There was BEER here last time...........
And look!!!!....it's still here!!!! Must be the residents haven't been very thirsty. Lucky us!!!!
This time