A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
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