ReHash #321

ReHash 05.21.00

Hares Swing Low, Chuck’m, and 7/16" certainly made Chuck’m’s last Ithaca Hash a good one. Guest hashers Phantom, Comatose, Mudman, and Klinger were honored in the Hash Circle of Life.

The shiggy never stopped as the Hashers made their way through the back yards and swamps of Lansing. Skull and Tequila were confronted by a curious– yet friendly– homeowner who seemed to be cruising for chicks in his white mini-van that screamed "I am the upper-middle class– can you believe I have 12 cup holders in this baby?!" The homeowner probably wouldn’t have been so friendly if he realized that moments earlier Skull had laid cable in the general vicinity. [Helpful hint: instead of toilet paper, use a stick. Twirl turdular remnants onto stick as if gathering cotton candy onto a paper cone. Use several sticks if necessary. Discard. Do not wash hands.]

As Swing Low was chauffering the hashers back to their cars parked along side Burdick Hill Road, we noticed a frightful sight! A retentive citizen had summoned the law; the constable’s illuminous red globes flickered repulsively behind the long line of hash vehicles. A quick detour seemed to be the smartest move which enabled us to dump the beer cans around the corner and disembark Swing Low’s truck like so many midgets spilling out of a little circus car. Mudman, preparing our legal defense as we jogged down to the cars, asked if anyone had a breath mint. Thanks to Stuff it In’s "persuasion", no tickets were issued and the hashers were on their way to the ON IN at Swing Low’s crib.

During down downs everyone caught a glimpse of Calvin Klimax’ esophagus and stomach through the glass bottom of his mug as he chugged in earnest for an infraction which cannot be recalled. Virgin and future medical doctor Betsy rammed into Spike’s car while making a sober attempt to back out of the driveway (good thing she was drinking water– otherwise she might have done something clumsy!).

Then it was time for some yard work. 7/16" mounted the Agway riding mower and managed to make one perimeter sweep of Swing Low’s jungle-like lawn while Comatose swept the stoop with her witchy-poo broom, held snuggly twixt her legs.

Chuck’m was next to try a pass on the tractor. Unfortunately the thicket was too much for the Agway and Chuck’m found herself completely enveloped in blue smoke as the mower choked its last breath at the far end of the yard. She managed to escape seconds before the tractor exploded into an orange fireball! (Actually that last part about the fireball didn’t happen, but it sounded kind of cool so I wrote it).

See you in a couple of weeks!

On-on!
Tequila Bill