ReHash #386

Long long ago…
well… last week, anyway…
in a land far far away…
if you happen to live in Central Asia, or some place like that…
there was this hash.

Or at least, this group of Ithaca hashers gathered in a parking lot near Grandview Park to look at the plethora of hash tee shirts that Ball Wrinkle was giving away. There were virgins everywhere, including a young spaniel under the servitude of Little Miss Muff It.

Eventually, Calvin Klimax and Fuck ’em, the two hares for the day, showed up with some more virgins (one of them a born-again virgin). There was a display of chalk on the ground, and everyone started rinning this way and that, though they were all headed in the same direction, directly to Six Mile Creek.

There wasn’t much shiggy, but the trail kept going down and down, through forest and woods, over rocks and stones, down the hills and slopes. Then there was this creek where the dogs played, and a funny chalk mark which kind of looked like an eye. We guessed that we were supposed to look at the scenic view near the eye, but this couple had the audacity to try to make out on the trail, right in the middle of the view. I just don’t get normals…

So, there we were, at the lowest point that we could get without swimming. The man on the shore was instructing his daughter on hashers as we jogged by. "See… sometimes they’re running, and sometimes they’re walking." Whatever…

We showed him that hasher can be much more versatile by climbing up the steep grassy hill, sitting on the stone bench at the top, which was dedicated to some dead person, and drinking a few beers while teasing the people walking their dogs below. Half Monte let his dog run amuck again as we drank, and Muff It’s little spaniel servant ran circles trying to keep up. Unfortunately for the young dog, there were broken bottles on the ground.

While the rest of the hash ventured up the gorge, past Potter’s Falls, where no nekkid people were bathing (good or bad, depending on your tastes), Muff It’s bloody little spaniel servant was carted off for some dehashing. The rest of us wandered into a "wine near" where some sassy bar wench by the name of Roudy Bush served up a couple bottles wine for the Hash, in between handling the other twenty customers crowding the wine bar. Seven sixteenths made a cameo appearance in a very strange costume which he called a "wedding suit". Apparently, there was some bizarre native ritual called "marriage" being performed at the winery. Go figure…

So the hashers stopped hashing and just ran through some houses and back to the On In, where Bam Bam (you all remember Bam Bam, right) was waiting with a virgin bobbit.

There was singing; there was food; there was a small no-longer-bloody little spaniel servant eating things off the kitchen floor. "Just Andy" was named Clogger, cause he looked constipated in his little black dutch-type shoes. There was, of course, beer, but i bet you already knew that.

…and they drank happily ever after.

Spike