IH3 Trail #421

RE-Hash January 18, 2004

For the faithful Sunday brings a day of reflection and reconciliation. For the fateful Sunday brings the Hash. On this Sunday the 18th day of January in the year of 2004 no one was disappointed.

On this January day in Ithaca the weather was exceptionally warm. A warm front driven by a rush of hot air said to originate in Texas pushed its way across the country to the northeast by means of a vacuum of insight and common sense. The effect of this phenomenon produced skies over Ithaca that were sunny, warm, and down right unceasingly pleasant. I pulled into the grassy parking lot of the Rice Hill field station shortly after two. The parking lot was already crowded with parents and many young children who had come to picnic on the grass, fly kites, and make merry with themselves. In attendance that day were; Hot Lips, Ball Wrinkle, Dances With Head, Pussy Pong, Bitch Squealer, Half Monty, Trojan, Phil M’ Crack’n, and myself (Extra Testicle).

While we waited for the Hot Lips to blow his own horn Floss and LOA arrived to deliver beer just before one of them had to jump a jet plane to Colorado. A few Hashers brought kites and tiny windmills to play with in the warm breeze high over Lake Cayuga. At the sound of the horn we checked it out. We went this way… false… we then went that way… false.. we then went back that way… false… and so on it went until we were on a true trial. At one of the many check points (marked by a circle) Puker left a mark on all of our minds, a smell worse than thirty thousand dead carp stuffed with pig manure and vomit baking in the noon day sun. Scatter ye Hashers, something evil this way spring fourth from yonder canine’s bowels, run for your life. So we did.

As the breeze rocked the tall grass and the birds sang of their homes in the sun we made our way across the pasture and through the woodlands. As we emerged on the other side of the woods and attempted to traverse a quiet road we all of a sudden were struck deaf by the beating a helicopter’s blades close overhead. We all hit the ground as the whirly bird lit on the road before us. As the props slowly twisted to a halt we cleared our eyes of the dust and gazed directly at the black tinted windows of the craft. As we all began to rise up from the ground the sliding door of the chopper cracked open and slid aft and out jumped almost in unison three men in dark blue, maybe black suits, each with a wire in his ear. Each appeared to talk to himself but upon a more careful evaluation I realized that they were speaking to their counterparts at the other end of the wire. The three took positions around the helicopter to form a triangle. Just then from the road behind us came six jet black Chevy Suburbans. They raced up the hill all in single file and came to an abrupt halt before us. All the doors opened simultaneously except for one door. At this time ten or more handsome and fit men stepped out of vehicles. It was now clear to me and to the rest of the Hashers that we were in the presence of greatness. As one man stepped toward the unopened door we had no doubt in our minds who was about to be before us. The door opened, and there with one foot on the ground and one foot on the side step of the Suburban stood George W. Bush, the president of the United States. George walked right up to me and extended his hand and said, "I want to show the people of America that I care about the commoner and that I care about the needs of the average American". He went on to say that, "you Hashers embody the spirit of America by enjoying this great nation’s woodlands and by imbibing some of this nation’s best beer, brewed by American laborers". "Today I will show my support for democracy by Hashing with you!" On-on Mr. President and off we went back into the woods with ten beautiful secrete service guys in tow.
 

The road was rough but the trail was nice. We enjoyed a Hash view and a Hash song (that never happened because no one could think of a song). After a great long while the crew made its way to a stop. The secret service guys were a bit winded so they took off their jackets and shirts. One of the guys took out his Glock and shot a crow for no reason. George was mad because all the beer at the stop was either German or Canadian. I pointed out that Saranac was from up-state New York and that New York was in America. To this George retorted, "New York… isn’t that were the Clinton’s live? That man is no good!" he said.

Shortly we left and headed onward toward the on-in. Pussy Pong got a piggy back ride from one of the secrete service guys and George W. held Hershey’s leash as we made our way along. The last bit of the trial didn’t last long for in moments we were at the on-in. We circled up and Dances With Head lead up as we sang G rated Hash songs to avoid offending any of the families that had gathered to enjoy the sun that day. Trojan drank for being a "comes lately" and for "premature checkulation", Ball Wrinkle drank for filling his dogs body with stuff that would eventually turn so foul, and Phil M’ Crack’n drank over and over for refusing to remove his hat. George drank for screwing up the county and I drank for not brining my mug. Squealer just disappeared. After the Hash circle was over we went into the cabin at Rice Hill to escape the sun for a while and Half Monty treated us to some Goulash.

Just as George and company were leaving the Bobbits showed up; LOA and Madonna! Even though she was late we made Madonna drink for kissing Britney Spears on TV. On the way out Monty made Madonna a bet, "I bet you a drink of your choice that I can touch your breast without touching your bra or your shirt." Half Monty now owes Madonna a beer so sheíll be back in two weeks to collect. Well anyway that is all for now, just another day at the Hash in sunny Ithaca.

On-on!
ET