IH3 Trail #485

Subject: Hash House Harriers hit Hammond Hill

A lot of alliteration, eh?

Dances With Head and Pussy Pong were kind enough to set a shitty, shitty trail trough Hammond Hill state forest yesterday for the likes of myself (Bürpenstain esquire), Pippi Schlongstocking, Cocksmith, Harry Condom, Jr., Extra Testicle, Butt Floss, Little Oral Annie, Spike, Just Jessica, Visitors: Moroccan Mole and Whack a Mole both of the S.H.I.T. hash down in DC, and Virgin: Just Ellen. Pooches: Squatter, Maxi Pad, and Just Mindy.

I was BLABing, as is often the case, and I was late to start my pre-hash beer, so I drank quickly as Dances gave the chalk talk. This, of course, prompted much belching as we were checking it out (across the street, all around the parking lot and down the hill to the south, before finding true trail heading north along the road we drove in on). The belching, and comments pertaining to it from Whack-a-mole, reminded me of something that had happened on the day before the hash. It seems that my burps made a fellow runner from New Hampshire think there was a bear in the woods, until he got close to me and noted that it was just some burping freak…
Down the hill all the way to the other road, where we went up the hill…
At this point my legs complained "you fool, there was beer back at Dances’ car, why did you leave" I told them to shut up, because I was going to hash! As we were trudging up the hill and turned onto a trail going into the woods Just Ellen noted the shirt I was wearing and asked if I had gone to med school in Peoria, Illinois. I told her that I hadn’t, but that I had held summer jobs at the med school in Peoria. Well it turns out that Just Ellen and I are from the same small city about 800 miles away (anyone care to guess which one?). We kept going up for quite some time, at least it felt that way. One of our hares seems to have a fondness for placing hash marks on horse shit. As the trail turned from uphill to rolling hills we came across Just Diane who keeps telling me and LOA that she is going to come to the hash, but she doesn’t… This week we even brought the hash to her, but she still didn’t join us… So Just Diane, when are you going to hash with us? Spike and I soon came across those wonderful marks B and N (in that order, right next to each other) and Pippi, who appeared to be on the verge of tears. Apparently he had been looking for beer, unsuccessfully, for several minutes by the time that Spike and I arrived. I was on my way to a culvert to see if the beer was there, when I almost tripped over a cooler. Beer found.

We sloshilized as the pack of thirsty harriers arrive and joined us in sloshilization. Conversations about home between Just Ellen and I made the rest of the hash realize that Bürpenstain was a freakin’ nerd in high school. Various hashers threw a big stick in various directions, and Max was having a ball retrieving it…

After the beers were drunk we checked out the trail again, hoping to find more beer. Pippi and I followed a trail into the woods. We split up at a Y and I heard him on-8 while I was on-2, being the idiot that I am, I reversed my course to join him, only to hear him, and a couple other hashers counting backwards as they ran back towards me… The dreaded back check (at least it wasn’t a BC 35). Well, we kept going back to the Y and went where I had been. Up and down the rolling trail, through a couple of shoe sucking muck holes. We came upon a check… The hares can’t count… at least 3 of us thought we were on true trail, but none of us were on the same trail… By the time I got back to true trail, Pippi had come across another beer near, and again, had not yet found beer. This time we were still hunting the beer when Dances (who set the beer) arrived to help us find it, but he was useless. Someone found beer, and we went as long as we could allowing Dances to search in the wrong area while we drank.

While drinking we discussed various topics: theater, bodily functions, illness… We even discussed searching for flower, but only after we drank the beer, and munched the chips… While we were running through the woods trying to dodge the horse shit, and mud holes we came upon a Y and a mountain biker at the same time. We asked about flower on the trail he had come down, and said something about seeing some letters. ON-IN we figured, and took off down the trail. ON-IN it was as we saw the marks for ourselves and made our way back into the parking lot. We wanted beer, but we would have to wait for Pussy Pong, as she was carrying the keys to Dances With Head’s car, which held the beer. Eventually 5 smiling women (among them PP) and one Moroccan Mole came walking out of the woods. We got some beers and opened the circle.

We made the hares drink, for they had set a shitty trail.

We made the virgin drink, because she is a virgin. When asked who made here cum, she readily anticipated the next question and went strait to the sexual interpretation of cumming. I see we have a true hasher in Just Ellen…

Floss and LOA drank because there was an article about their nuptials in the Ithaca Journal.

We made the early arriving bastard and late arriving bastard drink. I was the late bastard; we had some difficulty determining who was earliest. Someone asked if it was Just Jessica. No… She learned from here first hashing experience not to be the first one there (I think I said last week that she was too smart for the hash, I think I might have been right). Anyway, I am rambling, because I have forgotten who the early bastard was. Whoever it was drank with me.

Dances drank (with PP of course) for fucking up hash lyrics.

Pippi drank for FRBing.

We made Pippi drink again for being the first one to both beer nears and not finding any beer.

We then made Dances drink (and when one hare drinks…) for not being able to find the beer even though he hid it…

ET mentioned head, we chanted about fuckin in the woods and the damage that it does to the forest.

Then Arlo decided to investigate Max’s head. All this talk of head, and licking, and licking heads made me express my feelings about licking heads. I had problems with my prepositions and the meaning of the words I said was completely different from my intensions. (I prefer to be receiving the licking of the head, I stated that I had no problem with licking the head… I guess it is a good thing I already have a name, thank goodness for my gastrointestinal blessings). Anyway, with the "WHO SAID HEAD" award at the perimeter of the circle, I crossed over to lick it… Dances seemed very eager to sit on the head, once I had licked it…

All this talk of heads led to the distribution of some awards. Extra Testicle got the "WHO SAID HEAD", and I got ET’s namesake. We drank together.

I accused Floss of doing well in a competitive event without participating in it (Floss the amazing), he owed us a down-down for that. I was made to join him, as was LOA, as we are fools who often try to run fast for reasons other than getting to beer. We were sang a little ditty about how serious hashers don’t do m*r*thons. For a variety of reasons, one being accuracy, the second, and major reason being that I like beer and I knew it would get me another down-down, I corrected the hash and stated that the event I had done on the previous day was not a m*r*thon, but an ultr*-m*r*thon. I got the extra down-down…

Somebody noted that Dances was sporting new footwear. Pippi, being evil, decided that Dances needed to shoot the boot Montana style. For this, Pippi needed not only Dances’ shoe, but his sock, for filtration purposes… Upon seeing this spectacle, Just Jessica exclaimed that she would never wear new shoes to a hash (providing more evidence that she is way to smart for hashing).

I accused Dances of fucking up hash songs, but since we already punished him for that, I received the punishment.

Floss was made to drink, because the dude tattooed on his leg had his eye poked out by a thorn. And we decided that everyone who had been inked should join him. After they drank, we decided that all tattoos should be shown to the hash. Moroccan Mole was the only one on whom the tat was not already apparent. He unveiled a huge piece covering his whole back, and made many other tattooed hashes feel weak for their lack of commitment.

We decided that circle was done, and that even though the circle was done, that didn’t mean that the festivities were done… so we reconviened for an on-after at the crooked board, where we had more beer, beef sticks, and horse shoes were played…

On-on till the next time, Bürpy