IH3 Trail #488

Well…. Bürp is setting trail this weekend, and, while i could prophetically write a rehash for this hash, i decided that i should play dumb (it’s so easy, after all) and give this cautionary tail, set in historic view, of Bürp’s trail-setting procedures.

So there was this hash…

Many many moons ago, i showed up at Troy Park on South Hill for this hash. I was expecting a large turn out for such a wonderful summer day –ah the days of summer past. But alas, Hare Bürpenstain and Hare Just Karen were sitting on the edge of a gravel parking lot, chatting away with Road Kill and some other Just whose name escapes me in my old age of story telling. Then Inspector Speculum showed up and that other Just had to go. Not sure if those two things were related, but it makes a great insinuation.

Anyway, the ten of us took off on trail, heading up hill, through minor shiggy, and into the raspberries. There was this detour through the forest, and then we all stopped at the large green water tank for some beer, making sure that all fifteen hashers made it through the local neighbourhoods alive.

After a good round of drunkenness and listening to Road Kill talk about his technology on trail that lets him follow the score of the game, all thirty of us ran back through the woods and down the hill, where we got to invade Ithaca College. Being summer, the campus was absolutely filled with one or two students, but we couldn’t get them to have a beer and sing hash songs. You know how snobby those IC students get…

So all fifty hashers ran off, back up the hill searching for beer. It wasn’t until we came to the cement chute thingy near the swampy pond that we stopped for another case of beer and a long round of chatting about nothing in particular. So all of us –there were only a hundred or so at this point; some must have wandered off– sat around checking out the large snails on the walls and talking about stolen panties while drinking the world’s highest quality beer substitute. A fun time was had by all. Some passers by passed by, talking about dog poop, but immediately went silent when they spotted us hiding in the low brush off the side of the old-people walking trail. Alas, that many people just cant hide in a single cement chute thingy.

So, in relative shame, two hundred hashers hashed off to the end of the hash, where they found an “On In” and Pippi, LOA, Floss, Dances, and PP hanging around in a playground awaiting adoring adolescent fans.

With all the extra people, the hash just couldn’t fit in the park anymore –zoning restrictions and such– so we meandered over to Inspector Speculum’s house, which just happened to be right next door. There was beer, a sinfully unused hot tub, and a grill. Down downs were enforced and Pippi lost something like his virginity and was looking around on the ground for it.

So… that’s the kind of trail Bürp sets: thousands of hashers running through shiggy-covered forests, avoiding pondering beer-deprived college students while listening to Road Kill talk about how he is losing money on the game he is following on his new cellular toy, only to end up hanging around lecherously in playgrounds, lamenting the limited supply of the highest quality beer substitute available in the near-by minimart.

Yes my friends, be warned of Hare Bürpenstain and his wily trail-setting ways… or you could be next (this Sunday).

— Spike
Hash List Bitch