A Drinking Club with a Running Problem
It was a fine winter afternoon at the Fingerlakes National Forest trailhead-
Cold, bright and still, with little birdies occasionally twittering and flitting about.
Trees were falling soundlessly, as there was nobody there to hear them.
A delicately balanced pastoral tableau- about to be defiled.
Not unlike an unyielding phallus penetrating an unsuspecting dry orifice, twelve hashers descended upon this tranquil scene and robbed it of it’s of innocence, frightening the birdies and yellowing the snow in their insatiable quest for shiggy and beer.
The hashers chiefly responsible for selecting the avenue of defilement and hosting the orgiastic beer hunt were Unidentified Feathered Orifice and Bedside Pole Dancer, with advising and assistance provided by Masterbaster.
Willing participants were Butt Floss, Porcelain Goddess, SS Thunder Thighs, Freeze Frame, Just Scotie, Just Haley, Pippi Schlongstocking, Tits Out For Us, Just Michele, and your humble narrator, Inspector Speculum.
Also attending were and assortment of four legged hashers of various makes and models.
Chalk talk began promptly at hash time, and was expertly led by Masterbaster, who alerted the pack to the existence of back checks and false trails, and a beer near somewhere along trail.
Thence the hash commenced.
Many hashers were initially misdirected by a numerous false trails at the outset of the trail, but were able to regroup and experience a rare form of winter shiggy- that of the snow covered and completely frozen pond, unique for it’s glassy smooth slick and hard surface (‘slick n hard’ shiggy). Those particularly fond of the slick and hard reveled in their experience of this delightful shiggy treat. Several beautifully executed snow angels were observed on one section of ice, but went largely unappreciated as most of the pack was off true trail at the time, shortcutting or something…
Trail further led the pack through several hedges and snow covered fields, logging roads festooned with ‘redneck detritus’ shiggy (old mattress, decomposing garbage bags, deer spine etc), and a particularly dense and convoluted section clogged with prickers, burdock and logs (quality ‘natural’ shiggy).
Soon after, the trail opened up into a high hillside pasture- a minefield of frozen cow and bullshit patties interspersed with 4″ punji stakes of grazed down shrubs and stiff grasses (‘buffalo range’ shiggy)- making footfalls slightly treacherous and slowing down the pack, nobody wanting to hash crash into cowshit. Chalk was difficult to follow here and false trails were encountered, slowing the pack.
After a pass through more woods, a road was crossed and beer was discovered near another slick and hard pond. Thanks to BPD and UFO’s efforts, plenty of both liquid and solid fuel was available to reinebriate and renourish the hash. Most notably, a fruity rum concoction was consumed out of polyglot animal themed dixie cups, like urine specimens at the UN. I was lucky to posses the cup of the Elephant. It was noted that the cup of the Tiger and that of the Ardvark were also in circulation. PG and TOFU took it upon themselves safeguard the considerable remainder of the tasty fruity rum concoction for the rest of the trail- in their stomachs.
Soon the hash was moving again- over frozen roadway, woods and fields- to trails end at a warm and cozy cabin, where was discovered plenty of beer, a toasty wood stove,and more solid fuel (including HOT DOGS and CHILI). Also on site was a fashionable outhouse for disposal of the inevitable liquid and solid waste generated (gaseous waste esp from the chili was emitted as it was produced). Many found the cozy cabin impressive on many levels: firm futon and wild discovery channel theme lending the appropriate ambiance for the manifestation of animalistc urges and desires.
The On-In commenced with Masterbaster’s opening of the circle, many accusations were made and many down-downs ensued: some drank for setting trail, some for cuming lately, some for crashing, and some just because- my drunken half mind fails me here again…
Butt Floss lived up to his name once again, and showed off the fashionable and functional handmade QUILTED butt floss he is wearing this season, in white with pink stitching.
Tits Out For Us did not live up to her hash name- alas, she showed her tits to no one. Perhaps the rum she stashed in her stomach had not enough punch…
Most significantly however, after long deliberations, TWO new hashers came to be named on this glorious day:
Just Scotie came to be known as Always A Bridesmaid (for attending far too many hashes and remaining unnamed for so long- may he finally get a honeymoon and a busted hymen).
Just Michele came to be known as Butter Buns (for developing a mysterious wet spot on her backside during the hash, the result of either being extremely stimulated on trail or being a big fan of Last Tango in Paris…)
And then there was the unexpected On-In crasher….
Her name was Moon Pie, and she was gorgeous, regal in her bearing, coquettishly playful, alternating black and white soft and puffy coat…
Take note Roadkill! it was a shame you were not there!
Moon Pie has the power to end your lifelong obsession with sheep, and turn you on to GOATS!
I have no doubt that after one look at Moon Pie and her puffy pudenda you’ll say “fuck sheep” and never look back- you will instantly become obsessed with the far superior GOAT.
I’m telling you this because I care about you, Roadkill: UFO or BPR will set you up on a date…
Finally, the circle was closed and many went On-On-On to UFO and BPR’s crib, where further debauchery ensued: more fuel was consumed, pool was played, certain hashers field tested the hot tub (it was found to be hot and wet, later sticky too), people were shot with rubber arrows, and much flesh was covered in tattoos to honor and commemorate events of the day.
Then, like bloated ticks dropping off a dog after a satisfying blood meal, one by one the hashers retired to their respective cribs, with a happy healthy alcoholic glow, in dreamy anticipation of the next trail…
~Inspector Speculum