ReHash #341

Run #??? February 25, 2001 Virgil Hares: Ball Wrinkle and Beaver Bam Bam Balls

It doesn’t take much to make a hasher happy. A trail, beer, and/or the company of some fellow hashers and most of us are overflowing with glee. So, just because a group of us had already waited 40 minutes on some nameless road just outside Virgil that was closed because of snow, with no sign of the hares, our spirits were not dimmed. But when we realized no one had brought beer, we quickly took a vote to leave a note telling the hares we’d taken off for the nearest bar and they could stuff their stinkin’ trail!

But just then, Ball Wrinkle and Beaver Bam Bam Balls ("that’s not Releash Me!") came barrelling out of the woods in BW’s truck. "Trail starts half a mile up the road, so climb in," BW said, so we did. The Dryden Hotel would have to wait.

No, Releash Me, who was supposed to cohare, would not be joining us this day. She had apparently blown out her back but wouldn’t say how. You know, RM, as you get older and haven’t seen your fiance for a few weeks, you might want to try a little stretching before attempting some of the more difficult maneuvers.

Actually, I was asked to mention the curse that BW seems to hold with this particular hashing locale. Last time we were here, at this very spot, his cohare, Toothy, went home violently ill before finishing the hash. Later that day, Calvin ripped out most of his transmission on a nasty protruding root. And even later that day, BW himself was violently ill all over his own truck (which, fortunately, CK was driving-which, come to think of it, might not have happened had his car not been immobilized, but I digress.) Yes, that hash had turned into a rowdy affair at the Dryden Hotel followed by a quieter affair at the Nines, where Skull was working. We closed the place and then turned it into an after-hours bar where BW slept off his drunk while the rest of us got stoned and played pool while Skywacker tried to get into Rowdy’s short skirt. Most of us left moments before sunrise; I think BW was still laid out on the back bench…

Yup, this hash would have a lot to live up to we thought, as we milled about, with beer some long-awaited beer. Already, RM was out of commission…

Two significant things happened during this prehash. First, Just Dan, our one and only virgin, did his best to get in the hash spirit by downing a couple of beers in quick succession. Second, BW unfurled a new award: the mighty neon pecker. Actually, its official, more sedate name, is the FRB award-a three-and-a-half-foot-long metal post painted fluorescent yellow that will heretofore be given to whoever spent way too much time out front on that day’s hash. The FRB has to carry the damn thing during the entire next hash. That ought toteach him/her. BW apparently found it hashing in PA and decided to carry it several miles out of the woods. Today, he duly handed it over to Butt Floss for some previous offense.

While all this was going on, Hot Lips was already scouting out the trail. What, you say!?! Yes, instructions had yet to be given, but Hot Lips had an itch and he was off, already FRBing! This shocking truth would, in time, be almost forgotten. Almost.

As the circle broke up, and Dan grabbed one more beer for the road, we heard Hot Lips shout On On from deep within the woods and hightailed it in that general direction. Only to find that the hares can’t count or mark decent checks. Back to the start and down the hill this time-to another false. The third attempt worked a little better and we were finally on our way.

We did some running in the woods, some checking, Floss passed off the award to some kind-hearted hasher, then we did some more running before finally arriving at a beer check/hash rest. While Dan grabbed a couple more beers, we all caught up on things. Then off we were for some more running, checking, passing off of the neon phallus, and on to another beer check.

At this point, while Dan started two-fisting the beers again, a couple people explained to him that as hashers we traditionally do most of our drinking at the On In, which is the thing that follows the run. You could have bowled him over with a feather! (actually, he was teetering pretty well on his own). He’d heard that we were a hard-drinking, hard-running bunch and thought the main idea was to run and drink, concurrently. Standing corrected (we’re just a bunch of high-talking liars, basically), he decided he’d just have to pace himself from here on out. Meanwhile, some other hashers held a meeting and ET volunteered to drive Dan home, whether Dan paced himself or not.

Dan was proving himself the poster boy for hashing (had he researched the group by reading Hash Boy comics?!), but then he really did it. Granted, it was somewhat icy, but as the pack headed back on trail, on a particularly flat stretch of trail, he fell flat on his ass. But that wasn’t what endeared him to us; no, it was the way he held his beer aloft as he fell, straight and high, so that not a drop did spill. This would nearly earn him a naming on his virgin hash.

After some more running, checking (you know, general hashing), and passing around the bright yellow proboscis, we cleared one more hill and were On In. There, BW and BBBB, who uncharacteristically had not joined us on trail, had been busy building a bonfire and were breaking out veggie burgers, hot dogs, cookies, more beer, and a failed attempt at cheese fondue. We actually feasted at a hash (the charbroiled veggie burgers were so fine)!

This being, at last, the On In, Dan had some beer, and we all joined him. We chatted and ate and then it was time for down downs. The hares drank for haring (’twas actually a great trail, with two beer checks no less) and would drink again later for not running the trail with the pack. Dan drank for being a virgin, and was nearly named but we couldn’t agree on a winner (the top picks are "Holds ‘Em High" and "Saves Every Drop" because of his back-flop save). Half Monty drank for making him come. Floss and Little Oral Annie drank for hash crash/murky moment (actually, LOA was an innocent bystander, as far as I could tell, who was blindsided by Floss and taken down, on trail no less. But she drank too ’cause even though she hadn’t broken anything and could physically get up, she didn’t for quite a while. Yes, shocking, but true.) Inspector, who had joined us moments earlier, a good while after the running portion of the hash was over, drank for being BLAB. ET and I drank for missing the last few hashes (Comes Lately). And then everyone else (Mr. Stiffy, Nape, and Sky/Deerwacker) drank for not having done anything worthy of a down down. And remember that FRB at the beginning of the hash? He would have had to drink but he did a little extra athleticism and jogged the half mile back to his car before the down downs got started, not for warm socks as he’d said, but to hightail it out of there before we could give him the giant chartreuse shlong and his down down. I was the last one to give Floss a hand with the thing, as it were, so I ended up with it… Kindness gets you less than nowhere, but I’m not whining or anything.

We made an attempt at some singing, but despite BBBB’s presence it was pretty sad. Some more eating and drinking and chatting and pretty soon we’d run out of firewood. Pretty much everyone made it over to the On On In at the Dryden Hotel, which was quieter this time around. Things started to break up around 7 and I left about a half hour later. And then, I understand, things got really crazy. I just hope the aforementioned curse of combining Virgil and BW as the hare did not hit BBBB, or anyone else.

On On