IH3 Trail #477

Subject: Rehash #477 dimanche gras (Fat Sunday)

My BLABing ass rolled up Eastman Hill road in Wilseyville around 2:30 to find all prehash activities going on in a warm house. A damn fine way to start a hash in the snowy, windy, cold weather we were having. On my way inside I found 1/2 Monty and Hershey, and I also saw Arlo chillin’ in the back of a Subaru. Inside I found our hares for the day, Extra Testicle, and Dances with Head, as well as my fellow hashers Pussy Pong, Spike, Cocksmith, and Pippi Schlongstocking. Seeing as this was our pre Mardi Gras hash, I grabbed a couple of strands of beads to adorn my self for the hash.

Then, our hares set us hounds loose. We checked up the hill, and across the street, before finding true trail heading (HEAD, who said head?) down the hill on the road. Thank goodness ET seemed to have more than half a mind in his noggin, and ran to the front to point out where a turn mark had been ruined by a snow plow. We turned up the hill and into a field where the wind was nasty, but fortunately we were back in the woods before long. Up-up, up-up, up-up we went… to a check, Spike, Cocksmith, Pippi, Arlo and yours truly, Bürpenstain, present. Hmmm… A 1/4 mind (hash dog) short… While I called for Hershey, Cocksmith and Spike pondered altering check rules for low hash turnout, but the issue was moot as Hershey came charging up the hill and into the check. And check we did, trail was found and on-on we went down the snow covered hill side, and back up, and down, and up. Spending half the time sliding and half slipping. Bounding through the forest we went, trying to keep low hanging braches from taking out our eyes. We emerged from a stand of pine trees to find ourselves on the Finger Lakes Trail, and after not very long on the FLT those wonderful letters BN were scrawled on the side of the trail. As I arrived at the beer check, I wondered, "where is the beer?" Eventually Spike arrived to help me find said beer.

"There are foot prints going that way"
"Hmmm… one of them took a leak here"
"Hey, there are some tire tracks, over there"
"Jackpot, a cooler"

We popped a couple of cans of cold beer-like fluid (Labatts) and sloshilized as the pack came in to enjoy the beer. We learned that Pippi and Cocksmith had been hashing (haring, in Pippi’s case, a ‘trailer trash hash’) 24 hours ago down in State College, and that Pippi was still hung over. We discussed hashing in State College, and how to get more people to cum to the Ithaca hash. Then, since it was Fat Sunday, Half Monty showed us his tits (he said it was so we could all say we saw boobies at our Mardi Gras hash). It should be noted that even though almost all of us were packing beads, none of them were bestowed upon .5 Monty at this time.

As we finished our beer, I pondered heading back to the start of the hash, since is was only a couple hundred yards away, but the possibility of finding another beer near got me following flower and koolaid, rather than the call of the wood stove I knew would be at the on-in. Down the FLT we went, and then, into the woods, up and down, and across a wind blown field. ON-IN the flower said… Damn, I should’ve listened to my fingers and toes instead of my thirst. To our hare’s credit, this leg of the trail was not very long…

Circle was formed in the kitchen. Junk food was eaten. Offences were numerous. An almost certainly incomplete listing of down-downs follows:

Hares: ET & DWH
BLEAB: .5 Monty
BLAB: Bürpenstain
FRB: Bürpenstain
Flashing: 1/2 Monty
Murky: PP & DWH
Dog Owners: Half Monty, Pippi, and Cocksmith
No Mug: ET and somebody else

Even Spike drank for something, but what that was escapes my half mind at the moment

Pippi received the "who said head?" award from Monty/2, and then posed as a totem pole with the giant purple head protruding from the front of his pants (Cocksmith, you are a lucky woman… I guess…).

We broke circle, and hung out with frankenkitty by the wood stove for a while.

On-on,
Bürpenstain