Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...

hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB | Zig Zag Hash #(something) Trash | Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem | BH3 - 43rd Founders Day Trail Trail | New Year, New You Trail |

hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB (28 days ago)
What: Hash Backwards Trash
Where: Zero Washington Dog Park
Who: Shits and Ladders
Pack: Right, a lot of justs, a just who was named Full Frontal Fireball, a virgin, Sex the Final Frontier, PoPo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Organsm Falmon, Dribbles, Bring Out the Gimp, Wikipedophilia, Testicular Mechanics, Foreskin Abortion, Bottom Wrangler, Quarter Mile Queer, Dry Hose, a just from holden (well, rutland, but I’ll take it), other’s I’m forgetting.
Chalk talk:
The marks being blue and well trodden were slightly hard to see, and since we were all eating pizza (suprisingly good?), we weren’t paying much attention. There were no flour marks, though the majority of trail would be laid in flour. We did introductions in a record amount of time, as a very drunk Wrangler spon around in the middle and told us to “Yell out our names” when he pointed to us. The virgin was very confused, but we ran off anyway.
Trail goes up, because of course it does:
Trail turned left out of the start, and we were immediately deprived of some of the best urban shiggy and abandoned train cars in boston. We ran around the back of a retire complex then crossed Washington street when we saw and sign which cruelly promised that a T station might be there soon.. We ran up a short road, crossed a green bridge, then got to a 5 way intersection and a song check. Unfortunately the motorists had their windows up so they couldn’t hear us saranade them with the gang bang song. We crossed the intersection almost directly and ran pretty much straight up the backside of whatever-hill-has-that-tower-on-it-in-Somerville to our first beer check. There was some pleasant musical accompanyment for the FRBs, but by the time pack got there the muscianians had dispersed.
Beer check sans music:
The beer was dropped off and the musicians left. We spent time enjoying the views of our fair city and wondering where trail would go from there. We were promised an indoor or outdoor onin, depending on weather. I had my suspicions, which were wrong, and caused some bad zenning in the future.
Trail goes down:
Apparently Somerville is fixing stairs and doesn’t want people running on grass? Anyway, we had to run around the tower to get back down to Union square, and a check that was actually solved relatively easily, given the roads in the area. We ran over the bridge past CEPs old place, and Testicular tried really hard to pull a Butler by darting out in front of a car. Everyone saw the car stop and then ran around it too. This very much confused the driver and he tried to yell at us, but we were running for beer! There was a group hug a bit down from CEPs and I am getting confused as to how we got there without cross a major street, but I’m assuming somehow we did?  We then had a nice jaunt through deep Cambridge and it’s warren of not-quiet logically connecting streets until we ended up at the backside of the Kendal area. There were no marks down the train tracks because apparently those tracks are becoming more and more active? Trail ran through the bio-tech building neighborhood to and we were finially rewarded with a beer near a dog park/playground thing off Binary street.
Beer check in the dark:
Despite the lengthening days, it was getting dark and we were getting kinda cold. I found out that one of our just was from Rutland and that sadly he was more well versed in the Holden bar scene than I am. In my defense I actively avoid the Holden bar scene like the bubaunic fucking plauge. Cool story.  With the darkness encrouching on our rage, we hastily finished our beers and took off in search of trail.
Trail smart or stupid? Everyone’s stupid.
Trail ran straight for a few blocks to a smart/stupid check. Gimp somehow found trail and ran almost straight to the end. I thought I knew better than to follow a Gimp sprinting off into the unknown, so instead I followed Sex. I have regrets in my life. We scouted a block and found trail and then verily happily ran trail, despite marks being slightly hard to find, for a few blocks. We heard On-On calls in the distance and were vauguely heading towards them. Then there was a check dozen people coming from one way and a dozen people coming from another and we kinda just looked at eachother all stupid like until I decided that maybe following Sex wasn’t a good idea, so I followed falmon and we eventually found our back to the joining arrows of the smart/stupid – but still no sign of Gimp. A few blocks later we were running past the court house and our beerdars were flashing red alart. A quick mob-run across Cambridge street greeted us with a Beer Near and OnIn at Courtside.
Circle got started quickly with the Ras accusing the hare of an S-H-I-T-T-Y trail, and the hare singing a short dity about our sisters. We then brought in our virgin who was close to guessing what eight something squared was and had a very ineresting interpartation of a pig orgasming. She’s now a just, and I promise to be good a remember justs this summer! #scribegoals Sensing that pack was already drunk and that there was a story which just needed to be told, the RAs accused Just Lindsey of being a just. As she knelt before us we heard tale of her drinking too much fireball at marathon, going home, leaving her door open (who amoung us hasn’t done that?). Her roomate then came home, thought someone had broken in and called the cops who founded our earstwhile just contentenidtly passed out on her bed. At another trail, this time in Oregon, she went down on a fellow hasher after she though trail was over. When she came up for air, she discovered that they had not finished trail, and were in fact, in circle. Based partially off these relaltively true events, just Lidnsey will be known as Full Frontal Fireball from now on. That out of the way, we moved onto accusations. Backsliders were called in, I think, though somehow I missed out? There was an accusation of a group back massage and Testicular face planting running down a hill. Since we were at Courtside there were pitchers and shitty pizza flowing generously and the RAs, admiting that they could no longer control themselves or circle, swung low. Oh yeah, there were announcements – beaver trail in Billerica Sunday, in which we might burn down Gimps house? I’m unsure. Summer campout season is upon us, so you know, get your tent and rage?

On – Rage – On

Zig Zag Hash #(something) Trash (2 months ago)
Zig Zag Hash Trash -
March Zig Zag - Willy Wonka rules
Hare: E = I'm a Douche
Beer bike: Clits and chips and chips and clits
Pack: Me, The Buttler Hit it, Mr Bean, Just brad, Just Ian, Just Cydney. This was the first time I ever actually ran a zig zag trail, as I have hared all the others.
Prelube: Pack congregated at Sligo Pub, a little hole in the wall that some of you may have experienced. We drank beers and wondered who else was cumming tonight, and it turned out to just be us. Douche left at 9:30 to do a thing and pack eventually wandered off after him to do their thing.
First leg: It turns out a pack of 6 moves a lot slower than what we are used to seeing at Zig Zag, and we slowly worked our way through Somerville, solving checks. Just Brad took a digger on the ice (for which I would later drink), a random hasher who didn't know Boston had a hash identified himself but refused to join us, Chits and Clips pedaled indefatigably and we all just perservered until we got to the beer check.
First BC: As we basked in the glow of our reasonably cold Natty Ice in some park by some railroad tracks in Somerville, Just Cydney (or should I say Violet Beauregard) gave in to the temptation of being warm and going to sleep. "It's willy wonka rules," I joked, not knowing the precience of those very words.
Second Leg: About 5 minutes in, Mr. Bean (Augustus Gloop) fell into the proverbial chocolate river and went off to see a man about a horse or see a horse about a girl or something like that. How do you like them apples?
Up the hills, down the hills we ran, as Douche watched us sipping ciders. We were even slower and midnight came fast. Our valiant beer biker realised that she had to leave or risk being stranded in Magoun Square, so she got on a bus. I've decided she is the Veruca Salt of the story because of her selfish desire to go home at a reasonable hour. I hopped on the beer bike and pedaled away as she hunted for the 89 bus stop, her silhouette receding in the distance until she was but a speck on the horizon.
Second BC: In a park somewhere. Buttler, Douche, Just Brad, Just Ian and me.
Third Leg: We proceded to the on-in, Buttler's house... Almost all of us. Just Brad (Mike Teevee) bailed about 2 blocks away. It was 1am, and apparently some people like sleeping more than drinking. There's no accounting for taste.
On-in: What I expected to be a really short circle ended up being pretty fun. We sang songs, complained to the hare about his shitty trail, and did honor downdowns for the fallen soldiers. I did the math about how many hours I would get to sleep before my kids woke me up and headed back to my car.
Announcements: Trail the next day somewhere, Boston Marathon 4/13, Zig Zag marathon 4/6
If you're still reading, I am looking for a hare for 4/6. If you are interested please message me.

Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem (3 months ago)
Sweagle presents Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem
Hare: Swedish Eagle
Bag car: Shart of Darkness
Bag car car: Massage a Trois
Pack: TinderDick, Angry Crotch, Mudslut, Choke and Stroke (Chicago), Bring Out Your Gimp, Blondie McFucksalot, Yellow Dick Gnome, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Cuntcussion, Clit Notes, Sex: The Final Frontier, Crooner Screwer and Fuck of the Irish (couple proximally from RI), Just Sarah, 5 Inch Penalty, Luva Lamp, Just Matt, Marbleous Asshole
We started at Vagina Pizzeria in Wellington. I dismounted from my incredibly smelly Orange Line steed and was about to complain to myself about how I never find any damned thing in these generic artificial attempts at neighborhoods built over recovered industrial space when I spotted a Shart, tracking her to native drinking environment. Pack arrived, hare finally left after 3 and yet we waited. Bag Car was here, but Bag Car CAR, belonging to Massage a Trois, was not here. It seems she had been occupied giving herself chemical burns with an Apple watch, thus losing track of time.
Leg1: Through many parking lots and the school district that I work in, we followed a Sweagle trail - laid sparsely but findable for the fastest 69% of pack, while losing the other 31%. A Song Check after a middle school caused us to pause and take note of our fallen comrades, whom Fellowship then returned to locate.
Once we cross the Mystic River, I recognized where we were, though I was arrested by a Tit Check. A record 7 Harriettes came, but all passed me by (story of my life) and 5 Inch and I stopped to consider the probability that 7 Harriettes - with 14 mammaries between them - would all eschew the check*. Muddy's house was Beer Check 1 and we were greeted by hot chocolate, Mallort, and choices to roofie ourselves. The trailing 31% of pack managed to consolidate and eventually found their way to us.
Leg 2: We proceeded around the Tufts Alum Field, and Sweagle found every single stair in Tufts and took us up them. At the top of one set, Fellowship waited in mirth, making us all certain that a Check Back awaited us, but it proved pure trolldom. After about 4.20 miles exactly:
Gimp: I wonder what the chances are this ends at Buttler's.
Just Matt: High.
We found our way to Buttler's, held lengthy accusations in which we all took turns** stalling until pizza and wings came. We accused Bag Car Car of being her usual hot mess, the visitors performed a skit(?) for us, we all drank a social for losing TinderDick again, Shits 'N Ladders arrived just in time to be a Sweat Test Failure, Cuntcussion announced some kind of Big April Event, involving Fireball and Smirnoff Ice. We swung low and got a piece.
* Pint of lager, I realized our calculations were moot, as such probabilities are not independent
** Just kidding, accusations were a truly indefatigable Blondie marathon.
Upc*ming dates:
Wednesday: MisMan meeting
Saturday: Zigzag H3 (Douche)
Sunday: Daylight Ragings Time (Hoes and Cougar Whisperer), bag car needed
Following Saturday: March Ballbuster (Sweagle)
April 13: Marathon Main Event

BH3 - 43rd Founders Day Trail Trail (4 months ago)
The 40-somethingth Founders' Day Trail
Hares: Dead WIki, Live WIki and Clit Notes
Bag car: Dribbles
Pack: Sex: The Final Frontier, Pat My Fly, Just Matt, Knuckles Deep, Clit Notes, Just Lindsay, Master Gator, Hare Club, Pop Cum Ear I'm Infected, Just Sarah, Massage A Trois, Cherry Popping Paddy, Quarter Mile Queer, The Buttler Hit It, Waxx Off (STF), Virgin Nick

Prologue: Doing nothing but checking my social media obsessively, I resolved to head to the newly reopened Beacon Hill Pub early and read. I arrived to find Knuckles already there with a self-starting virgin who learned of the hash when he stumbled across a Red Dress Run in South Carolina. We marveled at how much BHP had undergone in the 6.9 ish weeks it was shut down: there was now a door to the toilet so it was possible to shit without the need to avoid eye contact (or to make it vigorously?).

Leg 1: Wiki is the Machine who Goes "BING"

We were promised a short trail with a new* On-In. Trail was dead-laid and we wondered out, finding very little marks. We found a trail going through a building tunnel, but it lead to a CB6 and we were back to where we started. Somehow approx. 69% of pack found trail, leaving me, Quarter Mile, Just Matt, and Hare Club(?) wandering desperately. Just Matt elected to follow the old adage, "Trail Always Goes Uphill". Still nothing. We shouted our desperation, lost until finally we heard a nonchalant "On-On" from what could only be the voice of Buttler!

We followed Buttler to pack and happily reunited (0:22). We followed pack down hill to Cambridge St, where not even a check was to be found. We ran back and found nothing until Wiki stood directly next to the mark we were supposed to see and directed our attention. The utterly invisible mark was well camouflaged by road salt of the exact same color and the fact that all of pack, excepting Just Lindsday neglected cranium lamps on a winter trail that started at 6:30pm. We proceeded in this manner, utilizing Wiki sonar to locate the marks that may as well have been laid in disappearing ink, until arriving at a CB.

I ran out ahead down Cambridge St, finding a check at Staniford. Giving up after several scouts, I began to take note of which direction Wiki was willing to walk with pack and redirected my energies accordingly. With the hindsight of Strava, this is where we lost Buttler (0:38). As he was scouting west, we ran down Staniford, guided by Wiki and when Buttler turned around we were gone. Buttler valiantly strode pack and forth about 5 times, without the benefit of Wiki sonar, before finally solving trail.

By this time, we had proceeded through the West End apartment complexes, toward Storrow. I half-assedly scouted that way before turning around and seeing Wiki unmoved to the direction of the other scouts. Trail went past the science museum. Without stopping to find marks, I went straight to one of our favorite beer checks, though it had moved to be under a bridge to ensure maximum windiness.

Leg 2: So Cold.

Clit Notes volunteered to join Wiki to live lay and they were off about 6.9 minutes later than we wanted, given the cold. We found utterly no trail in 368 degrees, but Just Lindsay found a mark on the sea wall, leading us through the toast warm Cambridgeside Galleria and on out to a Song Check, which I relocated to into the warm toasty mall, where muggles completely ignored our entreaty to Meet the Hashers.

More near-invisible marks lead us through Kendall, a Hash Sitapeed, and out onto some river road. As we took the Longfellow back to Boston, QMQ and I mused that the "new*" On-In was likely BHP. We were arrested by a Song Check, and a CB2, before heading down into the lovely new landscaped area. At this point, we gave up and zenned to BHP, Just Matt displaying an enormous feat of rac*sm in sprinting ahead last minute to win the hash and the associated medals.

Circle began and Wiki sang Hasher Charlie on the MBTA with the one verse anyone knew. I attempted to improvise my own verse about Wiki and sh*tty, but got stuck and Wiki-ed myself when I found myself unable to rhyme "marks" in time.

Since we were waiting for pizza, we stuck on accusations for a while, lasting longer than any hasher would in bed. We accused Wiki several times of the trail. Waxx Off was a Sweat Test Failure. We demented the Virgin, who declared himself to be back woods. We decided we didn't find him acceptable but would take him anyway. We swung low, attempted to finish our beers, and walked to HK for 1S1DH3 (2:22). The evening finally ended a little after 2 that morning as I stumbled out of Coon Ass' place trying to catch a Lyft home that turned out not to exist.

On - 43 more years - On

New Year, New You Trail (4 months ago)
New Year, New You Trail - Jan 6, 2019
Hares: Shart of Darkness (alone)
Bag car: Massage a Trois
Pack: Tinderdick, Virgin Cara, Virgin Jack, Shits 'N Ladders, Sex: The Final Frontier, Knuckles Deep, Cock Lobster, Quarter Mile Queer, Clit Notes, Bottom Wrangler, Honorable Vaginal Discharge, Easy as 123, Just Matt, Deflatedate, Orgasm Falmon, Wax Off, Yellow DIck Gnome, Dribble, Just Sarah, Swedish Eagle, Cuntcussion, Dry Hoes, No Man, Just Lindsey.

Thinking I was FRB, I was walking to the Sill for prelube, when I came upon Tinderdick ahead of me. We arrived at the bar, finding a half dozen hashers already premature at 2:30. We milled around musing that SIlouette was one of few dives the Hash had touched that hadn't closed yet. Quarter Mile brought the 2 virgins for the sacrifice as promised. Cuntcussion complained that she had to shower that morning to get wine out of her hair.* Bag Car arrived as late as pack was early and Quarter Mile barely got a Chalk Talk out between troll hecklings.

I headed totally the wrong way and pack solved trail through the CVS parking lot and past Penniman playground (Light Side/Dark Side BC2) and over the Mass Pike via Everett St Bridge.

On the other side, Shits quickly spotted On-On, only to turn out False. We joined the rest of pack through the student slums of Lower Allston before arriving at the Collins Square Shot Check, also stolen from the Light Side/Dark Side trail 3 weeks earlier. I ran down Franklin St, figuring that the hare was just going to steal our route to Harvard Stadium so that the November Project people could do some more stairs. Such disappointment when marks abruptly ended, though lead around a fun little loop of a housing nook featuring mammaries. BC1 was the most Allston hasher place in existence - between a podcast production studio and a towtruck lot. PBR was featured, but so was Rebel IPA. Surely, this trail was too fancy for the likes of us .

Leg 2: New Year - New Police

As pack headed out, we happened upon Soldiers Field Road, a perfectly safe minor road for a pack of running drunkards to stumble across. Appropriately, we stayed on our side looking for marks. We fumbled around before someone yelled On-On from the other side and off we went to the river, coming across a (barely) undercover police car staking us out. We ran back to bagcar for BC2 for more assortments of nice beer and cider. Still too fancy,

Leg3: Never Trust a Shart After Mile 3.

Shart assured us that between the 3.5 miles we had and ON-IN, we would be sure to hit ballbuster length. A False led a few people into the little circle island thing, which, when revealed to be False, left the poor victims to fail to find a way out, having to backtrack.

A stupid-stupider split left your trust scribe conflicted, but he elected to be stupid and follow trail across the Eliot St bridge into Cambridge. After running through a hospital parking lot, we mused if trail would end at Paddy's, though a knowledgeable few claimed that Shart somehow lived around here.

After a few more scoutings, we found that Shart had become suddenly wealthy, opulent and retired-age old in the time since we had last seen her and she lead us into a domicile, sure to be home to a Supporting-level member of NPR, far too fancy for the likes of any hasher, asking us to remove shoes before being lead into the resplendent basement nicer than any of our parents', replete with a bathroom, exercise equipment, a sauna, and white carpet we were sure to not leave any visible stains on. It turned out to be Shart's housesitting charge.

Virgins were demented by Gnome, who forgetting that Jack was Jack, asked him if he had an uncle Jack and what he would do to help his Uncle Jack. We didn't find them acceptable but took them anyway. Accusations flew, including showering because of wine in the hair. Upcoming events such as Marathon were announced. We swung low and assured the Virgins-Cum-Justs that we would always have good beer on trail and we also always end in the cozy warmth of private Cambridge chateaus of some Harvard professor. At some point in time, remaining hashers did crow pose and I don't remember why. Sporadically, Shart's boyfriend came to check on us, never staying more than the minimum 10 seconds to confirm that we were alive.