Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...
|!! Unicron (sic) Trash !!
(about 3 years ago)
**Today you are getting TWO hash trashes for the price of one! Were the space unicrons a glittery mess? Was Wiki’s Fat Boy trail actually a Fat Boy? Keep reading to find out!**
Editor’s note: As you have probably long suspected, Wiki-corn and Sharty-corn are actually the same person. Thus, we are jointly referred to as “I” throughout this hash trash. And by that, I mean that the editor was too drunk and too lazy to make the pronouns intelligible (or to correct the typos, which are a beloved part of hash trashes at this point).
Editors second note: A fith unicorn (I plead the fifth) also remembered and wrote down what they saw and experinced, and that retelling has been afixed to between the "offical unicron trash" and the hang over trash.
Since I was at that point in the morning feeling quiet sober and somewhat responsible I got to the start bright and early, just before 8:30. The bar tenders – very nice – seemed confused and slightly amused by me, but they fed me breakfast and made a beermossa, so all’s good. Slowly, over the next half hour unicorns began coming down the stairs. First one, then two, then dozens at a time, the bar was quickly overwhelled by 69 people, pretty much all in pink or other eye-jaring colors, so already bedecked as unicorns, others await their give-aways.
The give aways arrived and we started registeration – tags, cozies and hats. Oh, the hats. They were hand-made pink or black unicorn hats with extremely phallic beige horns that looked like gaint dicks, slightly redundant, but whatever. I apologize for forcing the hash to chose between pink or black, but, lets be honest, that was the hardest decision we made all day.
The first hare (Easy As 123) was given her sash and sent away at the same time we went out to do chalk talk in front of the fire station. Chalk talk was amazing because it introduced us to the newest addition to the “hash” – Blubber’s megaphone. I can’t describe it in words, I lack the ability to properly convey the experience around it, but whatever. It should also be noted that this megaphone was later used (abused) to play a really jarring siren sound, which never ceased to make me jump for a second no matter how many times Blubber did it, and also to "whisper" sweet nothings into.
Trail started around the fire station, down to Newbury then up to Mass Ave and towards the brigde. Standing at the foot of the bridge was Easy, and a guy on a bike blasting dance music from a speaker on the trailer of his bike. (Shout-out to Boston Bike Party! Many thanks to Jon for helping us rock out.)
As one of the FRBs, it seemed natural to me to form a tunnel of ribbons and unicorn helmets to welcome the other hashers to party. The hashers all understood what we were doing and danced along and joined the line, though the muggles who were innocently going for a light morning jog (the j is soft) were more than slightly confused and giggled nervously as they ran through a tunnel of adults in pink and blue acting more like children. From there trail devolved into a roving dance party around the bicycle dude* as we danced our way across the Mass Ave Bridge then along memorial drive to a beer check where the bums and the ducks hang out. Blubber is terrified of geese and said that if any attacked him, he’d f them up. Luckily, none attacked him as we had already made a shit-ton of sandwhiches for trail, but more on that later.
As we were standing around mindless drinking our beer and eating very strong taffey (was the taffey that strong or am I that out of practice?) (where was I for this taffy?!), Peeping-corn grabbed the bull horn and explained to everybody what this trail was about. It was about hashing, and, to a lesser extent running, but mainly about beering, and for each beer a hasher completed, they would be rewarded with a customized pin representing that hare, or something. Once everyone had finished their beers, we were forced to trust the remaining taquitos, as they had disappeared to hare the next leg.
[Editors note] This was “supposed” to be vag’s trail…but shart is a unicorn, so we allowed it.
With instructions to find someone we trusted (amoungst hashers that was a bold assumption) and to then have one person of the pair blindfold themselves, the hash set about trying to figure out who they could trust, or just not participate (challenge by choice) at all. For some reason that G only knows, Jello decided to trust me. I led her up out of the beer check to the road, with the only mild complaint that I was “having her walk into trees” I then had her step over/onto a construction barrier and across the bridge. Everyone else was walking, but I was dedicated to running as much of trail while sober as I could so, I started running and kind of dragged her along. We got to a blindfold-swap check halfway across the bridge, and I got what was coming. Cold beer and lager, I’ve never been more terrified; just as I was building up courage, jello ran me into a light post abutment because she was busy taking my picture. Whatever, she’s an amazing rage-animal. She also guided me – somehow – across 4 lanes of traffic and 2 sets of train tracks. Safety third.
When we switched blindfolds next, I turned and saw that Butler had somehow procured two “Stop” signs, like what they use for school kids, and was escorting pack across Comm Ave. I guess once you get hit by a car, you’re kind of weary of them for a few years. We sang about blind jelly fish, then continued into Brookline. Spotting Alicia^2 running ahead of us, I pulled Jello into a run, against her protests, but was able to guide her to a tit check (she has amazing tits), down a hill, across a train track, through some shiggy, and to the beer check, though not in anything even close to that order. So there we were almost FRBing the beer check (she stopped when I ran her into a tree), when a park ranger shows up. I went over to him thinking myself somewhat responsible and he assured us that he didn’t care and was only checking on the bums. Harlot somehow assumed command, and told everyone to relax and wait until he was gone. But we didn’t and when he returned from checking on the bums he decided to remind us of the open container laws, jerkface, whatever, we took a group picture then gave Senior Cocksucker a PooF start.
Started down the path we were on, then turned off to a song check by Longwood medical where we sang about our continued problems finding employment in Chicago, before scouting in every direction except for the direction trail went – back over the Fens and into Brookline.
We finally reached a group hug check in the middle of a playground, where we assembled for a passionate embrace amid the bemused children and the concerned parents. (Actual quote from a bystander: “Let the unicorns pass, honey.”) Finally, we turned a corner and saw a semi-sketchy guy smoking a cigarette outside a minivan. Yankee calmly informed us, to take a beer and go to the beer check. The beer check was maybe a mile down the same park, but the ranger wasn’t there so we drank and peeded, and generally had a good time until we noticed that our next hare, the fabulous, wonderful and rage-tasktic Anal Disco has disappeared.
Someone needs to take this lady to New Orleans and show her what a Cajun is. Side note: Disco received special permission from the SUH3 to distribute more than the allotted amount of alcohol on trail, so whenever you hear about her trail, remember that imaginatively marked as it was, there were 4 shot checks, and you were already 3 (or 4) beers deep. Onto the trail itself, it ran down a road, crossed another, then went up some hills. She took liberties with what checks meant what (true trail as a check?), invented some checks of her own (including the infamous “I don’t know what I’m doing” squiggly-line check), and was, according to other scribes, almost snared.
Eventually, though, she led us to the top of a hill and, to a sight that the FRBs were becoming familiar with, a sketchy man standing outside a minivan – Yankee awaiting pack with beer. We moved the beer check into the woods so that we could technically qualify trail as “level 1” shiggy, and collected our pins. Sooner or later, most likely later, a ginger count was taken and we were down to one; Piggy was here, but Krusty was gone.
Krusty claimed to have lain a check in the middle of the road so there was no reason for pack to run up one hill, then up another, but we did. There were no marks up there, trust me. There were marks leading down the hill, through the VA and towards the end of the Emerald necklace. Vaguelly recalling that Krusty had asked for flour I started scouting trees after the check back, however there was no flour and the marks were on rocks. Surprisingly, pack was able to follow trail, through a professional photo shoot, up a hill, across a road, and through a field to the YARG challenges. (YARG = “Y’all Ain’t Right Games.” I’m pretty sure the Krusty Goat just wanted to invent an official-sounding name to make their friends do stupid things, but it involved consuming beverages, so we’ll allow it.)
The YARG challenge was simple; the first 6 FRBs had to find 5 friends (teams of 6), then run to the bottom of the revene. There, one person was to be the unicorn (ie, get on all fours) while the other 5 mounted them; only the mounters could drink; first team to finish, won. I was on TEAM SHART (the best team! clearly!) with Coonass, Gnome, and Dildo-bag-on, or something. We were the only team that ran to the bottom of the ravene, and therefore the only team that won, but, whatever, we all got pins and Johnie Depp was proud. Also, it was after noon, and pack was getting hungry. They were told that they would be fed after the next leg, but that the next leg would be the longest leg.
Whore-a-corn hared this one with one simple rule; the two FRBs to each Whoredore check had to Hodor each other (piggy back) until they found the next check. Though, in reality this mean that everyone Whoredored the first check, including a triple whoredore (that’s fucking team work!), then realized that Whoredoring was actually quiet difficult, and only a few continued on trail. Special commendation for Sweagle to actually running while carrying me (again, for the purposes of this hash trash, “me” could be either Shart or Wiki; choose according to the humor level).
Eventually, 2.5 miles, 2 hills and a check back later, we found Whore-a-corn standing, calm, commanding, instructing us that yes, we had reached the check, yes, there was food, yes there was beer, but also that yes, there were cops. Eventually G interviened from the Great On-In, and the cop left and we were able to proceed to a lunch/beer check at the bear cages.
Lunch lasted a while, and there was talk of making up time. However, since we were at the furthest point, there was nothing we could do. We did spill the unicorn beans and admit that we had, in fact, cut a lunchtime beer-mile from trail. People were shocked that we even considered such a thing; we were shocked at their surprise. A few additional things of note happened on the Whoredore trail; firstly, Udder-corn and others Ubered it to the BC, winning, maybe, if it weren’t for the next tail. The walkers stopped at a bar to relieve themselves – nothing special – until it came up in passing conversation that one of the walkers, and I’m accusing DUI of this, had never heard of, or done, a shot-ski. Luckily, the bar had one, so a fire-ball-shot-ski was had on trail by DUI, Buster and Blowhole.
Pappy lives near a play ground and so he took it on himself to lay trail through every single playground between the zoo and some random green space that the Unicorns spotted on google maps. Apparently there was a moment during which there was a swing set check and the swing set was occupied by three children and… Tickets. We really had no idea about this one, and asides from some locals thinking the park was a perfect place to do body work on an aging Camery, it was a perfect beer check. Also, someone gave Two Minute Ride a beer for running up a hill. Boston’s a great city.
Also of note: there was a hash sit-a-pede laid at the top of a hill, wherein someone had the *brilliant* idea to sing “Dinah Won’t You Blow Me,” and YHS had the even more brilliant idea to jump during the jumping-moment. It went about as well as you might expect, given that we were all perched precariously on each other’s laps.
It was getting hard to keep running; the beers and the miles were piling up. I was also getting confused about where we were and where we had placed the beer checks, so the turns of trail were constantly surprising me. That being said, this leg of trail had been specifically chosen, and planned for Bloody who said “I want a hilly trail” so we gave him a hilly trail. Bloody later came to his senses, so we gave the trail to the biggest r*cist we could think of: CPA.
Trail ran down hill from Pappy’s beer check, across the train checks, then up hill, and down hill and up hill and down hill, past where we circled for Moon AGM, past Cum Ear’s house, then up another hill to what I’m calling Mission Hill Park, because it’s a park, on a hill. Pack collectively collapsed on the ground sipped their beer from semi-prone positions. Friar showed up about 10 minutes after Eagle had left and decided that he wanted to stay horizontal for as long as possible, so he rolled down the hill.
Eagle-corn laid a trail that only Eagle-corn could lay, after a YBF and a check beck, we were running behind the MFA when we hit another check back. CPA-corn and I were feeling drunk and lazy so we strongly suggested that pack look for marks in the Fenns, and surprisingly, there they were! Though, again, not the part of the Fenns I thought we were going to, but, whatever. There was beer, there were bushes, and there was sitting.
As peepers left, CPA-corn came up to me and told me that pack was drunk, it was getting dark, and we were going to combine Udder and Blubber’s trail (which made perfect sense), leaving trail as Peepers->Wiki->Udder + Blubber. What I didn’t know was that Peepers needed help laying trail, so you can thank Udder for getting you to the next beer check. The trail was quiet simple; out of the Fenns, past Bloody’s apartment (a much needed bathroom break), up Mass Ave to Synphony, across Mass Ave (lead by the fearless Wiki-corn “Clearly they can see us; they have to stop!”), around the empty reflecting pool and into the Southwest corridor park, where we were greeted once again by our favourite sight of a sketchy guy smoking a cigarette while handing beer out of a mini-van. Apparently beer wasn’t the only intoxicant enjoyed at that beer stop:
I have no idea what you guys did, but here’s what happened to me. After laying the GBC and running through the mall, I stopped in front of the fountains/marble platform, looked around, didn’t see anybody and thought “this would be a perfect place for a song check” so I drew one and ran on. Approaching Neiman Marcus, I stopped again and drew an S/S check, leading either out to the right or through the store, then ran through the store. As I was outside laying the second GBC a pimply-faced mall cop asked if he could talk to me. I said sure, and he asked what I was doing, etc. I explained I was leading a scavenger hunt, that I apologized for vandalizing private property, and that I’d gladly go back and wash all the marks off. He paused, and called his manager over, and I repeated my story; neglecting to tell them that in about 10 minutes 70 glittery unicorns would be following me. The manager, moved by my honestly, pink pantaloons and dick helmet, said I could go, so I laid a true trail and ran into Back Bay station to mark the walls and stairs leading to track 2. No sooner had I finished the true trail than I had another friendly conversation with T-cop, who basically wanted to make sure I wasn’t drawing “gang graffiti” I said “No, I’m not in a gang; I’m leading a scavenger hunt.” And again, persusuaded by my baby blue eyes, the friendly cop let me go. We were supposed to play “Chubby Bunny” at the beer check, but no one was interested.
At the beer check behind the CVS we were presented with the most glow sticks I’ve seen outside of a Phish concert (Butler and I agree that Suzie throws are wasted, and the 2001 and Hood are the best ones), along with finger lights. Basically we were going to book-end the trail with roving dance parties. This party took us through Chinatown, downtown crossing and the old state house. Everyone was yelling “On-on to hong kong” and I was muttering “it’s not the hong kong” and eventually we all found our way to the basement room of the Wild Rover, and the beer flowed free. Well, not free, $1.50 per draft, which is pretty much free.
Happened shortly after everyone arrived and consisted of a dual accusation of hares and planners, though I have no idea what was sung to us, nor what we sang, followed by Peepers throwing pins at people. Blubber and Krusty, realizing that they could no longer control themselves or pack, quickly moved onto announcments – Burlington Mardi Gras first week in March – then onto religion. Finally, we were released to descend upon the thing resembling food in the corner.
“Space Unicorns….them, them, fuck them! May the Hash Go in Peace!”
Unicorn Magical Cave Rave:
To the shock and awe of all Unicorns, the basement of Wild Rover quickly morphed into a magical unicorn cave; there were glow sticks, finger lights and glitter everywhere, the roof was leaking and the beer was flowing free. Since the beer was flowing so free, we opened up the bar to any drink and fireball shots. The beer quickly stopped flowing so free, and the dancing resumed, though with a much more inheribirated crowd. After the brief experiment with "open bar" ended, we tried another experiment with "Strippy Cup" which lasted until the first shirts came off, and the bouncers quickly shut that down. [Note: we were assured by the manager that we'd be allowed to play...liars!] Every few minutes a muggle would wander down, drawn by our mythical rage powers, and I’d greet them with a glittery smile and a slurred “this is a private party.” Eventually even the party ended, and we were dispatched into the night, spreading rainbow, glitter and happiness everywhere we went.
On – May the Space Unicorns Rage Again on the Waves of Beer – On
A thrid recollection of the Unicorn Events...
My day begin early at the House of Rage (ButtlerDome). Our Uber driver was an engineer turned inventor, and shared with us his latest invention for preventing take out pizza cheese from sliding while sitting on a car’s inclined seat.
We arrived at the Pour House to looks of horror, disdain, amusement, and judgment. We embraced them knowing that beer and greasy food was a few short hops away. We ate unwisely but didn’t care. We proceeded to bag car where remarks about stuffing Yankee’s back end tightly ensued.
Chalk talk began with a megaphone that the circle quickly wanted to shove up Blubber’s corn hole, but our disdain quickly turned to delight as Harlot began her dance of the purple dildo bubble factory. Introductions were made, numerous hash names were butchered to accommodate Unicorn themed hash names.
Trail began to some cool dude with a bike, speaker, battery, and inverter cleverly in tow. The most fun death march in Boston history took us over the Charles with hashers driving cyclists out of the bike lane into traffic. They still high fived us. Bloody and several other hashers unsuccessfully attempted to coerce Muggles jogging along the Charles to join. Beer was consumed at the Divine Park of Much Geese Shit.
Someone made out with the Rapi-corn.
Blindfolds sized for 7yr olds were handed out and Trust Me began. Stop that Reich Now somehow thought that allowing me to lead him was a good idea. Muggles thought it was a pledge prank so I waited for the pack to catch up. Blindfold Swap happened and we crossed, sorta, over the Green line tracks and waited for traffic to cross Comm Ave. My guide told me to step forward just before the Green line hit me in the ass.
Reich then proceeded to carry me on his back the remainder of trail. It wasn’t auto-hashing or zenning, but somehow I felt I had won the hash.
I approached beer check yelling and was told to shut the fuck up, not noticing the blatantly obvious Ranger Dick SUV parked 10 feet away. Wiki assured me that it was OK to drink and that he had cleared it with the ranger. For some reason, I believed what Wiki said, and was just about to crack my beer when a voice behind me said “If you open that beer you will be arrested.” I called Steve Buscemi and asked him to add Ranger Dick to his list of people to kill. I took my unopened beer and thought “road sodas are fun”
The We’re-not-running-anymore mindset had sunk in, and we meandered to a lovely park where delightfully tepid beer awaited. Much smiling, biological functions, and laughing ensued. It was here that the last FB-friendly photos that might not limit future professional careers were taken. I was pleased we still had our virgins.
Leg4I literally have no recollection of this part of trail at all, until we ran into a bunch of kids on bikes. I could
not tell if there were mocking us or envious. The pack got snagged in prickers at beer check where nearly every hasher pissed in the woods.
Most of the pack had given up and it was all just drunken Lemmings. About 10 minutes into trail some hasher remarked it was no longer a Cajun trail. That didn’t help us much. CPA led us in a different direction than the pack, telling us we could take this way and still get to trail, then abruptly turned 90 degrees to follow pack anyway. Many hills later, we wound up following the same place she told us to go originally. The Force is strong with that one.
We were greeted by some hasher demanding I join his team. I was very confused and was gonna punch someone in the dick if a beer mile was expected of me. Instead, I chugged a beer and was told my team won. I chanted “we’re number1!! We’re number 1” and then fell down in an unforced error.
Trail started with several people trying to mount Tickets…..errr I mean WhoreDor. Worst case of Lemmings of the day. Trail was well laid, maybe, but WhoreDor is not a smart man and neither was the pack.
We arrived at the old abandoned zoo for lunch and shoved food recklessly into our mouths. A bunch of teens arrived smelling of Axe body spray while we munched on sandwiches and orange food. They proceeded to enter the lion cage, and Parkour Hardcore ensued to our great amusement.
Pappy left disturbing early, but I didn’t care because I knew that whiskey would make me smile. I was disappointed that my second Pappy trail of the year contained no whiskey, or maybe it did and I cannot remember.
While running through a side street some well dressed women asked what we were doing, and I replied we were celebrating the Republicans taking back the Senate. I made a baby cry. For the first time in 2 hours I might have actually ran.
I have no recollection of this beer check, at all, except Buttler getting tangled up in shiny things.
Gravity is a harsh mistress, and that bitch can go to hell. More grassy knolls at beer check. I spotted the Prudential tower and was miserable how far from Downtown we were.
Tickets told some Muggle we were running to raise money for the Westboro Baptist Church. I think there was a cool church somewhere. Everything else is suspect.
I got nothing. I was completely checked out.
A vampire had killed a unicorn by the Prud leaving behind a huge pile of glitter. I knew if I got down and rolled in it, I would need a crane to get back up. I struggled to read directions that involved some classy store I've never shopped in. We entered the warm, delightful Pru and my body temporarily revived. First time in Boston hash history I haven’t been yelled at by a mall cop.
Beer check was somewhere, but I only know that we were skipping a leg, and my throbbing knee and I rejoiced.
Hash on Final Approach
I was just following any motion in front of me. I realized my stabbing knee pain was less if I actually ran versus walked. My brain snapped out of its funk when I smelled the stench of horse urine, and I knew we had to be close to our On In.
Circle was blessedly short. Songs were sung. Lost pins were replaced. The drip in the ceiling became a steady stream of some liquid. Someone drank it to see if it was a leaky keg from upstairs, it was not. More leaks appeared in the ceiling. Circle wrapped up.
Bud Light turned to full bar briefly, I destroyed their Jameson supply, and went back to Bud Light when the organizers realized the depth of their mistake.
A short lived Strippy Cup was played and promptly ended by Ranger Dick’s long lost illegitimate brother. Steve Buscemi was on my speed dial. The ceiling sprung several more leaks. I thought about building an ark.
Swamp Whine wore my leather harness and danced. Jello disturbed us all with the unicorn head dance. More people got doused by the leaky ceiling.
After hobbling a few blocks, grabbed a cab and went to DiscoDome for OnAfter. No one home.
Text messages revealed they had diverted to CPAs place. We took the bus to CPAs and found no signs of life. More text messages revealed party has switched back to DiscoDome.
Buttler and I somehow wound up stuck on the Commuter rail track with no way out and were called terrorists by Muggles on a bridge. Bags were thrown over barb wired fences and we made our escape by burrowing under a fence.
The internets have alerted YHS to the existance of a 3rd recollection of the Unicorn trail...with our powers of scribing combined...the "truth" emerges!
FAT BOY (scribed by the lovely Bum F*cking Vagibond)
What: Fat Space Unicron
Hares: Easy as 123, Wikipedophilia
Bag Car: Bring Out the Gimp
Pack: Krusty the Meat Miser, Spunk in the Trunk, Bloody Slip Inside (And Slide? I never know), Cums Alone, Ass Stache, The Buttler Hit It, Queer and Foamy Anus, Goat Throat, Yellow Dick Gnome, Orgasm Falmon, some visitors from New York, a virgin, DUI Done Right, Salty Mudflaps, that Just who is writing an article about us, Luva Lamp, E=I'm a Douche, Friar Fuck, Goes Down on Buoys, Vagibond
Late Cummers: Shart of Darkness, Cum Ear
Wiki asked me to trash the Fat Unicron, since he was haring and the other scribes couldn't be bothered to show up on time or show up at all. Trail started at Cambridge Brewing Company, where we quickly learned that the art of splitting checks was something our underaged server did not learn in middle school. When Spunk asked for a beermosa consisting of their lightest beer and OJ, the girl accused her of trying to "force her to make mixed drinks!" After words were exchanged, I'm pretty sure she quit her job right then and there, because we didn't see her again for the rest of brunch. Somehow they eventually took our money, and the CBC was rid of us.
Mostly unremarkable, though Slippy was sort of in charge, which I guess is worth mentioning. After explaining to the lone virgin that running was discouraged and there was really no way for her to get lost on this trail, we were off.
Leg #1: somehow my legs are still working
Our slow pace was accompanied by tales of the day before and suggestions on how to remove glitter from various orifices. It didn't take us long to find the beer check under the Longfellow bridge next to a hobo's trophy case of participant awards. The hares informed us there was a lot of leftover beer from Space Unicron, so we tried our best to make a small dent in it.
Leg #2: this is for the dick checks you forgot on trail
We strolled by the river towards the Museum of Science, where the hares cleverly laid tit and dick checks every few feet in an attempt to slow us down. We blatantly disregarded them for the most part, though one cyclist might have gotten a glimpse of what is under Buttler's kilt. We spotted the hares in their neon pink hats sitting on benches surrounded by dog shit, which made drinking our beers very treacherous. The Just Journalism Student asked us some questions about hashing, arousing suspicion that he might be writing that article after all. At this point it was starting to get chilly, so we finished our (at this point, cold) beers and moved on.
Leg #3: why isn't this over yet?
Word got out that we were going to "that dog park in Charlestown," so it was pretty much a combination of zenning and following marks. We found a song check at a playground and tried to sing "Young Girls," but someone decided that wasn't appropriate for the kids. Eventually we made it to the on-in, where the likelihood of stepping in dog shit was even higher.
On-in: UGH park
We beat the bag car with the beer and food, so there was some standing around and grumbling while we waited, but we were rewarded with burritos and trail mix and far more beer than any of us cared to drink before circle even began. Cum Ear also showed up to return lost shit to people from the day before--she might have some lost hats still, if you're looking for yours.
The virgin was demented, the visitors sang us a song about Helen Keller, Wiki was accused of his previous Pearl Necklace Fatboy, anyone who was dumb enough to run over 13 miles the day before had to drink, anyone who was dumb enough not to had to drink, those who tripped on the blindfolded mile the day before were accused, and everyone got on their knees for some reason or another.
We swang low, and in an uncharacteristic turn of events, decided against using leftover beer money at an on-after location, but opted to go back to our respective glitter-filled beds instead.
11/22-PT2H3-dudes, you know the drill
12/6-B4H3 4th An*al Turducken Trail
|11/3 Eagles in Eastie trail
(about 3 years ago)
What: Eagles in Eastie trail
Hare: Swedish Eagle and, sort of, Just Todd
Bag Car: Mudslut
Pack: Bloody Slip Inside, Krusty the Meat Miser, Senor C*cksucker, Sex the Final Frontier, CEP, Shart of Darkness, PSA, CPA, Goes Down on Buoys, Wikipedophilia, Orgasm Famine, +2 Coonass, Friar F*ck, Blowbot, 5-Inch Penalty, E = I'm a Douche, Spunk in the Trunk, Luv-A-Lamp, Clit Notes, Virgin Rosie, probably others I forgot
Because the RAs were busy getting drunk on Sunday morning, the weather early in the day was absolutely disgusting (with, as you miiiiight have heard mentioned by others -- you know, once or twice or maybe A MILLION TIMES -- the first snow of the year). However, the RAs finally got their sh*t together and gave some celestial blowjobs. By the time we assembled at a middle-of-nowhere billiards bar (where we were literally the only patrons), the weather was decidedly Not So Bad.
A large contingent of the attendees were already drunk from brunch, and the rest of us were doing our best to catch up. We pondered just doing an Ugh around the bar and calling it a day, but given that the hare had already left (and not running his trail seemed like a rather sh*tty birthday gift), we eventually roused ourselves and made our way out into the cold.
Chalk talk, or, Krusty was drunk as promised
We had an edifying chalk talk wherein Krusty told us everything *except* that almost the entire trail would be laid in red flour (you had one job!). As we also quickly found out, that flour was almost impossible to distinguish from dead leaves. I'm still not sure whether I was ever actually on trail or if I was just following dead leaves the whole time.
Leg #1, or, Were there actually any marks out there??
There was some confusion right out of the gate (see: aforementioned difficulty in spotting flour). We eventually figured out that we were supposed to cross through the Orient Heights station and we weaved down a few side streets and ran past Suffolk Downs. Eventually we found ourselves stymied near another T station. (Have I mentioned that the marks were hard to see?) Eventually we found a mark in that other T station, crossed through it, and after a short jaunt found ourselves at the first beer check, which was at a marsh. My watch told me I had run about 1.5 miles -- hard to believe it was a Sweagle trail.
We huddled up behind some shrubbery and drank our PBR, which was actually cold. Some guy with a couple dogs (including one blind dog -- remember that for later, because it's relevant) stopped by and had a beer with us. We did a penguin huddle to stay warm, which led to someone mentioning orgies, which led to a rousing rendition of "At the Gang Bang."
Leg #2, or, Good thing it was perfect beach weather
Eventually, we headed out to run the rest of trail. We almost immediately got extremely lost -- trail went through a field at a school, or at least I think it did, because I never actually saw a mark on said field. However, we located a song check on the other side of the field, so we were more or less on the right track. That's basically how the rest of trail went; about half the time, we weren't seeing any marks and were just making educated guesses.
Trail continued through wherever-the-hell-we-were until it emerged onto Revere Beach, where there was a very windy and lonely tit check that held up much of the pack. Again, I saw maybe one mark on the entire beach, but someone smarter than I eventually found trail. We ran past Bill Ash's and at that point were pretty sure that trail ended at BK's, so we beelined that way only to find, to our surprise, no marks in front of the door. However, our confusion was premature (as hashers so often are) and the on-in was marked at the back door. Total distance according to my Garmin was 3.69 miles (no further comment necessary).
On-in, or, Spunk was FBI?!
The pizza had already arrived and the Pats game was started,so we commenced circle posthaste. We made some comments on trail, my favorite of which was: "I saw fewer marks than that one guy's dog!" (Remember the blind dog?? Get it?????)
FBI was Spunk in the Trunk (!!), whose keen knowledge of Revere dives led her right to the appropriate location. FRB was none other than Krusty. DFL was -- I forget -- let's assume it was Friar.
Wiki returned a pair of my shoes I had forgotten in his car, with some nips tucked inside (pretty sure I didn't leave those there). I refused to drink them out of my shoes and was promptly given one of Krusty's shoes. At least the vodka killed all the germs, right?
Virgin Rosie became a virgin no more, other things happened but I don't really remember them, everyone was distracted by the Pats game, the locals in the bar were amused (or maybe just annoyed) and took pictures of us.
Finally, we swung low, descended upon the pizza, and ate ourselves into a cheese- and beer-induced stupor while watching men in tights run into each other. America, f*ck yeah!
11/8 - Space Unicron - it's finally here!
11/22 - PT2H3 Sadie Hawkins - gents, if you haven't been pinned yet, start thinking about how to get on a harriette's good side (hint: alcohol helps)
12/6 - 4th An*al B4H3 turducken trail
- We need hares for 12/28! You'll need a break from your family anyway. Email me to sign up.
- We are starting an Adopt a Newbie program for new hashers who are interested in haring but needed to be corrupted -- er, guided -- by a more experienced hasher (wink wink). If you are interested (as either a newbie or the experienced counterpart), shoot me an email and let me know. We are currently looking for fresh meat to hare with Douche on 11/23 and with CEP on 12/14; if those dates don't suit your fancy, pick any open date on the calendar.
That's all she wrote, folks.
|3 Trails 1 Trash
(about 3 years ago)
What: Eager 4 Beaver #Something
Where: Under some powerlines, between “modern” houses in Burlington, I think?
Hare: DUI Done Right
Pack: Bring Out the Gimp, Can’t Eat Pussy, Wikipedophilia, The Butler Hit It, Douchesquatch, Spunk in the Trunk, Two Justs From Salem.
Late Cumer: Salty Mudflaps
Was marked at the edge of the parking area under the power lines and followed a rough trail straight up the slope to a check where the trails forked. Trail continued straight, past another fork, then turned right to run under the power lines, to a check back 10. The “runners” – CEP, Butler and YHS – turned and counted back to find walking pack milling about by the fork; their hashy senses telling them to scout around before the check back was counted out. Low and behold, the check back was to the unmarked fork, and trail cut into the woods off to the left of the power lines to a check, then turned back right and zig-zagged back under the power lines and down to some highway. Oh, wait, no, trail never went that far down the hill; it had turned at the crest and continued into the woods. Again, it was the “gentle joggers” who stayed on trail, while the FRBs did some hill sprints. Bush-wacking through some shiggy eventually brought us to a semi-clearing with some boulders and DUI sitting by some “beer.”
DUI can’t read. He says that the only reason he bought Natty Ice was because he thought it had 6.9% ABV, but closer reading of the can yielded that it was actually just 5.9% ABV. Learn to read, deward! After some public shamming, we kicked him out and mumbled about the quality of beer. We decided that it wasn’t alcohol abuse to pour out Natty Ice, so, with some donations to local flora and fauna (which ever one of those words means plants, since there were no “animals”), we chased after our hare.
Trail Phase Purple:
Crossing the ridge from the beer check, trail continued through the woods to a check at the top of a hill. There were some marks heading down hill from there, but pack wisely thought that going down hill was foolish since it only lead to the road, and this is Beaver. However, after extensive scouting yielded no marks in any other direction besides downhill and to the road, we ran down the hill to the road, where we indeed found marks. Trail ran up hill through a quiet part of suburbia which seemed completely indifferent to our passing. A few turns later, trail came back to the cars where I saw DUI sitting on a rock drinking a beer. Slowing down, thinking it was the BC/Point B, I was sadly informed that the beer was about a half a mile away. He pointed and said “go that way” and “that way” I went. Trail snaked along the power lines, diving into the woods then back before crossing the lines at the bottom of a long ridge, over a wood bridge, with the “beer” hidden in the water beneath. As I was crossing the last switch back, I saw back at the cars making their way down the hill and yelled back “Beer Near” to encourage them. CEP and Spunk and the female just kept running on trail, while Douche, Gimp and the male just made a B-Line to the beer and found a swamp in their way. Swamp or not; nothing can stop the Douchesquatch and he barreled on to the beer.
Again, “beer” in the loosest sense of the word since it was still Natty Ice. Since the BC was on a bridge, we quickly descended into Robin Hood Men in Tights/LotR quotes and tried really hard not to think about what we were drinking. About half-way through our beers, DUI said that the ONIN beer was the High Life, and that we could follow him back to the cars since he didn’t feel like running any more.
Trail Second Act:
We followed DUI to the cars, and walked into Salty sitting, with crutches, on the side of trail, hitting on lesbians.
In a bit of an RA by committee, we called the hare into circle and I only messed up one verse. He had nothing to say in his defense, so then we called in FRB (Wiki), FBI (female just) and DFL (salty), and sang them the song where everyone yells BUS. I tried to sing Wild West Show, but f*cked it up royally “crocked tattoed lady.” CEP some version of “bum-titty” and the entire “Big Rhode Island Read” there were announcements – the next beaver trail is at the end of 95 where it runs into 128, and will be hared by me…sometime?
ON-AFTER -> Maragritas. We all decided that we needed “real food” before moon.
What: MOON AGM
Where: Lower Depths
WHO: Wine Riot*, An*l Disco
4 Score and 20 Cocks Ago, Cocksmith, Pop Cum Ear I’m Infected, Friar Fuck, Oragsm Falmon, Blowbot, CEP, DUI Done Right, THE 2nd Cumming, Beat By A Girl, Amilia Airfart*, Goat Throat, Easy A 123, PSA, Cuddle Puddle, Bend Over Mommy, Save a Tree Ride A Cowboy, Goes down on Bouys, Bloody Slip Inside, Laurance My Labia, 5 Inch Penalty, Extra Terristical, Fatbox, Others?
Oh yeah, there was an optional Beaver On-After-After Pre-Pre-Lube at the Discodome where we sampled/tested all the shot checks and generally engaged in Debachurrey until the uber arrived, also Butler handed out cookies and candies. As we were waiting we were treated to Disco reading us txts from her beautiful co-hare such as:
Thrown out of wine riot.
Crying on a stoop.
Throwing up in an alley.
Sending Peepers home.
En route to start.
By the time we got to the pre-lube, it had been taken over about 2/3rds hashers in their masquerade finery. We sipped on fancy beers and everyone was treated to a very drunk, but very very happy Udder. Once we’d all consumed a fancy beer or 3, and the hares had stumbled off we decided it was time to get this shit show started, so we all just walked to Bloody’s car.
Nothing special; the hares are drunk, don’t expect a long trail.
Trail Waxing Cresent:
Starting from the Alley behind the UBurger in Kendal, trail ran down Commonwealth towards Mass Ave, where we were almost immediately treated to a shot check (blue drink) then to a check and down an alley to Newbury street, or whatever. Crossing Newbury street “That man’s dressed like a woman!” mentioned one muggle on seeing Goat run past (note; it was actually a surprisingly masculine outfit for Mr. Throat, but, whatever), to a tit check in front of the Fire station, however none of Boston’s finest were around to see the finest that Boston’s harriets had to offer. Trail (true) crossed the street, past Kings and the back way into the reflecting pool. Since the pack had spread out a bit, we sang a nice song about all the things we’d do to support our girl in the hospital. The suit-wearing muggles were amused and we ran on, crossing back over Mass Ave down Huntington, past a very deciptive BEAR NEAR, and eventually into the Finns to a Beer/Gay hook up check.
Beer Check In the Fens:
Udder had given up standing, and had a pow-wow with Famon for much of the beer check. Butler had handed out some cookies at Discodome that made me very very engertic so I paced around in circles the entire check, while everyone else joined udder and sat around drinking their beers. There was no rush. Eventually, Disco pulled a bottle of Fireball out of the bag car and announced a 2nd shot check (there was one on the first leg of trail, though I forget were…) to keep us sediatied while she and udder stumbled along trail some more.
After the fireball had been drunk….
Trail Waxing Gibous?:
It should be noted that, with the exception of the walkers, most of pack ran the first leg of trail. When I set off running for the second leg, there were maybe a dozen people with me. Trail ran out of the fins, past the MFA and through Northeastern, to another shot check in the middle of the quad – a dark and stormy if memory serves – that CEP and I sipped, then since we couldn’t see the rest of pack, returned it and kept running. Trail turned back into the fens, and there was a BN on a bridge with trail pointing to Udder, who was attempting to seduce a tree.
Well, except that Disco had left Udder to her tree while she went to look for Bloody and beer. It was okay, since the walkers seemed to be attracting runners like some ragey-black-out-hole. The rest of pack sauntered across the bridge right as the beer arrived. Refreshments served, everyone sat down and relaxed while Famine replaced Udder in the tree and seemed to hold court, or something, as she was serenaded, I think, by BBAGs? Pack, having lost all sense of time or motivation to do anything besides sit around and drink, started opening their second beers long after the hares had ninja’d off again. Still energized by the cookies, I took off after them.
Trail To the Moon:
At this point running pack was Famon, Mommy, Laurence My Labia, CEP, 5 Inch and Butler. Trail was basically a straight shot through some light housing projects towards a park in Mission Hill. It took us all of about 5 minutes to run, and we found the hares and bag car at the top of the hill.
We had time to help unload all the bags and beer from the car, which was about 2 blocks away, and bring them all back to the ONIN with still no sign of pack. We were standing around, drinking and generally having a good time when we started to see cranium lamps walking up the hill. Apparently, after the runners had left the BC, everyone else walked, because it’s moon and f*ck running, or rules.
About half way through “Drink A Little Bit” the private parties quieted and we were able to properly serenade our hares for the shitty trail they laid. There were no virgins, or moon virgins (maybe there were, but they weren’t called into circle). Who was? FRBs and DFLs probably? Outgoing Moon GMs? When one ex-GM drinks, all ex-GMs drink. Everyone who wore a mask was called in, and then everyone who didn’t; there was plenty of beer, and not enough accusations, so we called Udder Whore into the circle and accused her of being Moon GM without a Moon Name; from this day forward, under the full moon, Udder Whore will be known as “Wine Riot.” We tried to rename Emilia Airfart to something, but I forget. Famine was supposed to be named, but no one could remember what or why, and eventually we moved onto shotgun down-downs; anyone who had never done a shotgun at moon was called in, plus Gaywol, who apparently had never done a shotgun at all. In an utter breach of decrum, circle just kind of dissolved and we went to the ON-AFTER (some karaoke bar) without doing religion. I’ll never know what happened the day I met a whore in the park.
Happened; Butler lost his bag, no one knows White Rabbit, and Blubber showed up, then quickly left with two girls.
Tasty Burger in Harvard; much to my surprise they continued serving us beer and burgers.
What: Boston Trail #197x
Where: Drinking Fountain, JP
Hares: Twat My Mom, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory
Plus 2 Coonass, Yellow Dick Gnome, Goat Throat, Easy as 123, Bum Fucking Vagabond, Just Liam*, Just Twins, Two Minute Ride, Ass-stache, Just Tim, Bloody Slip Inside, Just Brian, Stuff That Reich Now, Blonde McFucksAlot, Orgasm Famine, The Butler Hit It, Friar, Dribbles.
Due to the T being lame, most of pack was extremely delayed in getting to the start, though some people were there about 2 hours early. Trail didn’t start until well after 3.
Trail Part 1:
After chalk talk – nothing special other than “T” checks (we were instructed to look around for “treats”) – trail was marked as a death march down whatever road that is back to Forest Hills station, to a CB3 and a left turn under a bridge and into shiggy. That would the last serious pavement pounding we did all trail. Zig-zaging through shiggy into Franklin Park, we sang, again, about our deep love and compassion for our girl infront of some random hospital, then followed trail around some sporting fields and down a hill towards a pond, where we found Twat and Wonka sitting on a bench.
I also believed them when they said the beer was on an island, but decided to just look up the hill and saw the beer behind a rock. Real beer this time; PBR. Also, there were Halloween candies. Sipping our delicious beverages we took in the foliage and watched the denizens of Franklin park walk past, noting that our hares had left, we cleaned up our mess and followed after them.
Trail part 2:
After scrambling up a hill and coming out a group hug, we played some low-level frogger as we ran across the road which cuts through the park, then up another hill to the abandoned bear changes, through them, across the golf course, then through some shiggy. Then down a hill, across another field, across another road, then through more shiggy. There was more shiggy on this Boston trail than on Beaver! WTF! Ascending a final hill, we saw the hares sitting on a fence on the other side, so after scrambling down a rather steep rock face, we found that we were at the ONIN but had to wait for beer and bags, and then we had to climb back to the top of the hill for circle.
Was about 10 paces from the edge because I didn’t want to carry the beer any further, and, surprisingly, the hash agreeded and we circled. We are still “breaking in” Bloody to RAing, so he was assisted by Goat Throat. We called the hares into circle, and sang a toast to them, then reminded them that they had laid a shitty trail. After flashing us (both sets), they sang to us that despite all the shiggy, that they were drinking in a hashers paradise. Same shirts – hashers run on PBR – were called in, as were kilted hashers. We are a stupid, though well dressed, bunch. FRB and FBI were called in, though I forget who they were. Hash idiots – those who did all three trails this weekend, Butler and I, were called in and told to get a life. Visitors – Two minutes and his justs – were called in, and Blonde was accused of new shoes. She volunteered to let science decide, and when the RA let go of her shoe, it dropped; therefore it was new. She drank some, but mostly poured it on her cranium. Next Just Liam was called in and accused of being a Just. He assumed the position. He said was from Utah, but did not have any magic underwear, though he did confirm the “fith base exception” was, indeed, a thing. The pack didn’t need to hear any more; from this day forth, Just Liam will be known throughout the world as “Poophole Loophole.” Important business over, we swang low.
Was a burrito place that served pizza? Whatever, we shoved warm greasy food in our vissage-holes.
Doyles Amber Ale, while watching Sporting Events.
On – I came 3 times! – On
November 2nd: Swedish Eagle?
November 9th: Fatboy trail.
November 15th: PooF Thanksgiving potluck in Holden, MA. www.poofh3.com
November 16th: HARES NEEDED
November 22nd: Sadia Hawkins – the pins have been given out (??), so gentlemanboys talk up your favourite harriets and get pinned to the Best Event This Side of Mississippi that weekend.
I wasn’t actually paying attention during announcements; holiday party in December, Burlington Mardi Gras in March, Marathon in April, NURD in May, something in June, Invihash in July, GAP in August, InterAm in September, blah, blah, blah.
|Puffy Memorial Hash
(about 3 years ago)
What: Puffy Memorial Hash
Where: Grease My Monkey’s Nuts house, Worcester MA
Hare: Grease My Monkey’s Nuts, Wiki’s hangover
Hare Club For Queers, Ass for Gas, Wikipedophilia, The Butler Hit It, Frair Fuck, Hoover McSuck and Fuck, Twat My Mom, Nice Tits, Jimmy Crack Whore, I Eat Cum, Reverend Blowhole
People started to trickle in at some point in time before the scribe, since when I got there, everyone else was already there and apparently I had been expected to help lay (dead) trail that morning (note, I did tell Grease I was going to do this). I blame the Krusty Goat. It’s the truth. I was provided a Bloody Mary and we all stood around on the deck in the spitting rain and sipped our Bloodys and beer until we decided that we probably should go find trail before all the marks had been washed away. All we knew were that there would be marks, falses – though no marked false, all one-n-done or two-and-outs, and that on three was on on. There would be beer, somewhere, maybe. The first mark was, of course, up a hill.
Trail ran up hill from Grease’s house vaguely towards Tantnuk. Please excuse all references to neighborhoods or areas of Worcester, but otherwise this whole trail can be sumerized as “we ran up a hill; there was a beer check” three times. So that’s the TR:DL version nicely embedded in the first paragraph. Back to trail, it ran up a hill with Ass for Gas and I Eat Cum doing most of the scouting, cresting the hill and coming back down we turned left towards Chandler street. Crossing Chandler and down a hill, we came to a double song check (Puffy loved singing) in front of his old house. Since pack had spread out a bit, we decided to wait for everyone to catch up (except for Hoover, who had disappeared), and sang all the verses we could remember to Friggin the the Riggin and Follow the Hares. As we were standing in the rain, between songs, a car full of “old” people pulled up and asked what we were going standing around in kilts. We said that we were runners and that we were singing in front of one of our other friend’s house. The old lady then said “That’s fascinating; I used to live there for 40 years!” From there we on outed again in a vaguely up-hill direction, with the sounds of football games drowning out on-on calls and confusing whistle blows. Eventually we noticed that near most checks were strange piles of garbage arranged in vague arrow shapes. I Eat Cum had disappeared from the song check, apparently, and had gone off scouting and marking trail all the way to the beer check which was on top of Newton Hill.
Beer check #1:
We were standing around enjoying Worcester’s finest beer (that’s a lie, it was PBR), when Grease got a call from his wife saying that a hasher – Ryan – had just showed up to the house and wondered where everyone was. It took us a while to figure out who “Ryan” was – it was Twat – and eventually we auto-hashed to the beer check at which point we left and ran down the hill.
Well, by “we” I mean everyone but Hare Club, because he caught a root and went cranium-over-heels down the hill. I guess that’s a more efficient way of running down hill? Maybe? Anyway, we all ran down the hill from the BC and from there trail ran through Elm Park, around the Price Chooper and into WPI, a campus completely devoid of people on 3pm on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We stopped in the middle of the quad and introduced ourselves as “Hasher, Meet the Hashers” before running under a giant tree and down some stairs, then out from behind the art museum and into Institute Park. From the entrance to the park, there was a very visible line of flour-marked trees leading to the left – towards Park St(ish), but I could see the FRBs running back from the other direction. There was no check, so I’m not sure what they were doing. Anyway, running along the end of the pond we passed some college kids doing their best Puffy impressions (trail heading), though I think we spooked them since the shuffled away when Butler peeled off to join them. Rage can be scary. The rage wasn’t needed, since standing under a gazebo at the far end of the park were Grease, Twat, and beer.
Second Beer Check:
Was uneventful. We tried to convince some runners to join us – promising them beer and tits – but they all ran away. Weird. Apparently some sh*t went down with back country skiing in Utah, or something. Ass for Gas was bemoaning its demise, but he doesn’t like Walls of the Cave, so his taste is questionable. At the end of the second BC, Grease said that the there was a 3rd BC and that we had to cross over park and Salisbury in front the antiquarian society to find trail.
IEC and Tits crossed park first, then Salisbury, “North” of that other little road that comes in right before the intersection, and up which trail went. Trail zig-zaged pretty quickly up Bancroft hill, and when I saw the bag car turn up the road to the top of hill, I remembered a path through the woods that would short cut there – teenager memories – and called out “Zenning through shiggy” and charged up the hill to find Grease and Twat standing under the tower to get out of the rain. I was rewarded with a beer and waited for pack.
We waited a while, eventually Butler and Revered showed up on the far side of hill and came to the beer. No one else appeared, but we each and a beer and some wax and waited. Grease told us how to get to the OnIn from there:
“Straight, right, right, left down the hill, right, straight, bear middle, straight, then right and right.” That’s exactly what he said.
Those directions were, um, lacking. The marks were also seriously fading, once we got onto Pleasant street, I yelled back to Butler and Reverend that I was Zenning the rest the way. Grease and twat passed us, so we couldn’t be completely on the wrong trail. The zenned trail was straight down pleasant, through the rotarty, up the hill at the split (where there’s the dinner with weird chef statue outside, east side bbq, and that clay-painting place), then left onto some “parkway” and left again (all up hill) back to the start. We over ran marks twice, but never saw more than one or two.
Was right back where we started. Everyone had already arrived, so somehow the group that ran trail were actually all DFL. We stood around drinking trying to figure out who was going to RA the circle, though that quickly descended into reminiscents about how Puffy was pretty much the best RA anyone had ever seen. However, eventually Hare Club volunteered and the Hare(s) were called into account for their shitty trail. We sang to him, and he sang to us, then I was called in for not-co-haring, and I sang too. FRB/DFL/FBI were called in, as were autowankers and people who skipped beer checks, then hash crashes and alcohol abuse were called in, the rasicts were called in and I'm sure there were more accusations which I forget.. We drank a toast to Puffy – Not Dead, Lost on Trail – and then swang low. There were delicious wings, but I left before the food was served.
On – To All Those Forever Lost on Trail with G – On
|Hash Trash - Poppin' Assemblies Cherry Trail
(about 3 years ago)
What: Popin’ Assemblies Cherry Trail
Who: Twat My Mom, Can’t Eat Pussy
Bag Car: Bleeps, Sweeps and Creeps
Yankee Pay $5 More, Pop Cum Ear I’m Ineffective, Virgin Mike?, Just Mike?, Orgasm Falmon, Clit Notes, 5 Inch Pentalty, 3 Ring Cervice, Goat Throat, Krusty the Meatmiser, E=I’mADouche, The Butler Hit It, Spunk In the Trunk, Snapoff, Easy as 123, Black Cock Down, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory, Bend Over Mommy, A Walker I Didn’t Recongize (he goes to anti-buffet).
Had Tequilla. While other people might have complained about the lack of PBR, I will not speak ill of any bar that was a 3-page tequillia menu, with a section called “Orgasmic Tequillas.” I had one, of the tequilas. Pack began to filter in mainly talking about what a strange experience it was to be inside of a clean T station. Eventually, after waiting and waiting for pack to grow, the hares left. We had more tequila, and impressed a bar tender with our tales of debauchery, then left.
Unfortunately, since there was a virgin, we had to have it. Luckily the hares brought flour, because it was raining and the marks in circle were barely visible. We told the virgin what to look for, he believed us, and we were on trail looking for beer.
Trail Part 1:
Trail looped around and out of the Assembly square mall area, hitting a check back and turning to a song check under a bridge. Douche ran off in some random direction and came back with a wonderful vintage Baggo that had been left undiscovered on a previous moon trail. The wine wasn’t vinegar. We took our time at the song check, passing the red alcohol around while telling tales about how hard it is to hold down a job in Chicago. Eventually we were on-out. Trail crossed 28 and we ran up the back side of Winter hill, then down, before getting to a shot check in a playground under a bridge. There were 4 different colors of Gatorade, and the alcohol was deluded enough so that you didn’t know what you were drinking. A few minutes later, though, you felt it. Once standing around in the rain no longer seemed appealing to us, and the lust for beer was getting stronger, we followed trail out and ran back through a park to a large road. My sense of direction was completely turned around then, or it is now, either way, we turned right and paralleled the train tracks for a while before eventually getting to a check and crossing over them and up a hill to a school. In an act of supreme stupidity, Falmon and I scouted every direction but up the hill in front of the school, where trail actually went. Catching up with pack at the top of a hill, there was a check with an arrow pointing into a wall; we didn’t run through the wall, but we did run around it and back down the hill and over the tracks we had just crossed. Blackie, whom we were blindly following, admitted that he hadn’t seen anything since the arrow into the wall. So we ran back up the hill. Then down the other side, across a street and up another hill; I think the group hug check was back before the school, but I’m putting it here. There was a group hug check near an abandoned factory, and trail leading down an alley to a true trail pointing past a taco truck and into the warehouse, along with the holy letters; BN/BC.
Beer Check At A Brewery: Not gonna lie here, I was royally pissed off at the hares for absolutely no reason, then I was handed a “beer of my choice” and they were my best friends again. It’s amazing what beer can do! We hung out and enjoyed out beers, then sang to the muggles and the owners some songs of our people; “Meet the Hashers” and “Off we go” if my memory serves me correct. Eventually the hares left, the beer money left, the walkers left and we grudgingly left too.
Trail Part 2:
Ran in the rain past triple deckers, and crossed an inordinate of non-normal intersections. Seriously Boston (metro area), there was the guy named DeCart. He liked straight lines intersecting straight lines. He liked them sooooo much he created a system to find where you were based off intersecting straight lines, I just wanted to make sure everyone knew that. We eventually found our way to Union square and a song check in front of a hipster music venue – seriously I’ve never seen a musician there who wasn’t either bearded or wearing a vest. Trail started heading back towards the orange line and we got to a fly-over intersection that I always get confused with the one Bulter was hit near. Coming out on the other side Krusty was standing at a shot check. He described it as “he found the hares” but the hares deny it was a snare-check. It doesn’t matter; we stayed and drink the rest of the Gatorade, though they were a little stronger this time. Not wanting to go back into the rain, we waited as long as possible before leaving the overpass and following trail across the road and into the “Inner Beltway Interchange Industrial Park” or “The Park Where Shart Got Named” - readers choice as to what to call it. However, long before we got to Sharts naming pen, we passed a man smoking crack in a car, right next to a park with the words ONIN drawn in flour under a gazebo.
Was under a gazebo. Before anything else happened, we unloaded bags and pizzas from the car. Well, not really pizza; we unloaded bags and luke-warm thin loafs of bread with red sauce and cold, greasey cheese, not wanting the food to spoil during circle, we ate that first. While we were eating the pizza, a bag of Jalapeno (pronounced phonetically) Cheesey Puffs were based around. Pack agreed that this was the best thing to ever happen to Cheesy Poofs, and perhaps by correlation, the world. The hares were called in around cases of Upstate New York’s Worst Beer – Genny and it’s cousin, Genny Light. Krusty sang them a song in his soft and melodious alto about said beer, and they sang us about how they are so proud that they’ve grown up to be alcoholics. In a move to try break more traditions than Blubber, Krusty immediately opened the floor to announcements, which you can read below. He then called in the FRB – Five Inch? – and the FBI – Famine – and I stood in for DFL since Douche had not been seen since he found the wine way back before the first shot check. We then called in the virgin, who apparently is/was a reporter and wants to use us for a story? Whatever. Actually, did anyone card him? Are undergrads allowed in the hash? We made him get on his knees, which he did, while we asked him a simple math question, which he got wrong, then we attempted, and failed, to ask him 3 or 4 other questions, but spoiled the punch lines. Five inch asked if he’d rather watch porn with or of his parents, and he chose with. Family bonding time. We instructed him on how to do a down-down, and what words to use and not to use, but he then immediately repeated the other-word-for-cranium! He’s not worthy, and we don’t accept him, but we took him anyway. Blackie was called in, again, for transplanting, and goat and krusty were called in for being ambiguously gay, er, wearing the same hapi-coat in circle. Douche than arrived, and it took us two tries to sing the right DFL song. Snap off was accused of moving to Gana, and we called the hares back in for something. It was getting cold and the gazebo was doing a horrible job at block the now sideway rain, so it was time to swing low.
ON – Real Hashers Hash in The Rain – On
Saturday 10/4, 1HST (hares gay at 2): Puffy Memorial Hash, 59 South Lenox St, Worcester, MA. There will be Bloody’s at the prelube, people can start showing up after noon. Contact me (wiki) to RSVP.
Sunday, 10/5: Eager For Beaver trail: Hare: Senor Cocksucker
Where: Gallows Hill Park, Witch Hill Road, Salem, MA
When: Oct 5th 1pm HST
Bring: Shiggy Socks, hall pass, $1, surgical masks, whistles
Sunday 10/5: Rumors are that Anti-Buffet Rego goes live sometime in the evening…
Wednesday 10/8: Return To Dirty Dot Trail, Hared by Yankee, Starting at Dot Ave Tavern.
Saturday 10/11: AGM, Bell In Hand, 2pm? Dress up as your favourite SNL character!
Saturday 10/18: Ball Buster, somewhere, hared by Butler
Saturday 10/18: Happy Valley 300th Trail…details on their website
Saturday 10/25: Moon AGM – Masquerade Ball
Saturday 10/25: PooF World Peace Through Beer – “West Central Northern Vermount” hared by Harlot & Co
Saturday 11/8: SPACE UNICORN H3 Presents: Moons of Saturn Hash. There are –TWO- regos open at the time of this writing.
Sunday 11/9: An Easy Wiki Fatboy.
Some other time in November: Saddie Hawkins! Guys, work on your pick up lines to get pinned by a harriet!
December 12-14: Antibuffet, Jay Peak VT, see above for rego info.
April 19th: Marathon Main event -> Disney Princess
...stop reading and drink!!!