Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| Moon Away 2015 - Land of Rage and Snow | Mary Queen of Scots Hash Trash | 256th Annual Robbie Burns Day Trail - Sunday January 25, 2015 | 1/18 Furry Hash | Tropical Hash XII |

Moon Away 2015 - Land of Rage and Snow (over 3 years ago)
What: Rage
Where: Land O’ Rage N’ Snow
Who: Wine Riot, Anal Disco, Cocksmith, and a cast of thousands…maybe hundreds, okay 50, no, really more like 30 or less.
Moon Away 2015: A Trail of Rage and Snow

As always when trashing for away events, the question of when to start the record is open, and I will now chose to start this when Conass and I pulled into a liquor store on the way North with a sign “Liquidation Sale: All inventory must go!” I turned to my southern friend and said “If this store is closing, I’m going to cry – it’s the only good beer store around.” As we were admiring their selection, a friendly lady told us that they were closing for remodeling and that all beer was 20% off, wine and liquor were 10%. This was great news and we loaded up heavily on beer to last us until the kegs were going to be tapped some 28 hours hence. Fortified for our drive, we headed north with no complaints, and only a few slowdowns because of snow, arriving to make first tracks at the Land O Rage and Snow (LORS for short). Udder had suggested the we bring shovels, and we did, so we shoveled a path to the door, then most of the driveway while Gimp arrived and searched for the keys. Eventually we were joined by Teabags, Burning bush, and Butler and BBAGs, with Douche, and finally the GMs (plus Peepers) showing up last. We stalked the house with food, the fireplace with wood, and our bellies with beer and pizza before turning in slightly before midnight.

Friday-ski-day happened while Disco nursed her hangover/10 deadly plagues and sheparded the flock of ragacents north, by the time the skirage returned, the house was filling with ragers, and people were milling around the kegs wondering if it was 8 o’clock yet. People offered sexual favors to Disco to get the kegs tapped earlier but in a strange show of responsibility and self restraint she turned them down at first and we were unable to convince her to tap the kegs before 7. Upon tapping the kegs we quickly started playing Thumper to celebrate the joyous flow of beer. Thumper devolved into awkward groping and switched to the much more tame 3 man as the hours ticked by, cookies were had by all (or most) and those who forswore cookies turned to dabs (basically pure THC) because that was a good idea…as our lunges and minds recovered from the 2 pronged assault, hashers/ragers/whatever continued to trickle in, reaching a critical mass of over 30 as the playlist looped through for the first time and dancing was attempted.

After the requisite first sing a longs to Bohemian Rhapsody and Bright Eyes, Swedish grabbed a bag of orange food, stripped naked and ran away. This was generally interpreted as an the beginning of the UGH, so after giving him time to lay trail, we chased after him around the house, upstairs, then downstairs into the not-sketchy at all basement for circle. Pitchers were brought down and our vessels were filled. UGH virgins and annalversies were called in, and I’m sure other people were too, though, to be honest, my memory of Friday night goes something like: thumper -> ugh -> sleep, so I’m not the most reliable narrator.

Luckily no one gave Friar a 5 hour energy, so he didn’t run around the house yelling “It’s 5am, I’m awake and so are you!” Instead, most people slept in to the relatively reasonable hour of 9, there were rumors of coffee, but these rumors were greatly exaggerated. The troops were rallied and we rolled out to The Bradford Junction for what was technically breakfast but what was in actuality a gigantic pile of food for less than $2.50 per pound. They don’t price by pound, but they very easily could. We decided to go in waves, as to not overwhelm the kitchen, but the first car left around 9:30, and the last car didn’t return until almost 1, so I’m not sure our plans worked out. After returning to the LORS, there were mumblings about naps and trail. In a brilliant move the couch was moved to directly in front of the fireplace to insure maximum hasher warmth and cuddle puddle. Perhaps we made the living room to comfortable because instead of promoting “never leave camp” the alternative “never leave couch” was suggested.

[LORS Trail]

[Part 1 – In which we attempt to sled in a field]

                At some time far after trail was originally planned we were told that we had 10 minutes to grab a vessel and snow gear as trail, such as it was, would be A to A. (The “Double Eagle” trail up to Lake Solitude being postponed due to snow). We there then told to fill up pitchers and vessels to “bring on trail.” There was no chalk talk or opening circle, instead we all filed out of the Ragehouse and walked across the road, where we were told trail had devolved into sleeding. Sleding then devolved into “pushing people on sleds down the hill.” Despite the cold, snow and horrible conditions, pack soldiered through and made what was becoming and “not that bad” tabogin run; yes the Ragehouse does come with actual wooden tabogins. The basic set up was that one, or two, or sometimes three brave soles would pack themselves onto the tabogins and then a fourth person would give them a running push and we’d see how far they got. However, each unsuccessful attempt (that is every attempt) ended with the sled pitching over and creating an obstacle for the next group to brave. After a while, we’d cleared a run almost all the way to the trees, but pack decided that we’d probably have better luck if we tried to sled down “Marsha’s drive way” (by pack I mean Gimp), so the hare (Butler) grabbed the pitchers of now mostly frozen beer and head down the road to “Marsha’s Driveway”

[Part 2 – Marsha’s Trail]

                Trail was laid in nothing; there were no marks on trail except for a tit check that the hare definitely drew himself, at the bottom of the hill up Marsha’s driveway. With the hare standing at the top yelling “Beer Near” the FRBing male hashers waited for someone to free them, with the full expectation that the harriets would arrive and we’d all have a nice laugh before continuing on. Imagine our surprise when Orgasm Falmon arrived and freed us! We immediately ran up the hill to refill our beer slushies and start sleding down.

                Not all of pack rushed up the hill, the wiser ones stayed at the bottom and judged as we came flying, or rolling, or bouncing down. Teabags tried the sled on rails which failed, and butler pulled off a few 720s in the snow tube. The wooden tabogins were the mode of highest result; the trick was to lean in through the turn, then clip the base of the snow plow drift of a bit of air, stick the landing with enough speed to cross the road, clip the next snow plow drift for more air, then stop before you hit the next snow bank.  I think that Luvalamp completed the course correctly. Tandems, which were almost required on the first snow slopes, were generally “bad idea mobiles” and rarely made it to the bottom without spilling their cargo. After a few runs of bouncing off the plow drifts, one of the tabogins broke, but was brought back up to the top for confirmation that it was broken. It was. Gimp, ever nimble, took this as an opportunity to show off his surfing skills by riding the broken (and actively falling apart) collection of wood down the driveway until it deposited him quiet forcefully into the stonewall that was hidden under the snow. Gimp claims that it was that crash that was the cause for the bruises on his ass. The pack started to get cold, and there were mumblings that people would go back to the house to make hot chocolate, and so the slow walk back into the LORS commenced.

[Between trail and circle]

                Upon our return to the cabin the level of rage dimmed for a time. Tired and cold hashers huddled by the fire, napped, the weak succumbed to a plague, and the strong spiked their hot chocolate or coffee to prepare to rage. Our honorable leaders declared there would be a re-grouping time before dinner and circle and then they started trying to push us to eat 
sandwiches. Eventually sandwiches were replaced by ravioli and texas toast and the house got almost quiet as we fueled up for the rage to come.

Circle (at 7) then RAGE.

                During the snap/nap/dinner one of YHS(s) [that’s right, there are two of us writing this!] was actively being victimized by one of the ten deadly plauges, however with the ever helpful chemical of Dayquil, I was able to banish my inner weakness and rage through circle.


                RA’d by the illustrious T-BAGS, we started by drinking a little bit, fucking a little bit and following the hares. I’m not sure what song we sung them, but I’m pretty sure they sang us “Glorious Victorious” and YHS (you can guess which one) fucked up one of the versus’ and was brought in with them with the warning that they’d have to drink for every time they fuck up a verse. “Do you know me?” was the retort. Teabags, looking to set the mood for the circle, told us that since we were in a farm house, he wanted to sing YHS a song about living on a farm. Quickly realizing what was coming, YHS stripped (a trick learned from GAP), and awaited everyone’s favourite land-based whale. After that Moon Away virgins might have been called in, and we told them they were stupid? YHS then messed up “I don’t want to join the army” and brought Mudslut in too since all she did was scream that she loved that song, but didn’t help in getting the words right. Moon GMs (past and present) were called in, and I’ll just say that we sang them S&M man (I’m pretty sure we didn’t, but we sang it at some point and Swamp Wine’s reaction to the verses was priceless…). Extra Terrestical then took over circle for a bit to do moon traditions of border jumpers, so everyone who wasn’t from a “Boston area kennel” was called in, and we told them in the most melodious terms that ours cocks would choke them, and all of financial and person ills that would come as a consequence of choking on our cocks. Moon burn was also called in. Then everyone was told to stand, and all the moon away virgins sat down; then all the two timers, then all the 3 timers, then the 4 timers, 5 timers until only the 6 timers – Extra Terrestical, I Eat Teabags, Bring out the Gimp (I forget his moon name), The Cocksmith and Amielia Airfart were standing. They really need to get a life! We then sang about our favourite girl in a park, and our rather long nercophiliatic relationship with her.  We had a solemn toast to G, Puffy, Giggles, and all those forever lost on trail before being given the command to “RAGE, RAGE, UNTIL THE DYING OF THE NIGHT!”

[Post-Circle Rage]

                The main event in post circle rage, for at least the first two hours, was a game that Wine Riot and Beepers had learned from, I think, Beepers sister at an NYE party, called “Chesty.” One of YHSs ran the table, while the other self-medicated with dabs dabs dabs! Chesty is a brilliant partner game where one stands across the table from their partner and bounces a ping-pong ball off their partners chest and hopefully into a red cup. If that maneuver is successful the other team has the drink the cup and flip it (flip-cup style) before they can resume their own chest bouncing. As you can imagine there are a number of techniques for this depending on chest flatness and size. Mudslut and Udder chose to create flatter backboards by wearing sports bra’s while Famine went for guiding cleavage. As you can imagine hilarity ensued, ref’s were necessary to call the legality of shots, and many a team challenged the supremacy of Mudslut and YHS’s reign of terror.

                Around 10, or maybe 11, it doesn’t really matter; it was about 90 minutes before the ugh, a call came out from the kitchen that one of the kegs was almost kicked, and that if we just did keg stands, we’d be able to get through it. So…keg stands started. And continued; records were made – 10 seconds, 15, 20, then 30 seconds stool for a while  – until Pappy Van Tinckle came around and said “Bitches get out of the way” and pulled off a 50 second keg stand while doing one-handed pushups. At this point, heads were swimming so people began to rage the dance party. After the dance party had taken over, chants of kegs stands were still coming from the kitchen, and who can deny that sirens call? As the minutes to UGH were being counted down, Disco decided to say fucking it to the 6th loop dance-play list and personally DJed a Disney sing along for about 15 minutes as we all got naked.


CEP and Falmon grabbed a bag of Valentines Day hearts and ran off – after yelling at everyone to put on shoes or boots, though they did not take their own advice (remember that it was blizzarding outside). Grumbling about hares lying, we gave them a bit of a cranium start before chasing after them. Luvalamp scouted up the stairs as I stared forebodingly at the door, which I eventually opened and found candy hearts and footprints on the other side. Running around the house I found the hares shivering at the front door, but with no checks to stop me, I chased them through the house yelling “Hare Snare” as pack grudgingly followed us up the stairs, through the sleeping quarters, back down the previously scouted stairs, through the gentle rage room, and down into the there-are-no-bodies-down-here-basement. Except that pack was a bunch of lazy bitches and it wasn’t until YHS stole all the beer pitches and brought them down stairs, and Famine went and nakedly informed pack to get their miserable lazy asses down into the basement, that pack complied. YHS was actually surprised that worked. Wine Riot RA’d a circle of little passing remembrance – hares, FRBs, hare snares, lazy bitches – were all called into circle. At one point someone gave Peepers a banana flavoured heart which she spat out (I’m 98% sure this didn’t happen, but I like this version better), and, as she was in circle for spitting out love, she took the opportunity to through candy hearts at everyone in circle, then, deciding that wasn’t quiet punishment enough, started throwing them in our beers! Pack had had just about enough of this foolishness and we returned up stairs caring wood [for the fire (in the fire place {not our loins})].



Eventually it was Butler and I sitting on a couch huffing Nitrous while Disco DJed for us, and we all silently agreed it was time to go to bed.

… the next morning …

                Most of pack had vague ideas of sleeping in, since we had all been up until after 2, when some Brighton-based assfaces actively tried to be as loud as possible while packing and basically woke everyone else up. Since the roads around the LORS were questionable at best, most of us decided to wait and stay until at least 12, and most of us were overcome by a profound sense of responsibility (don’t  you hate productive hangovers) we spent a good hour or two attempting to clean and back as best we could. YHS has never seen a more pathetic group of hungover hashers clean better. We picked up trash, recovered discarded clothing, replaced rugs, moved furniture, and picked up dozens of uhg candy hearts. Having returned the house to some semblance of normalcy, we were quiet depressed to see that it was only 9:30, and that despite all the keg stands the kegs weren’t kicked, so after a short round of morning keg stands actually kicked one of the PBR kegs, we retreated back to the living to toast our achievements with ChamwowJs, graciously prepared by Uddder, from the newly tapped keg and the champagne that Pappy is still trying to get rid of from NYE. This left us morning drunk and warm by the fire, so Disco resumed her DJing with a Disney sing along. The idea of this sing along was to belt out the songs so loud that no one would be left sleeping. After ruining our throats, and another round of ChamwowJ, we were inspired to write what may very well be the best event-based song of Moon Away weekend [See Appendicks 69].

                The time now approaching noon, the first Brighton bound car left, and Wonka inspired us to take a walk and see that the rest of the world was up to. We all decided that we should probably sober up a bit before driving home in the storm, so we put back on our now 3-days-sweaty snow-clothes and trudged out into the great white unknown.

[Fatboy – ie a longer trail than the main event]

                Extra Terrestical led us down hill across the already snowed-over sleeding trails from Saturday down towards the lake. We had the good fortune of following some snow shoe tracks through the field, but those weak willed (though properly equipped) souls turned around about half way into the woods, force ET and I to high-knee it through the drifts until after about a minute or two of this I decided “Fuck it, I’m waiting for pack” and collapsed to the left. Falmon came bounding out of the woods, unexpectedly after scouting to see if there was an easier path (there wasn’t) and the three of us waited for everyone else to join, and once we had visual confirmation that they had not given up on our venture we resumed our trek through thigh-deep snow. Upon reaching the boat house, YHS had the brilliant idea of jumping off the dock into a snow drift. I would like to say, unequviocoally, that it was, is, a great idea – I just jumped off the wrong side and instead of landing in a snow drift, I landed in about 10 inches of snow ontop of pavement. Shaking it off, I, we, explored around the house and found another much more safe, and comfortable, drifts to jump into before heading down to the lake. We were all standing around deciding if it was safe to venture onto the lake when Gimp declared that it was safe and jumped (it was an actual drop) in and was quickly buried in snow. Dry Hose followed, and similarly buried, and soon all of us were leaping into the snow. As we were frolocking (“just let your heart go and your body will follow”) in the snow, Pappy and CEP showed up with pitchers of the last of the IPA keg (finally kicked!) and the boat house became the beer check. Deciding that this trail needed some real marks, Swampy stomped out a pair of giant tits, while Falmon ran around to create a giant penis with extremely lopsided balls. While that was happening, ET found a way into the boat house and started singing “I’m on a boat!” As we were leaving Falmon ran back out to add some ejaculate to the dick, before beginning the long walk (up hill) back to Ragehouse. On our way back up that endless hill a group of muggles came down from the road and introduced themselves asked if we were “Rob’s friend.” We looked at each other dumb struck ‘Who the fuck is Rob’ we were thinking; they then identified themselves as “Rob’s cousins” and that’s when they realized that “The Butler Hit It” is not ‘Rob Hagopians’ Christian name. It should be.

[Waiting and eating lunch]

                Upon arriving back that the Ragehouse we were immiediately intoxicated by the smell of fresh cookies, prepared for us by the beautiful Anal Disco who decided that “0.0 never leave camp” really means “0.0 never go outside!” Honestly, I can’t really blame her. We were told to eat more bagel sandwiches, and that meatballs would be warmed for parting sandwiches. The sad reality that the weekend was over and that we’d all have to return to snow-bound Boston was setting in. We packed our stuff and in a mood of quiet, hungover and increasingly sickly depression left the Land of Rage and Snow behind and headed south to the Land of Non Functioning Public Transit.

On – Hash Plauge – On

-Luarance my Laibia with some contributions from Orgasm Famine


2/27-3/1: Burlington Mardi Gras – More cold, less snow. Probably some glitter.
3/7: Ivy League inter-hash in Boston, details to cum
3/15: Last day to sign up for marathon to be garunteed an amazing give-away
4/14-4/20: BH3 Marathon Week.
4/18: BH3 Marathon Main event – sign up … There are still scholarships available!
5/15-17: NURD NURD NURD NURD NURD. You know it, you love it. Sign up for that shit.
Sometime in July: Invihash
Sometime in August: GAP
Sometime in Novemember: Sadie
Sometime in Decemeber: Anti Buffet
Sometime next Winter: MOON AWAY 2016!!!

[Appendicks 69]
On the twelth day of moon away my GMs gave to me:
12 rounds of chesty
11 something else
10 deadly plauges
9 mysterious bruises
8 things I forget
7 still don’t remembers
6 missing syllables
5 bags of trash
4 cheese ravioli
3 ... … … man
2 cream cheese bagels
And a Wiki doing a keg stand
[Note: we really did come up with 11, 9, 8 and 7, but I forget them]

Mary Queen of Scots Hash Trash (almost 4 years ago)

Hash Trash
Trail: The Mary Queen of Scotts Trail
Hare: Yankee
Prelube and surprise(!) On-in: Rice Post
Bag Car/pizza and beer unicorn: Wiki
Pack: Foreskin abortion, Dry hose, Sex the final frontier, Goat Throat, Orgasm Famine, Butler, Gator 
BH3 I am disappointed in you. This trail happened in balmy 69 degree weather with nary a cloud in the sky, on a football-less Sunday the night after a wine party. Why pack consisted of such a pathetic handful of us continues to confound me. All I can say is everyone who didn’t make it to Dorchester are a bunch of wankers. 
The somewhat snow infested red line did not make too many troublesome noises as I rode our illustrious transport system to JFK. When I got to Rice Post, our distinguished destination for the day, I was thankful to Yankee for arrows to help me overcome my hesitation to enter an establishment where the doors are locked and a buzzer must be rung to get in. Since I was running fashionably late I was greeted by pack who informed me that I had brought up our collective vagina quotient by 1069 percent. Yes this hash trash is written by the sole, lonely, and sober harriette for the day. 
We stuck around for a bit, befriended the bartender, and most everybody drank enough beer to fend off the cold, slush, and snow we knew lurked in our future. Yankee departed with a bag of yellow flour at some point and we bid our friendly bartender farewell not too long after. Bags were deposited in Wiki’s car and Goat led a quick abbreviated chalk talk where we introduced ourselves, but due to a lack of flour pack was left to figure out marks on their own. Upon our departure we lost trail almost immediately due to the hazards of yellow chalk. The list of things that can be mistaken for yellow marks in the snow includes yellow sidewalk crossings, dog pee, and human pee. This issue remained salient throughout trail.  Pack ran through the snow at speeds sure to instill fear in the heart of any hare. A few blocks in experienced hashers began to notice some similarities between this trail and past Yankee trails, which meant we knew to look forward to a quick off-road trek that, at this time of year meant snow up to our knees. Not long after that we found our esteemed hare standing next to a familiar looking park, clutching a bottle of whisky. He informed us this was the beer check but the beer had yet to arrive so we should drink the whiskey he happened to have on him to fend off hare snares. After everyone else had time for a few sips, a pink unicorn appeared with a box of Sam Adams Cold Snap. I thought this was a remarkably fitting and decent beer for the setting, but Butler seemed rather disgusted with the pink unicorn’s offering. Despite the grumbling pack drank, the hare departed in a flurry of yellow flour, Wiki gathered the bottles, and we ran on. Roughly two blocks later we found the hare yet again and he informed us that he was giving us the bottle of whisky to finish, he was low on flour, and the on-in was Rice-Post. (surprise!) We passed around the bottle for a decent amount of time, men took the opportunity to decorate the snow with more yellow marks, and around the time everyone started getting cold we ran off. It was at this point we slowly realized that Yankee had not been lying (as hares are wont to do) when he said he was out of flour and on-in was Rice-Post. We searched in vain for marks, came up empty handed, and followed our pink unicorn into a pizza place where we waited for our pizza in warmth and passed around bottles of Cold Snap craftily hidden in glove cozies. We were about as good at hiding our beer as you would expect drunken hashers hiding out from the cold in a pizza place in Dorchester to be. When the laughing pizza proprietors handed over the goods we trudged the few blocks back to Rice Post, left what remained of the whisky in the snow bank outside, (did anyone pick that up on the way out or should we return for it in spring?) and joyously returned to our bartender friend. 
After we produced beer we sang Yankee into circle, commented on our short, drunken, yellow trail and Yankee led us in a rousing round of friggen in the riggen. Goat RA’ed because apparently he and Krusty rub off on each other? There were some accusations. Even though I was sober I don’t remember what they were, but I do know that Dry Hose and Sex the Final frontier ended up in circle for various offenses and were instructed to stand ass to ass, reach one hand through their legs, clasp hands and perform their down downs in this position. It took them 2 down down songs before they got it right and I now have a whole new image in my brain for the term ass to ass. Circle wrapped up rather quickly with hash religion and we inhaled pizza, drank more beer, and hung out with the 1 or 2 locals who had braved the storm. When I departed Billy told me to keep the boys out of trouble and I expressed my doubts about my ability to do so but promised to try my best.

On- Why did you make me hash all alone?-On

-Orgasm Famine


2/13-3/15 Moon Away
2/15, 2:30HST -  BH3 Herding Cats Hash, Prelube Baracuda Tavern
2/18: Marathon Plan meeting! Open to all Hashers! Come if you want to help with marathon (or if you want to drink and watch us plan for the BEST BH3 MARATHON MAIN EVENT of 2015)
Sometime in March: Ivy League Interhash in Boston
3/15: Last day to register for marathon to be garunteed an amazing giveaway!
4/18 Have you chosen your Disney Princess for Marathon?

256th Annual Robbie Burns Day Trail - Sunday January 25, 2015 (almost 4 years ago)

Hares: +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare)
Bag Car (aka: haggis car): Sex, The Final Frontier
Start:  Stoddard's, 48 Temple PlBoston
Whiskey Check: by the Robbie Burns statue in downtown Boston, of course
Beer Check: crazy as it seems, in the new North End apartment of 2 hares
On-in (this was reportedly a last minute substitution): Biddy Early’s Pub, Boston
Time:  2:30 p.m. HST (pack away around 3:30-ish)
Total Distance:  about 3 miles walking … the rest of the pack ran around a bit more (they beat the walkers to the checks and on-in, so trail was relatively short)
Scribe: Cums Alone
Weather: cold … maybe in the 20s, cloudy

Promises from the hares: some [very] good scotch whiskey, some okay-ish scotch whiskey, scotch eggs, scotch tape, scotch guard, scotch haggis, scotch pizza, scotch H3 markings, and AN ALL NEW NEVER-BEFORE-USED ON-IN!

Hashers Present (if this is off, blame Wiki, he gave me the list): +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare), Sex, The Final Frontier (bag car),Wikipedophilia, ski bobbit, jello wrecked 'em, popo peep show,fellowship of the cock ring, orgasmn falmon, 5 inch penalty, blowbot, twat my mom, willy wonka and the backdoor factory, necropheliac jack, bum fucking vagabond, friar fuck, goes down on buoys, grease my monkey’s nuts, no man on the moon, mudslut, luvalamp, E=Iamdouche, cums alone, krusty the meat miser, easy to please, stuff that reich now (he has a new name Wiki doesn’t remember  … maybe One Dry Hose,  since I have that name written in my notes??), bloody slip inside, velvet pelvis, just bryan (later named foreskin abortion), blondie mc fucksalot, he's gone gaywol, queer and foaming in my anus … and others

Virgin:  Joe or John?? (I have “John”, Wiki has “Joe”, so I’ll alternate)

Late Cummers: none (at least I don’t think so)

The Start and the Run:
The pack prelubed at Stoddard's and eventually gathered outside.  Krusty and Bloody Slip explained the trail and marks. They said trail was in honor of a wonderful man they know nothing about.  Marks were pretty standard, except for the flying dick check (I have no idea what that was!). There was to be a shot check and a beer check.  I was with the walkers. It was a relatively short distance to the shot check; we arrived after the pack, so their trail must have been pretty reasonable, as well. There were 2 choices of scotch: Johnny Walker Red and some real scotch from (where else?) Scotland.

After the shot check, trail led toward Faneuil Hall.  The hares entrusted the remaining scotch to Virgin John, since he looked to be the most trustworthy (Necropheliac Jack relieved Virgin Joe of the responsibility, and the bottles were passed around among the walkers). We trudged on toward the North End, with the pack passing us once or twice on the way.

The Beer Check was on a side street in the North End, at Yellow Dick Gnome’s and +2 Coonass’ brand new abode … a 4th floor walk up, that they’d moved into less than a week ago (but you couldn’t tell by looking around).  The pack drank most of the remaining scotch, along with the beer that was provided.

From the beer check in the North End, it was a direct trail to the on-in at Biddy Early’s Pub in the Financial District.

The on in:

Bloody Slip Inside and mudslut?? were co-RAs, with some additional help from Krusty – again needed due to the boisterous pack. Note: Wiki blocked my view of the circle so all of this is sketchy.  The hares were ushered into the circle for the usual abuse.

Comments included: Not enough bananas (there were dozens smashed on the sidewalk around the Robbie Burns statue), Not enough tourists said Wiki had a p*nis on his head, not enough black ice, not enough top floor parties, is the flesh colored chalk made of people?, BS that this is a never before on-in, etc.

The hares recited a Robbie Burns poem of some sort, which no one could understand due to the brogue. They did their down down and were banished from the circle.


Yellow Dick Gnome and Bum F-ing Vagabond demented Virgin John. 
Ski Bobbitt made virgin John come, and Virgin Joe can’t wait to go down on Ski. If Virgin J was a ski slope he’d be a double black diamond. And Virgin John let the pack know that Ski’s is only 2.5 centimeters when it’s not inflated.

Just Brian was overdue for a name. He had been holding back on any good stories to provide fodder for a hash name, but that didn’t stop the pack.  There was some rumbling about his circumcision gone wrong.  Names that were proposed included:  Back off My foreskin, Baby Fighting Cock, Steel Clap Trap, Failed Cock, Left Dick Fighter.  The name that was chosen by popular acclaim:  Foreskin Abortion (proposed by Friar F)

Accusations, etc.:
*birthdays - several, didn’t get the names (the bar was small and, again, my view was blocked)
* All kilt wearers were given a down down
* backsliders
* sweat test failure – Luva Lamp
* Same Shirts
* FRB, FBI, DFL etc.

We did hash religion. And then we had lots of pizza, and plenty of haggis to put on top.

--- Cums Alone, scribe

Upcumming Events:

St. Patrick’s Day Hash
Nor’easter/blizzard hash on Tuesday
February 21 – 25th annual X-C ski hash in Rumney NH
April 19th 2015 Marathon

1/18 Furry Hash (almost 4 years ago)
A Famine/Shart Production

Furry Hash!
Prelube: Seven’s Ale House
Hares: Wiki and Udder
Bag Car: Show me the Penis
Pack: Luva Lamp, Blondie, Gaywol, Butler, Just Bryan, Queer and Foaming, Disco, Po-Po Peep show, Fellowship of the cock ring, Just Trevor, Jello, Sex the final frontier, Shart of Darkness, Blubber, Whack a Hole, Bloody, Goat throat, Just Megan, No Man on the Moon, Mud Slut, Friar, Dribbles, Necropheliac Jack , Coonass, Yankee.
Late comers: CEP, Cum Ear, Easy, Black Cock Down

I find it ironic that the furry hash happened on the warmest day of January to date. For the one hash where the theme allowed for as many layers as our hearts desired mother nature decided to make it so warm most people’s furry costumes seemed a cruel and newly sweaty joke. Did the RA’s forget to offer sexual favors to the proper cosmic entity this week?

We gathered in Seven’s on Charles Street to prepare for trail with whatever combination of food, hangover cures, or drinks we deemed prudent. Sometime during my first beer I realized nobody had asked me for money yet and some strange responsible part of me volunteered to begin collecting hash cash. Apparently my technique of shoving the ever-growing wad of cash down my shirt inspired much confidence because hashers seemed remarkably eager to give me money. As our furry menagerie grew and patrons of the bar gave us increasingly odd looks our esteemed hares (a bunny and a cow) departed in a cloud of orange chalk. An appropriate amount of time later 6.9 minutes and 69 seconds were called and we trooped out into the balmy weather to bag car. Chalk Talk proceeded in a disappointingly clean ally. We were informed trail would be in chalk but there was none to demonstrate the marks so a few of them were depicted in chalk. Bloody jumped up and down with most of his usual abandon and Blubber once again proved that RA’s need not be sober. Some brilliant soul suggested hashers get on with it and everyone ran off.  That is everyone except for me and the other walkers.

Walker's trail: Yes wankers, I am a poor injured hasher so at least my portions of this trash will teach you about the wonders of walkers trail. As everyone else ran off I proceeded to pull a bottle of orange juice and a flask of vodka from my bag, drink a swig of orange juice, and replace the displaced liquid with vodka. Once my fellow walkers and I had shared in my bounty we investigated the map the bunny and the cow had kindly provided. We set off through Beacon Hill and quickly came upon some lost Flordinian’s who asked our motley group for directions to the science museum. We declared we were going in that direction so they should just come with us. Then we offered them nourishment from my orange juice bottle and they held up a vitamin water bottle and informed us they already had a vodka’d beverage! We all decided we would get on famously and proceeded to continue with them in tow. Along our scenic walk next to Storrow drive we learned they spent the night before at the glass slipper, were surprised by the level of nudity Boston strippers get to, and liked Hub Pub. Before our paths diverged we congratulated them on getting drunk enough at a bar on the freedom trail that they lost the trail and sent them off to the science museum properly inebriated. My fellow walkers and I found a group hug check and then the beer check. After I fell on the ice and added a bruised knee to my collection of mystery bruises (ok perhaps this one was not mysterious) we decided to warn the runners about the ice when they arrived. As runners trickled in we drank beer, ate orange food, took a photo to document the furry, and eventually the runners departed. I added a beer to my mostly empty orange juice/vodka concoction and it became an extra strong beermossa. Yankee joined the walkers for our second leg and we walked through the north end passing around the boozy drink. As we approached the location of the second beer check over-achieving runners began passing us and didn’t even stop when I offered them booze! The second beer check was in a playground, which seemed an odd location for our beer. We enjoyed the swings but were disappointed by the lack of good peeing locations. Po-po Peepshow made do with a small clump of bushes. Very hashwoman like behavior. When runners departed the drunken walker brigade ambled on. I would normally say that I have an unfailing ability to get myself to the Rover and the Wrong Kong but apparently my sense of direction was somewhat clouded by drink because we ambled through the north end and towards downtown with somewhat less than lazer-like focus. At one point we spied part of pack and Mud-slut was enticed to join our merry band. As we commiserated about injuries and drank away our sorrows we approached the Wild Rover just as pack arrived and we all climbed the stairs to our furry animal den together. - Famine

Runner's trail: Trail got off to a good start by taking us through as many crowded areas as possible. We amused and delighted the people in the Public Garden (I'm sure) before crossing over to the Common, where we came upon a shot check -- Haterate covered in gunky orange flour. In fact, the shot check tasted mainly of flour, so this may have been an intentional move by the hares.

We crossed up toward the State House and into Beacon Hill to give John Kerry a chance to admire us in all our furry splendor. After a few checks, we discovered yet another shot check, making the shot check to running ratio very good for this trail. The shot check was once again covered in moist orange flour, but being hashers, we were not dissuaded.

We followed trail toward (and through) North Station, where we found a song check on the other side. Some passersby took pictures (though we don't appear to be Reddit famous yet - damn, maybe next time) and one particularly persistent man filmed us despite Goat and Just Bryan standing directly in front of his camera to block him, finally calling us "fucking freaks" as we ran off. Boston is full of winners, indeed.

We quickly came upon the beer check, located at some park in the North End. We imbibed beverages and took a photo on the stairs (where did that photo end up, anyway?) before heading off.

I don't remember much of the next leg of trail. In fact, I had forgotten there were two beer checks until I read Famine's account, so that shows what a reliable narrator I am. There was indeed a beer check at a playground, although I couldn't tell you where said playground was if you paid me. There was definitely a hash sitapede at some point, which I remember because it worked unusually well. There was at least one more shot check somewhere; we were taken through Faneuil; finally, we ended up at the door of Wild Rover. - Shart

Circle: I was so drunk for circle that I have very fuzzy memories so I hope one of the real scribes takes over here. What I do remember is watching the end of one football game, being called into circle for performing jobs other hashers had failed to receive tags for at AGM, drinking much beer, struggling with the hand motions during swing low, and watching the beginning of the Patriots game! - Famine

Indeed, circle was short (but sweet?). Upon arriving at the bar, someone was told that the $2 beer we had been promised was not available upstairs. We first coped by buying nice beers (Lagunitas at circle? Say what now?) but some ingenious thinker realized we could just go downstairs, buy $2 beers and carry them up. This did not endear us to the bartender upstairs, but did provide us with a hearty stock of an alcoholic-ish beverage.

Beyond that, there's not much to remember about circle because it was extremely short. Blubber called in people whose tags he still had from AGM. There was another accusation or two. And then circle was wrapped up with announcements, and we actually finished circle *before* the food was ready, an unusual happenstance for any hash. We made do with watching football until the trays of chicken, quesadillas, pizza, and whatever else were set up, and then continued to engage in the American pastime of getting fat while watching grown men grapple with each other. - Shart

The day after: I realized I really was incredibly drunk the night before because it became apparent that even though I do not remember buying a drink once hash cash ran out I left my credit card at the bar. When I went to the Rover to retrieve it the only slightly judgmental bartender informed me she also had Just Bryan’s card. - Famine

On-Drunken walking adventures-My liver hopes I can run again soon-Not enough yiffing-On

-Orgasm Famine & Shart of Darkness

Tropical Hash XII (almost 4 years ago)
What: Tropical Hash XIII
Hares: Hare Club for Queers, Mastor Gator
Bag car: Pat my Fly
Start: Punters Connar Larkins

Pack: Nice Tits, Fellowship of the Cockring, Poo poo peep show, Jello Wreck ‘em, Some Virgin, High Anus, Yankee Pay $5 More, Sex The Final Frontier, THE 2nd Cumming, Just Jeff, Stuff that Reich Now, Orgasm Falmon, Twat My Mom, Blowbot, Swedish Eagle, Whack A Hole, Spunk In The Trunk, The Butler Hit it, Clitnotes, Skechty Ho, Clitnotes, Placentos the Freshmaker, Queer and Foaming in my Anus, Pubic Service Announcement, Five In Penatly, E=ImDouche, Pop cum ear I’m ineffective, Super Teflong Dong, Oink Oink Ohhh, maybe others? I tried to keep attendance but failed.


The start was not at Punters, but apparently, Popo, Fellowship, Jello and their virgin hung out there for a while as the cleaning staff was moping before eventually moving the prelube to Conar Larkins. Once everyone was at Conar Larkins, they might have posted in the FB event, and Tits joked about updating the hotline because no one ever checks it, maybe, in the end, she did, I don’t know. Pack slowly started to arrive at the start and we all tried to find the most tropical beer they had (there was a beer from Hawaii on tap) and donned our lays and Hawaiian shirts over multiple layers of thermal “exercise” gear. The hares left right on time, 15 minutes late, at 3:15, and bag car was called about 15 minutes after that.

Trail Antiqua (holy shit I spelled that right! First try!):

Starting with a very animated (to stay warm) chalk talk, our RA for the day – Clitnotes – instructed us on all of the marks we would see, and all of the checks we wouldn’t. The bag car was parked two blocks towards the city from Connars, and the first mark was in front of the bar pointing towards the MFA, so, in an effort to dispel the cold, we took off looking for beer. Trail ran straight from Conars back to Punters before crossing Huntington and going through parts of Northeastern, before turning we’ll call it right-ish towards some abandonded lots and “light” housing projects. At the edge of the abandoned lots was a bottle of yellow liquid (gatoraid?) and half a bottle of coconut rum, which the FRBs completely destroyed leaving empty bottles for the rest of pack. Leaving the shot check was a most interesting mark – CB0 – which apparently is just a normal check, but YHS decided to run a lap around the block just to make sure. Trail continued vaguely up hill, skirting the edge of what I’m calling mission hill, before turning left and crossing over what I think is called Columbia road and into RCC. Nice Tits commented that she hadn’t hashed through here in a while, and I said that I vaguely recalled a trail by Goat and Fire (bikini/parking garage hash?) that beer checked at a park near by. We did not go to that park directly; instead we scrambled up some shiggy – with the requesit ‘get off my lawn’  from the property owner – and then through an interesting warren of alleys and passage ways, around (or through?) a church, and then to the very park that I had mentioned earlier, where we indeed found cold, refreshing, good beer.

Beer Check Bora Bora:

The beer was surprisingly good – Sam Winter and Yeungling for the FRBs – and the rest of pack got PBRs. There was orange food and what looked like Hare Clubs holiday party left overs (chocolate dipped pretzels, peppermint bark, etc). Despite the good beer and surprising food, the BC was a bit exposed to the light tropical breezes coming off the South Pacific, so, after strong urging from the pack, the hares were gay, and, in the time it takes for beer to freeze (I don’t think any beer actually froze, but I like that metric), so was pack.

Trail Maldives:

Since we were able to watch the hares lay the first two checks, we followed trail quiet easy down the stairs and across some road before turning into another college-esque building before some more “light” shiggy, more street crossing and housing projects. I was generally confused as to what area of the city we were in until we immerged from behind a building to a crossing over Columbia again, and a bridge over the rail tracks in the distance. In front of the bridge, though, there were a group of hashers milling about looking in trash cans, kicking bushes, and looking in trees. They were confused because they saw an “SC” mark, which we finally decided meant “Song Check” not “Shot Check” so we sang about how much we love our girls, before taking off across the bridge, only to be stopped by a tit check. Released by the lovely Po-po (who I think also flashed a security guard), we ran through some parking lots then through the Northeastern dorms. This weekend was the Northeastern Res Hall Fare, since there were chalk drawings of cartoons and arrows promising a great time. We edited these to indicate the Hash was more fun than the Res Hall Fare, plus tit checks. Running through Northeastern can really only yield one result, so no one was surpised when we ended up crossing over the original trail which had been marked out and label “ONIN” at Punters.


After congratulating themselves on running an amazing B to A trail, the beer started flowing and circled started going. The hares were called in and we told them to use more flour and chalk, while they brought Whack A Hole in to be allouetted (was she a real good sport, yes she was a real good sport). FRBs and FBIs were called in; I’m calling them Five Inch and Whack a Hole, as were DFLs (some of whom had not made it to the ONIN when DFLs were called), so Cum Ear drank for them. The virgin was then called in and assumed the position as he was demented by Cum Ear and Falmon. He sucked a math, I forgot what question Twat asked, likes to make cows cum, and had no idea what a dollar menu was. Jello showed him how to do a down-down, and while he was by no means worthy, we’ll take him anyway. After that Douche showed up (note: we did chant Douchesquatch 3 times right before he walked in), so he drank for being the real DFL. Backsliders, bald guys and former GMs drank, anyone not wearing hash attire drank, blood on trail and alcohol abuse drank. STD showed up, so he drank for being a vistor and a sweat test failure. The Bud Light switched to IPA at some point and circle began to disintegrate as the smell of pizza wafted in from across the room. Announcements are at the end of the trash, but we swang low and stuffed our faces with vaguely pizza-like food things. Blubber showed up about 30 minutes after we swang low so he could maintain his “no trails when there’s snow on the ground.” Or, to quote him directly “I’m a summer RA.”

On – travel hash to the tropics next year? – On



Tonight: TACO trail, somewhere? I don’t have a taco, so I don’t care. It’s on the website, FB group, somewhere.

Tomorrow: Januarary Moon Trail; starting at the Tam at 6:30 HST. Hares are Jello, Popo and Cockring. It’s goth themed, so bring your eyeliner, angst, life-is-pain, nihilist, pleather, and cranium covers.

Saturday: Might be a ball-buster?

Sunday (1/18): nth-Annal Furry Hash, starting at 7s Ale House 2:30HST. Hares are Wikipedophilia and Udder Whore. Wear your furries!!!

Saturday (1/24): Poof in Northborough.

Sunday (1/25): Robbie Burns with Yellow Dick Gnome and Nice Tits. Scotch, Hagus, you know the deal.

Moon Away:  Feb 13-15, $35, I think? There might be spots left? Rego link is in the FB group.

2/28-3/1: Burlington Mardi Gras (I think?) Harlot’ll spam us when it gets closer. Beads, glitter, retronome, rage.

April 17th-20: Boston Marathon Weekend. Rego is currently $69, but goes up to $79 on 2/1. Rego now!


July: Invihash

August: GAP

October: AGM

Novemeber: Saddie

Decemeber: Antibuffet.

January 2016: Tropical Hash XIV