Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| 3-in-1 hash trash for 11/22 & 11/23 | Hippie Hash | !! Unicron (sic) Trash !! | 11/3 Eagles in Eastie trail | 3 Trails 1 Trash |

3-in-1 hash trash for 11/22 & 11/23 (almost 4 years ago)
How did I end up doing all 3 trails?

This month Boston has seen so many trails that 3 in 1 weekend does not even seem odd. As the one hasher stupid enough to have been present for them all in their entirety I will attempt a hash trash trifecta. (shout out to Butler who was there for all but the first leg of ballbuster.) This somehow got incredibly long. Enjoy.

-Orgasm Famine

Ball Buster / Boob Buster

Hares: Necrophiliac Jack and LARP
Bag Car: Krusty
Pack: Vagibond, Just Emily, Black Cock Down, Easy as 123, Five inch Penalty, Butler, Swedish Eagle, Orgasm Famine

I arrived to trail properly late so as I dragged my hungover ass out to the park behind the assembly square shopping center I saw a small huddle of cold looking people drinking beermosas as they considered why they had come out to trail. We tried all sorts of interesting methods to stay warm as the hares took seemingly forever to leave. Among the methods were penguin huddling, interpretive dancing/ jumping around like the idiots we are, and screaming at the hares to be gay already. Once they left and we lost most of the feeling in our extremities we held a properly abbreviated chalk talk and it turned out it was a good thing we took so long to get going because 5 inch showed up just as we left.

Trail led off through the shopping center to a song? check in front of the lego giraffe before cutting across numerous parking lots to an intersection by a sketchy underpass. Due to some questionable checking by yours truly we got a bit lost before finding trail going over a bridge. There was a well laid false with a second mark leading across a busy street that had pack wandering around some more parking lots before we found trail going down a side street. Eventually we made it to the first beer check, which was in a park near the river. Not only Krusty and the Hares were waiting for us but we were also graced by the presence of Butler who had failed to make it in time for the start but was graciously picked up by bag car. We drank, celebrated the warmth running bestowed upon us, and slowly got cold again before continuing on to leg 2. Sweagle had earned the ball buster brick and Just Emily carried McGilicuddy. (murdered that spelling)

Trail led out across a baseball field, down the river for a little, up some train tracks, and under a fence. I was told there was a way to go around the fence but chose to roll/scooch under in the mulch. It turns out there actually was not another way through due to a gate being closed on the weekends? At some form of a check many of us ran up a hill because you know, trail always goes uphill. Except this time it didn’t. We ran back down and found trail going through yet more parking lots and eventually through to a field complex where many people were throwing a football around. As we gathered to serenade them they even somehow threw it near us and 5 inch kindly returned it. We ran by some more water and made it to the second beer check, which was by a playground in Charlestown. (I think. I rarely know where I am when off the green line) We drank more and discussed the general lack of good peeing locations in the area. Maybe other things happened but I was still a bit too hung-over to remember.  5 Inch took over the brick and Blacky got McGillicutty.

The 3rd leg of trail was definitely the shortest and in under a mile we found bag car yet again for beer in yet another park by the river. Speakers were brought out and there was a bit of dancing or maybe we just had to pee? When we departed with empty bladders, yet increasingly inebriated, we sped off over the long walking bridge that goes towards the science museum. Unfortunately soon after the bridge Just Emily stepped off a curb and sprained her ankle at which point we huddled up and tried to reach bag car but failed. Many chivalrous hashers offered their injured compatriot whoredor rides but all were gently declined. I walked Just Emily to Lechmere, left her with McGillikutty to keep her company, and ran off to try to find pack. Blacky left me a few extra pack marks to help me catch up and trail went across the bridge to Cambridge near the Science Museum, under said bridge, and down the river to the Gallaria. The shoppers were out in force so I was a bit of a disruption as I ran through in search of pack. After the mall there was a pack mark telling me which way not to go but it was not all that helpful in pointing out the actual direction.  Fortunately not long after I saw bag car with a huddle of hashers around it. Apparently something happened to the muffler on trail? It fell off? Five inch had been sent out to search for me but I somehow missed him so we continued on when he returned. We found a true trail leading into a building and split Turkey Eagle up the Elevator or the Stairs to the roof of the complex. I ran after 5 inch who was counting stairs, something like 50? Our efforts were rewarded with a beautiful roof garden beer check. We drank, discussed ingesting airplanes, football fields, and maybe other things, and eventually left. 5 inch had the brick.

The last leg of trail was a bit of a death march from Kendal straight to Harvard. There was a hare snare outside Deadalus bar so we hung out with some Harvard kids while we waited almost the proper amount of time before continuing on. The closer we got to Harvard Square the more college kids sporting rather ugly maroon and white sweaters, hats, scarves, etc. we saw. This was due to some big football game that I guess people care about? Harvard Yale. We found the on-in mark in the middle of the little triangle park outside Grendel’s Den. After some discussion of where we could hold circle considering the mess of people out for the game we settled on a somewhat secluded courtyard. People drank for technology on trail, being late, getting injured, back-sliding, being ball-buster virgins and all sorts of other things. Trail #1 complete.

Trail #2 Sadie Hawkins
Kennel: Pink Taco
Hares: Mangia and CPA
Pack: Assorted harriets including many out of towners and their chosen and pinned dates.

I cannot possibly do justice to the glory that was the Sadie Hawkins event. Hashers were dressed as squares or drapes taking their costume instructions from the movie Cry Baby.  We took over a corner of the Charlie’s Kitchen upstairs and likely confused the drunken Harvard kids cheering for the game around us. Do to the lack of space we got going remarkably quickly but not before the plastic glasses were handed out to all and decorated with sharpies. We went outside and Mangia explained to all the regulations and marks of the taco kennel.  When pack left we meandered down towards the river and through some leaf piles. Yay fall! We sang about why Jesus can’t go hashing in front of a church, there was a Billie check where we consoled Butler about his bad day and generally told him he is still awesome. The beer check was in the park near the Charles that we drink in all the time. We drank beer, ate orange food, and eventually left on trail. I lost it a few times but in a remarkably short time arrived to the on-in at tasty burger. The wonderful taco hares had claimed the basement for us and we began distributing beer and pap-smears with abandon. If you are unfamiliar with the drink the pap-smear it is pbr and Smirnoff ice mixed together into a sugary concoction. Iggy took over as RA for circle and we celebrated our shitty hares. Accusations were made and anybody who had never had a pap-smear (of the pelvic exam variety) was called into circle. They were told to assume the position and with some help from gracious harrietts flopped down on their backs with their legs in the air and spread their knee’s. A few muggles happened to come down the stairs at that moment and could not turn around fast enough. The men in circle drank some pap-smear and were released. A new taco/Sadie tradition was explained in circle. Any male hasher who bag cars for the taco kennel is now to dress in drag to be entered into the running for Ms. Taco. The 2014 Ms. Taco Broke Back Baby was crowned in his heels and yellow dress. I feel like I am forgetting other memorable moments of circle but eventually we sang Taco religion. (Hot Vagina) Burgers, fries and onion rings were provided, the beer continued to flow and the festivities continued. Necrophiliac Jack set up a tripod and camera to capture the magical moments of the night for any and all who wanted to pose on the couch. Some pool was played, people danced, drank, and rejoiced. I hear there was an on-after and Sligo and eventually Discodome but sadly I was unequal to the task of continuing to party. 2 trails down.

Trail # 3. Boston Sunday.

Kennel: BH3
Hares: E=I’m a Douche and Pewee Pervin
Bag Car: Can’t Eat Pussy
Pack: Krusty, Piggy, Amazon, Stiffy, Virgin Alvin, Just Theo, No Man on the Moon, Mudslut, Butler, Orgasm Famine, Bloody Slip Inside, Lego, Just Tavish, more I am forgetting

For me this trail started as I sat on my couch watching the pats game and considering whether I would go to my third trail of the weekend. I asked the hares if they had planned a walking trail or a running trail and Douche assured me that a max of a 2 mile walk was in store for us. Being the admitted r*cist I am I decided to abandon my couch and run to trail. When I arrived (late) I saw the hares running away from the bar with bags of flour. A bit perplexed by this I entered Courtside and learned that due to pack wanting to run the hares were off to lay a running trail. Yippee?

At chalk talk there was some confusion over if trail was in chalk or flour. It turned out it was sporadically in both. Pack ran off and immediately hit a check back 3. I dutifully checked back and chose a new direction, which seemingly led to a check. I say seemingly because after running about a mile over a large bridge and following sporadic marks and checks and thinking maybe we were crossing ballbuster marks due to arrows pointing the wrong way…. Mudslut ran up to me and said she had run into Douche and we were somehow following trail backwards. In hind-sight considering the marks we saw this made sense. We ran the mile or so back to Courtside and started over. Perfect. At this point rather far behind the rest of pack (may their journey have been smoother than ours) our group sped off to catch up. There were side streets, falses, hills, and eventually we found another group of hashers contemplating a Turkey Eagle split. They had found Hare Club on trail so at least we were gaining more poor souls who mistakenly trusted Douche. As we ran off we returned to where we had been running trail backwards so we ran back over the big bridge for a third time and followed some true trail marks, a BBVC into a parking lot, and a trail of some sort to a Shot Check. Finally booze! The shots were mystery beverage and the bottles were covered in flour, which was absorbing condensation and creating doughy globs that stuck to everything. Yum. No Man on the Moon pointed out a tree she peed on some time in the past and there maybe were thorns involved in the story. Trail led off through parking lots, past confused looking security/parking attendants and into out into a grassy ridge where we found BN and then Beer!

We drank, I tried not to speak to, threaten, or commit bodily violence upon the hares. Eventually they were chased off since it was already beginning to get dark. When we followed we found a number of falses, the walkers caught us and somewhat at their prompting we set out across a long bridge. Pack climbed down a wall near Bunker Hill Community College and set out across parking lots and fields to some bleachers where we found Hares, Fireball, but as of yet no beer. When bag car arrived we drank and chased the hares off once again.

When pack followed we ran across a field, down a road, found dick and tit checks in rust colored chalk and a song check where we sang about a department store in Chicago to the delight of Stiffey our visitor from Chicago. After turning down a creepy side street that seemed to lead nowhere good I spied the hares walking further up and we set off in pursuit. They laid dick checks, joke checks, and song checks to slow us but ended up snared anyway. (I think it was the third snaring of the day?) Douche informed me we were close to the on-in which is how we learned we were in for an outdoor circle in the middle of November without advanced warning. Really it was a Douche trail so we should have known. We picked a spot to wait for bag car under many overpasses and near a family of cement mixers. Peewee Pervin climbed into one and someone found an unopened bottle of whisky somewhere. When bag car arrived we grabbed our stuff, beer, and pizza! When circle commenced we called in our shitty shitty hares who drank and sang us something. The virgin was called in and he answered the questions of our out of town dementress as none of the Boston ones were present. At one point he demonstrated sex with Peewee, Stiffy showed him how to do a down down and we grudgingly made him virgin no more. The visitors were called in and sang us a number of great songs I had never heard before but sadly no longer remember. FRB a FBI (Stiffey and I) drank for our sins. DFL was someone. Among others called into circle were the walkers, anyone who peed on trail, everyone who went to 3 trails this weekend, then 2 trails, then any trail (social). There were comments on trail, there were announcements (to follow). People started getting really cold. Some hashers drank more of the found whisky and eventually we all found our way out of the sketchy underpass and back to civilization. At least I did and I hope everyone else did too. 3 trails. Rage.

-Orgasm Famine


E4B Tuesday the 25th 6:30 in Medford
BH3 next Sunday Easy to Please is haring “dirty thirty” details TBD
Ballbuster Turducken December 6th, noon, Public House Brookline.
Black Friday trail just over the border to NYC (ask someone else for details)
The guy from Chicago announced something in Chicago
Piggy announced NERD but I don’t remember when
Marathon next April

Hippie Hash (almost 4 years ago)

Hash trash  for 2014-11-16: The Hippie Hash
Hares: Queer and Foaming in My Anus & Blondie McFucksalot
Who was there: Can't Eat Pussy, Poophole Loophole, Gaywol, Clitnotes, No Man on the Moon, Mudslut, Friar Fuck, Stuff That Reich Now, Pop Cum Ear I'm Infected, The Buttler Hit It, Easy at 123, Goat Throat, Black Cock Down, Just Simone, Virgin Catherine, Just Tavish, Just Lisa, Orgasm Famine, Necrophiliac Jack, Just Brian, Sex the Final Frontier, Just Jeff.
Alright, so, there was a hash on Sunday, as is our custom. Some things happened, like...
We started at Swillo which, as you know, is in Allston. This is important for later in the story.
Our brand-spanking-new Religious Advisor Clit Notes went around the circle at prelube and we all had to give out some good vibes, man. The consensus was that we're all very pretty.
And then we're off! And we ran for a while around Allston. And there was a shot check! And there was much rejoicing.
Continuing on, there was a beer check relatively close by, just, you know, without any beer. Note to future bag cars: please, make no assumptions about the location of various landmarks around the city. Just because it's called Harvard Stadium, does not mean it is in Harvard Square. Remember: we were in Allston. So we climbed trees and waited. And then we drank. And there was much rejoicing.
Moving along, we did our best November Project impression and ran into and up Harvard Stadium, in Allston. And there was a second shot check at the top! And there was some rejoicing, but we were kinda tired from running up the stairs.
As we left, there was a song check that was craftily converted by a some unknown FRB into a passable tit check. And there was much rejoicing.
All right, over the river and into Our Fair City. Run around until beer check número two at Magazine Beach, again, waiting for the bag car. Bag car arrives, as does the RA-for-life, Krusty the Meat Miser! But we were a little too cold to rejoice very much. And so, we move on.
We sang Jesus Saves outside a church, but then a car almost murdered us all on the sidewalk, so we stopped.
Bimbos and wankers, the rest of my notes look like this: 
Shot Check
Shot Check
Shot Check

I'm not even kidding. That's a lot of spiked green tea.
So then we get to to Harvard Square, and the on-in is upstairs at the Garage, Crazy Dough's. And some people were like, whaaaat? But we scared away the muggles pretty quickly, and it was fine. Except I'm not sure our African-American waitstaff understood the racism joke. There were some uncomfortableness.
Anyway, Crazy Dough's was great, good pizza, cheap pitchers. Uh, I didn't write anything down, so, let's see, the Virgin and Just Simone were accused of wearing American camouflage, FRB was probably CEP, FBI was probably Famine, and DFL was, let's say, E= I'm a Douche, why not. 
There's a ball buster before Sadie this Saturday, I still need to figure it out. I think it'll start downtown somewhere. Probably Beantown Pub. I'll let you know.
Peace, love, and understanding,
Necrophiliac Jack

!! Unicron (sic) Trash !! (about 4 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.

Geetings, wankers!

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.

Easy-corn trail:

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.

Sharty-vagi-corn trail:

[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.

Senior-corn trail:

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.

Disco-corn trail

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-corn trail:

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.

CPA-corn trail:

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.

Peeping-corn trail:

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:

Wiki-corn trail:

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.

Trail Blubber-Udder-Corn:

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.
Leg 7

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.
Leg 8

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.
Leg 9

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.
Leg 10

I got nothing. I was completely checked out.

Leg 11.

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.

Wild Rover

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.

On After

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
When: 11/9
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.

Chalk Talk:
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. 

Ragefully yours,

11/22-PT2H3-dudes, you know the drill
11/15-PooF Thanksgiving-Holden
12/6-B4H3 4th An*al Turducken Trail
12/20-Holiday Party

11/3 Eagles in Eastie trail (about 4 years ago)
What: Eagles in Eastie trail
When: 11/2
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 #2or, 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

Haring updates:
- 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 shart

3 Trails 1 Trash (about 4 years ago)
Trail #1

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

Point A:

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.”

BC #1:

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.

BC #2:

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.

Trail #2:

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.

BC #2:

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.

Circle…started slowly…

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.

Trail #3

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.

BC #1:

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.

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.