Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| The Carlos Danger Trail aka GAP Don't Hurt Me, Don't Hurt Me No More | E4BH3 #17 | Boston Marathon Hash 2013 | Don’t Change anything! | We Don’t Want to Snare You |

The Carlos Danger Trail aka GAP Don't Hurt Me, Don't Hurt Me No More (about 5 years ago)
Hares: General Ass Pounder and Placentos the Freshmaker
Bag Car: Wikipedophilia
Religious Advisor: THE Second Cumming
Scribe: Jolly GREEN Vagina
Four-legged Hashers: I Heart Salami, Virgin Bjorn
Lazy-Ass Pre-Lubers: Pubic Service Announcement, Taj My Hole
Sweat Test Failure: The Buttler Hit It
Weather: About 80, mostly sunny.

Pack: Super Teflon Dong, Spermatologist, I Eat Teabags, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory, Friar F*ck, E Equals I’m a Douche, Goat Throat, Goes Down on Buoys, Anal Beads, Yankee Pay Five Dollar More, Pat My Fly, Harlot Globe Fondler, Virgin Jeremy, Just Alex, I Love Blowj*bs, Turd Dimension, Just Nathan, No Man on the Moon, Takes It In the Assberger, Just Kate, Mangia My Vagina, Pappy van Tinkle, Necrophiliac Jack, Bring Out the Gimp, Blowbot, Sketchy Ho, Boston Strangler, Takes It in the Rectory, I Licked Butts, Trickle Down Dickonomics, Furry Thing, High Anus, Spoonful of Semen, Stick It to the Bros, Spunk in the Trunk, Better Late Than Pregnant, Drippy Spigot, Peppermint P*ssy, Save a Tree Ride a Cowboy, Brokeback Baby, Vagitarian, Beat By a Girl, Bend Over Mommy, Hare Club for Queers, Dribbles, Master Gator

Its been a long time since I’ve scribed a Hash Trash, and those of you who are old and crusty enough to have read my Hash Trashes might remember that I usually saved the quotes for the end.  For this one, though, I think it will be a better reading experience if the quotes are dropped at strategic points along the narrative, like Canadian goose turds on a riverside trail.

“Cabs with pink mustaches!” –Pat My Fly

The Pre-Lube was at some place called Roggie’s in Brighton, which I’d never heard of before, but which appeared to be the type of place that bears a lot of resemblance to a Republican senator: on the weekend, Roggie’s slums around serving cheap ass beer to underage BC students, and then during the week, it tries to pretend that it’s a respectable drinking and dining establishment that would never ever stick its cock through a hole in an airport bathroom stall for an anonymous gay blowj*b.

The reason I prefaced this section with a quote from Pat My Fly is because there was a lot about Roggie’s that was uncomfortable, much like talking to someone with senile dementia, but there was also a lot about Roggie’s that was surreal … which is also much like talking to someone with senile dementia.  The uncomfortable part definitely revolved around the Asian family which had thought they were entering a respectable drinking and dining establishment (see above), and had sat down for some pizza and beverages only to find themselves surrounded and then constantly ‘accidentally’ teabagged by about 50 hashers as they jostled around the bar in search of beer and talked about yeast infections for the better part of an hour.

The surreal part came mostly revolved around this short guy in a dark suit, sneakers, and a yarmulke, who went around awkwardly trying to interest people in card tricks.  However, he did manage to make a three of hearts to turn into a five of hearts by rubbing it on Spunk’s boobs, which I have to admit was a decent bit of sleight of hand.  Either that or Spunk’s boobs are magic.  Personally, I choose to believe the latter explanation, and I plan on bringing my own deck of cards to the next hash to see if I’m right.

“Most of the trail will be marked in flour.” –THE Second Cumming

So if you’ve never been on a GAP trail before, right now you’re probably thinking something like, “I don’t get it.  Aren’t the quotes supposed to be funny or something?  This Jolly Green Vagina guy is kind of losing me here.”  On the other hand, if you *have* been on a GAP trail before, you’re probably wiping the tears from your eyes and trying to catch your breath due the sheer, balls-out magnitude of that particular lie, because you know the truth: when GAP is haring, most of the trail will not be marked *at all.*

And we were not disappointed.  Although to be fair, it wasn’t GAP’s fault for the first half mile or so.  From Chalk Talk, trail had immediately gone off into the woods and then out onto a gravel path around a small pond.  But then the trail (which had indeed been marked with flour) seemed to disappear and go nowhere.  The pack spent a few minutes wandering aimlessly and trying to re-establish the trail, before we realized that a small child with a plastic beach shovel was running around scooping up the flour marks.  At that point, the pack collectively gritted its teeth and restrained itself from tossing the little sh*t in the pond, and then followed the shovel marks to find trail again.

From there, trail led into the BC Stadium parking lot, at which point the pack lost trail and spent several minutes wandering around a check in the parking lot.  The blame for this is squarely – squarely, I say – on the pack, since they didn’t immediately look at the archway that led into the stadium itself.  And you call yourselves hashers?  Really, this was a complete gimme, guys.  When was the last time any trail went up to a stadium or athletic field and *didn't* go across it?  Even if there’s a game happening, you should at least expect a Song Check on the sidelines.  For shame.

“It’s kind of like asking to be kicked in the nuts and then complaining when they wear a steel-toed boot.” –Anal Beads

And then there was a Turkey/Eagle split.  Some people took cowardly route and went Turkey, and there’s a part of me that can’t blame them.  But a larger part of me says: Oh, come the f*ck on.  You came out to a GAP trail and you’re not going to experience everything it has to offer?  You’re not going to squeeze out every drop of blood, sweat, tears, hobo urine, and parasite-filled pond water?  Fine, then.  You can p*ssy out and run the Turkey, while I go do the Eagle trail like a *real* hasher.  But, uh, when we get to the Beer Check, I’d appreciate it if you could put peroxide on the scratches I got climbing through the barbed wire fence and calamine on the parts of me that got smeared when I ran through the poison oak.

Now, following that particular digression, a proper understanding of this particular Eagle trail requires that I digress a little more.  Several years ago, GAP laid a trail that will live in infamy.  If you’ve only started hashing in the past two or three years, find one of the old timers and ask them about it.  I guarantee that most of them will remember running that trail (whether they actually did or not) and will be more than happy to tell you about it.  In any event, an abridged version of the first half of the first leg of that trail goes like this: go to Chestnut Hill Mall, go to rocky outcrop behind Chestnut Hill mall, run through swamp, climb chain link fence, cross Green Line tracks (causing train stoppages in both directions), accidentally crawl 150 yards Shawshank-style through a storm drain, run a really long way.

A short version of the Eagle trail goes like this: run a pretty long way, visit the storm drain from the days of yore, have a Scotch check, climb chain link fence, cross Green Line tracks (causing train stoppage in only one direction), run around swamp, go to rocky outcrop behind Chestnut Hill Mall, go to Chestnut Hill Mall, look at GAP’s you-are-here chalk map drawn on the sidewalk.  So in other words, it’s pretty much that trail from all those years ago, only backwards and with Scotch.  I would call it GAP’s fuck-you from him to us, but there was Scotch, and that makes up for a lot.

“Is that a real person or a hasher?” –No Man on the Moon

Okay, time for another digression.  I apologize, but I feel it’s important to paint a picture of the Chestnut Hill Mall, because if you’re a hasher, the Chestnut Hill Mall is probably a place that you have never been to.  Probably it is a place where you will never have any reason to go to.  The Chestnut Hill Mall caters to the sort of people who aren’t hashers.  The Chestnut Hill Mall caters to the sort of people who are, in fact, the exact opposite of hashers.  The Chestnut Hill Mall caters to respectable people.

In a nutshell, the Chestnut Hill Mall is in Newton.

When the hashers started arriving to look at the previously mentioned what-the-f*ck map, there were a dozen Canada geese strolling across the parking lot, and there were a bunch of people taking pictures of the Canada geese strolling across the parking lot.  Because in Newton, a bunch of Canada geese strolling across a mall parking lot is a f*cking big deal.  I mean, there was that 50% off sale on calcium-enriched Tropicana orange juice at Shaw’s last week, and that was pretty gosh-darn exciting, but a bunch of Canada geese in the Chestnut Hill Mall parking lot?  Golly, that just blows the O.J. sale right out of the water!

“Who wants to have a blowj*b party?” –Super Teflon Dong

So at this particular point in time, a bunch of hashers had arrived in the back parking lot of the Chestnut Hill Mall and promptly blew the tiny yuppie minds of those people who were photographing the majestic elegance of a bunch of ornery bags of feathered sh*t.  On the ground was drawn a crude map that took some deciphering, but eventually we managed to piece together the idea behind it.  An X marked the ‘You Are Here’ spot.  A dashed line showed the trail we ran to get there.  A big dot marked the Beer Check.  And a big f*cking circle helpfully marked the leech-infested, weed-choked, runoff/goose sh*t-filled pond that stood between us (the X) and the Beer Check (the dot).

Needless to say, reaction of the pack ranged from “F*ck GAP in his ear” to “No, really … f*ck GAP in his f*cking ear.”

At that point, the Eagle pack split up into four distinct groups.  Drippy Spigot, Harlot Globe Fondler, and Peppermint P*ssy followed the edge of the pond around and eventually found the Beer Check.  STD led a contingent of four or five that climbed a fence into a slightly more residential area and eventually found the Beer Check.  Buoys and I, working independently, ran out to the road and then – since the hares were already on-out – followed marks backward to find the Beer Check.  Finally, Goat Throat led about half of the Eagle pack on a walk of shame all the way back down the Eagle trail to circle around and reach the Beer Check around twenty or twenty-five minutes later.

And so we began the second leg of trail, which quickly led to a Song Check on the corner of Route 9.  Since various hashers trickled out of the Beer Check at different times, there were at least three separate groups of hashers that stayed to sing a song, that were then were further subdivided by the ridiculously long cycle of the traffic light.  I am not sure, but I think this sets a Boston Hash record for ‘shortest distance traveled from a Beer Check before the pack is completely spread the f*ck out.’  Congratulations GAP and Placentos!

“I like the kilt!” –A Newton cop

After a brief trip across a playground, the pack came to a second Beer Check.  A policeman showed up fairly quickly because this was Newton and someone dialed 911, since clearly if there’s a group of runners hanging around, that means there’s probably a marathon bomb nearby and holy sh*t, think of what that would do to the property values.  Anyway, the cop immediately told us to move on out once he saw the beer cans, but I have to admit that he was otherwise actually pretty cool, even going so far as to compliment one of the hashers on his choice of attire and arrest nobody.

After that, we ran across the campus of Pine Hill College, and had to deal with some security guards who were decidedly less cool, probably because they were sad, desperate losers stuck in dead end jobs so crappy that even mall cops looked down on them.  But that’s just a guess.

Then we hit the world’s largest Dick Check.

“Is there a size requirement for this one?” –No Man on the Moon

No, really, it was like six feet long.  It probably prompted a whole slew of 911 called from concerned Newton citizens the next day.  Think of the children!

“He showed me some streets I’d never been on before.” –Beat by a Girl

Four words sum up the last leg of the trail: All Newton Death March.  There was running.  A lot of running.  Mostly in a straight line, although there were a couple of token check marks that pretended that the trail might turn, only it didn’t.   The check marks didn’t really matter, though, since no one was fooled, and we just kept running.  And running.  And running.  After the deceptively short second leg, the On-In seemed like it would never come.

Unfortunately, it did.

“It smells like a tinkletarium.” –Anonymous reviewer on Yelp

The evening’s On-In was at Mary Ann’s.  As soon as we walked through the door, we were immediately assaulted with the eye-watering reek of ammonia (otherwise known as ‘the smell of piss’) tinged with the dry heave-inducing aroma of various secondary and tertiary amines (otherwise known as ‘the smell of really old piss’).  I kept waiting to get used to it, but although Circle took a good 45 minutes, I never did.  I think it was because every time it got to the point where you could ignore it, someone opened the door to go to the bathroom and all of a sudden it was like you were huffing cheap glass cleaner out of a truck stop urinal.

As the pack began filtering in, we started drinking a beer substitute known as ‘Narragansett’ and watching a Hitler documentary on the televisions mounted over the bar.  Eventually, Circle started with the standard rendition of ‘And the Hares,’ prompting a couple of angry closeted lesbians at the end of the bar to try to drown us out with sh*tty classic rock from the jukebox.  It didn’t work, although there was a scary moment when Stick It to the Bros started singing along with Prince or possibly the Bee Gees – I’m not entirely sure which.

Highlights of the circle included a same shirt down-down for people wearing wife beaters, of which there were many, and of which Buoys was one.  I only mention this last point because Buoys was walking around with a prodigiously fake handlebar mustache, which made him look like a circus strongman from the 1920’s who gone on a starvation diet or had perhaps gotten a slight case of lung cancer.  There was also a backslider down-down, with far too many backsliders to count.

Then Virgin Jeremy was called into Circle and asked to demonstrate his favorite sexual position, at which point he asked his sponsor Turd Dimension to hold his ankles, then did a handstand, and then crushed a beer can (from the handstand position) with his forehead.  I think I speak for many of us when I say that I have no f*cking idea how that qualified as a sexual position, and I’ve watched some pretty weird porn in my life.

Drippy Spigot was called into Circle for some accusation or other, and then made to do a Zombie down-down, which involves chugging a beer with your arm stuffed through a PVC pipe so that it's fully extended.  To summarize the result: most awkward wet T-shirt contest ever.  Then there was some other accusation that basically turned into a social by the end, followed by announcements, the best of which was “Is there food?”  There was also something about a Pearl Necklace, although by that time I wasn’t paying attention.  Then we finished with ‘Swing Low,’ and then we had wieners and pizza, and then everyone lived happily ever except for the poor bastards who got poison ivy from the Eagle trail, but f*ck them because you know they were totally asking for it.


E4BH3 #17 (over 5 years ago)
Suckers in attendance:

Canis Lickus (Happy Valley)
Passion of the Dumbass (VA)
Bring Out the Gimp
Spunk in the Trunk (hare)
DUI Done Right
Salty Mudflaps
Swedish Eagle & Just Wally
E=I'm a Douche
Stick it to the Bros
Friar Fuck
Titney Spewston
Bent Over Sap Sucker (on after)
I'm sure others.......

Trail began in the Adult Fitness Trail, but there were no adults to be 
seen. Trail instantly went through a swampy area with delightfully 
smelling swamp cabbage & muck, we love our shiggy!. Upon reaching Rt129 
after a mile death march, the FRBs were treated to a YBF, went back to 
the last check, went a different way, and were treated to a CB5 and then 
found trail again that was all of 50 yards away parallel to the YBF trail.

Trail continued on as the pack caught up to each other through the dense 
underbrush, with repeated cursings from those who foolishly forgot to 
wear shiggy socks. Minor confusion set in, but we eventually found 
trail once more. Gimp was amazed to hear what he never thought he'd 
hear, which was Swedish Eagle behind him asking him to please slow 
down. Turns out Just Wally was unleashed & chasing Gimp and being near 
Rt 3, had to be leashed. Beer check was awesome, with people not 
realizing that bug spray was available, as it was "hidden" next to the 
water where no one would ever have thought to look. Passion offered to 
check Gimp's balls for ticks, quickly adding a "no homo" to the offer. 
Gimp was confused, surprised, and maybe even a little excited, but 
respectfully declined and suggested he join the Pink Taco email list.

Trail continued onwards with the FRBs taking the eagle trail, even 
knowing there was no additional reward to be had. Us turkeys enjoyed a 
nice shiggy-free trail run to the second beer check where Gimp got stung 
in the back by a bee causing minor alcohol abuse. We had a quick visit 
from some local teens sporting mullets & big hair reminiscent of Alice 
Cooper. Just Wally entertained the pack by pissing on every tree in 
sight, but somehow forgot to piss on Bros, so there was no black on 
black crime this day.

Circle was quick as we had to get on to the on after before the kitchen 
closed, but we first butchered several good songs while drinking several 
bad beers. The on after was as entertaining as ever....with the pack 
looking oddly at each other as the waitress asked us for our nerd names, 
confusion ensued. Way too much food was ordered over a 90's montage of 
music selected by our Dumbass visitor. Our waitress revealed that she 
was a rugby player, which required us to sing her and the bar at least 
one song.

Boston Marathon Hash 2013 (over 5 years ago)
Where: 61 Chatham St, Boston MA
Marathon Chairs: Pubic Service Announcement, THE 2nd Cuming
Hares: Blubber Fucker, Ignorance is Piss, Senior Cocksucker,
Swedish Eagle
Pack: Way too many wankers. 

Start, The Wild Rover:

Pack started arriving sometime afternoon and were greeted with a beautifully designed shirts (thanks Sketchy and Wonka!), an unbreakable mug and a patch. We all mild about getting our costumes ready and waiting for the hash to start. A most amazing thing happened; I walked up to the bar and a very friendly lady handed me a glass of beer. Cold, refreshing beer. I didn’t ask, I just smiled and turned back to greeting all of the amazing visitors whom I have already forgotten. There were so many bodies in one space. So. Many. Bodies. Circle and chalk talk were announced, in 30, 10, and 6.9 minute warnings. I teased Wang that he didn’t look like he was running trail, but he told me that he decided he was going to watch Sasquatch (though I think he used her nerd name) watch the bags. This was also his time to rifle through people’s wallets so that he and ATM can afford gas and hooker money for their next RV adventure, which turned out to be a better idea than actually running trail, but more on that shortly.

Circle: After finally getting the pack out of the start, it
took three waves, we were immediately kicked out of Fanuiel Hall and crossed
the road to have circle in the green way. After taking a good eight hours to
introduce everyone, including an Aqua-hasher (with flippers) and establish that
one set of Ambiguously Gay Duos were more of an Unequivocally Gay Duo--and our
virgins, pack went to go find trail. Note that one of the virgins had a name
that sounded like a Japanese geisha. Virgin “whatever it was” sounded
appropriately fitting.

Trail, 0-10K:

We knew that the first check was in Fanuiel Hall. That was
about it. We ran around, and around, and around, looking for trail. Harlot
would like you to know that she did in find trail initially. Just her. She’s a hashing
genius! Pack split into about 8 different groups as we all tried, in vain, to
find trail. This included running through Haymarket with the help of some
encouragement from overly enthusiastic fruit vendors. Some ran through the
Boston Common before turn back down and, with the help of many puzzled
civilians who enuthesatically cheered and shouted “they went that way”
eventually finding a random song check outside the entrance to Chinatown (in
large part to a redneck 2nd waving wankers through like a schoolyard
traffic cop). Once trail was found, it was marked in a very chalk-friendly
manor (the hares apparently not wanting to pollute the sidewalks and alleyways
of Boston with high quality chalk—save the city, y’all!) and ran through Tufts
Medical Center, past my favourite* beer check, past a homeless shelter, under
93 to the BC.

Framingham Beer Check:

 Apparently some
wankers found trail immediately after circle and had been there for a good 20
minutes by the time this scribe arrived, and they hares had been waiting an
hour. Blubber would like you to know that he was good and lubed up during that
beer check. Such a shame no one took advantage of that.  It took two beers (I’m not sure the beer to
time conversion) for the rest of pack to arrive; some stopped to look at the
scenery of the sketchy South End; some decided to kick a bunch of playground
balls over a building; and others decided to ensure that no confidential
business information was on SF’s cape of bad ideas. There wasn’t any, but some
schmuck in Chinatown is probably reading a case brief from 1802 now. The wind
had picked up, and a lot of beer was drunk, orange food was consumed, and the
hares were informed that we had been given approval from Major Manino to
liberally apply chalk to his sidewalks so that we could find the glorious beer.
It is his last term in office after all, and we must celebrate accordingly.  

Trail To Half:

Crossing over into Southie, we ran through a lot of
beautiful, scenic, and archectually important parking lots. This is not a lie;
one of the visitors was busily taking pictures of every factory and loading
dock we passed. This was vaguely depressing to many a Bostonian. After taking
the Eagle (under a fence) we came to a Song check with marks going in 684684
different directions. Eventually, we found trail heading to a tit check in an
alley, and were freed by someone in a training suit. A visitor maybe? Visitors
who participate in tit checks should be rewarded with beer. Also during this
time 2nd decided that “he knew Boston SO WELL” that he, Harlot and
SF created their own trail.  And by that,
we crossed Seaport Blvd about ten times before we saw a gaggle of wankers
crossing a bridge up ahead. Wiki et. al. followed trail along a very long death
march and were beginning to slow down, smelling a CB or YBF when the FRBs came
running back. We had been had by the longest YFB since that CB26.2 last year.
Damn traditions! We knew it was coming (sucks for those visitors who thought
they would get a leisurely trail through the Public Garden where they could sit
on the duck statutes and try to crash the swan boats). Going to back to the tit
check, we found trail through more scenic parking lots to a song check at the
convention center. Sensing a pause for dramatic effect, we sang about how we
had all lost our jobs at that department store in Chicago. Visitors, tourists,
and even staties stopped to watch and cheer.  From there trail ran through more parking lots to a beer check by an
office building. Actually it was more of a Morton’s Steakhouse. 

Wellesley Beer Check:

As soon as beers were distributed we were told that we were
not allowed to BC there since it was private property. This is in fact true,
but the Hares would like you to know that NO ONE is around there on Saturdays.
Seriously, no one.  Instead we moved the
BC 10 feet to the sidewalk. Nice and inconspicuous. This beer check only last
one beer, since pack had stay together. Mostly we talked about making penis
molds, and admiring the mold of STDs penis, which was on his head. THE 2nd   cumming stood very judgmentally across the
street staring at us (he is one of the rasicsts who will be marathoning Monday,
so I’d be judging any bitches during a leisurely run too), and Necrophelliac
Jack and Friends made a mini-BC on the other side of the intersection
(creativity, bitches!). There might have been orange food, but I was unaware of
it. It was getting cold (don’t you just love Boston during the spring? Or
rather post-winter) and the hares had left as soon as we arrived, so we
grudgingly followed marks.

Trail To The Pain:

Unlike the last 3rd of a marathon, the last 3rd of this trail was easy, if not uselessly long. This was also the scenic part of
trail as we ran down Fan pier to where the beer check should have been, crossed
back over the river and ran under the Intercontinental, passing up a great
place to have a very acoustically sound song check. Well, in truth (who needs
it), there was a song check, but we just sang the first verse of “Friggin in
the Riggin” and ran on along the water. Trail forked at the aquarium past what
I think was labeled a “seal check” as trail was marked in front of the outdoor
seal tank. They seemed to not care that trail didn’t end there, so we left them
to swim around without beer. Crossing the greenway we were met by every hashers
favourite mark “BN” followed, a few marks later, by ON IN back at the Wild


There was a lot food. There were lines to get it, but there
was a lot it, which was needed to sedate us until the Hash Beer started flowing
again. One complaint: no one could stuff their faces with those tiny plates!
Who was really that concerned about portion control, people? REALLY? Once
everyone was good and feed, and refreshed, and drunk, Plus 2 Coonass lead us in
Circle. This was about 90 minutes after we arrived because we needed ice blocks
(that didn’t actually fit in the tinfoil trays provided, so that was an
exciting party to watch) and the DJ started playing some weird mashups from the
80s and 90s. No matter, we began the pillage in tutus on the dance floor

Circle, first we toasted to G! He is not dead, he is lost on

The hares went cheek-to-cold. They had nothing to say for
themselves (we couldn’t have heard them if they did), and we sung them the
Krusty original “You Should Have Use More Flour and Chalk” because they really
should have. 

FRBs, FBIs and DFL were called; Once You Black represented
the females, someone represented the males, and Friar (aka Numb Nuts) brought
up the rear.

The two virgins who survived (Virgin Randy and Virgin Japanese
Geisha) were called in. They enjoy “The Robot” and “Cowgirl.” Yehaw! They
weren’t acceptable, but we took them anyway. May Beer have mercy on their

The floor was opened up for accusations, and all real racists
(marathoners) were called in. There were visitors who were resists and
Bostonians who were racists. They are stupid, and really dumb, but we wished
them well with “Go Speed Racer!”

All of the groups of visitors – Rain City, New York/New
Haven, Chicago, Pittsburg, DC, Atlanta, Northborough and Toronto were called

More things happened, then vessels down, cranium covers off
and we Swang Low…

Post Circle:

An epic dance party ensued, and we were prevented from
taking our clothes off or playing flip cup. People got very drunk and amazing
decisions continued to be made well into the night.

On – It’s not a hangover, it’s a reward for being alive – On

Wikipedophillia and Skull F*cker

Tomorrow: Beer check at mile 20. Good luck to all racists! 

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Don’t Change anything! (over 5 years ago)
What: Eager For Beaver H3 Marathon Prelube
Where: A park in Malden
When: Tuesday April 9th, 2013
Hare: Bring out the Gimp
Injured Hare/RA: Can’t Eat Pussy

Pack: Bent over Sap Sucker, Titney Spewston, THE 2nd Cumming, Doucheswqatch, DUI Done Right, Salty Mud Flaps, Willy Wonka and the Back Door Factory, Brokeback Baby, Horses Ass, Bust Her Hymen, Yorun Weed,
Vagania Destroyer, a Just From Germany, Harlot Globe Fondler, Cuntjungle, Goat Throat, Magina My Vagaina, Pappy Van Tinkle, Plus 2 Coonass, Sticks it to the Bros, Jello Wrecked ‘em, Mud Slut, Yellow Dick Gnome, Wikipedophilia, others I am forgetting.

Start: The pack slowly trickled in, most drove, to the far
end of the Orange line to a park with a basketball court and an out house;
neither of which are important here. CEP collected hash cash (and took attendance!)
as everyone arrived and there were tasty beverages in a cooler for people with
descreet vessels. There’s only so much you can do in a park, so shortly after
the hare left, we did too.

Trail, Phase A:

Out of the park, up a hill and into a forest park/nature
place. Whatever. After scrambling up a hill we came across a very confused
looking trainer like man who said “Oh, I was warned about you” – whatever that
means. Turn took a turn down the path past a group of women lifting weights. We
tried to entice them with promises of running and 12 ounce curls, but they
weren’t interested. Further down the path were a group of women who appeared to
be practicing with katanas. Weird. We did not offer them beer. Trail ran out of
that park and into another, where the FRBs were halted by a tit check. Freed by
Jello, we ran onto Bros indicating another tit check that was really a Check
Back, but trail from there went up a hill to a reservoir. Gimp was waving at us
from the other shore. Not wanting to posion Malden’s water with a packs worth
of STDs, we followed trail along the (long) distance around the lake to the
beer. Second tried to short cut by running the other way but; “You can’t get
there from here!” so he had to turn around. 

Beer Check #1: Uneventful. We watched planes take off and it
got dark. We drank all the pre-hidden beer and left. We instructed to “run to
the end of the giant dick and turn left.” I have no idea what that meant.

Trail, Chapter 2:

There was no giant penis, just marks heading off into the
woods. Titney yelled “Turkey Eagle” and ran off by her self. No idea what
happened there. I (foolishly) decided to take the Eagle, which was a long run
back around the lake, and was feeling good until we were stopped by a tit
check. Mud Slut freed us, and after running 2 falses, trail went straight,
cuming to the top of a rise for a Group Hug check. Apparently other people in
back thought it was a beer check (it would have been a good spot) but instead
we just started some civilians out for romance and alcohol. Trail run down the
hill, eventually running past a Frank Lyodd Wright wanna be house on the way to
the most amazing mark any hasher can see “BN” followed by “ON IN” 


Well, first we had to carry all the beer up a non-small hill.
It was cold and windy, and CEP promised to keep circle short. He called in all
Visitors, (not noted here) and all first time Eager for Beavers (also not
noted) then opened the circle up to accusations. Nothing important happened
until the German Contingent was called in, collectively, for new shoes. Somehow
the Germans Contingent turned into Plus 2 and Yuron drinking out of each other’s
shoes (not sure why) and I had to drink out of mine for not knowing a song. CEP
asked what he could change to get everyone never to return and Mangina yelled
out “Don’t change anything!”

we sang religion (which is “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh
DRINK!”) and filtered back to cars/subway/on after. I didn’t go to the on
after, but here’s my guess:

People got drunk, really drunk. Shinangins ensued and
amazing decisions were made.

Stay Tuned for Moon Trash!!

On – Hashing all Week – On


the website/calendar for details!

Speaking of the Caldener, we have open haring dates in May,
June, July, August, September and October, so e-mail (or
butler or i) and we’ll put you in!

We Don’t Want to Snare You (over 5 years ago)
Hash Trash for Boston Trail On Sunday April 7th, 2013
Hare: Friar Fuck*
Bag Car: Brokeback Baby, Vagatarian, 

A transplant for San Degio whose name I forget, Bent Over, Sap Sucker, Necropheliack Jack, Condom Search and Rescue, Just Margarie***, Virgin Alex, Wikipedophila, THE 2nd Cuming, Goat Throat, Willy Wanka and the Back Door Factory, Blow bot, Plecenta the Fresh Maker, Twat My Mom, Swedish Eagle, The Butler Hit It, maybe others.

Pre lube: Eliot T-Stop on the Green line.
It was a beautiful day, and there were high hopes that a pack of fairly substantial would show up to terrorize the 1%. However, it was only 1% of the Hash that showed up. I arrived at the start, and didn’t see anyone. Suddenly, a man walked out of the wait-for-the-T-inside-bubble and handed me a flask of some vile and disgusting liquid. It turned out to be Necrophilack Jack, who, apparently, along with dozens of other half-minds had gotten very drunk the night before and probably wouldn’t be at trail. Did they forget our charter? “To cure weekend hangovers”?!?! BOSS got out of his car and we were shortly joined by the aforementioned transplant, plus another transplant and a very agreeable looking virgin. Pack filtered in slowly, getting out the trains as they came through and we were beginning to wonder if the hare would ever show up since none of us brought our own libations. That probably a bad idea because when the hare did show up, all he had was some God-awful beer that made the High Life look like the Best Beer Ever Made. 

The Hare stumbled off, and so, unfortunately, did one of the visitors and the agreeable virgin. Pack was introduced to 3D chalk, did 3D chalk talk, then, after giving the hare a start worthy of his long and distinguished hashing career, left the T Stop.

Trail, Phase 1:

After running around a few checks looking for “marks” or “falses” we decided that the hare wasn’t laying any so on one was basically on-on. We got nice a lost by a fire station before we figured this out, then ran through
a shopping district, past some abandoned rail road tracks and a good amount of graffiti. One slogan bears repeating “Make Underage Drinking Legal!!” This confused us since if it isn’t illegal, it wouldn’t be underage. We ran on past a giant mansion guarded not by lions, bears, elephants, or other noble beasts worthy of such a dwelling but two gaint tropical fish. It was most peculiar.  The pack was confused by a BN marking into a
park, but no beer, and no further trail.

The beer was hidden, with the hare, in a valley filled with thorns.

Beer check: We drank beer and talked about Disney.

Trail, Act II:

After running back out threw said valley of throns, for no good reason, we found trail following the river and out to some road. After briefly lemming across the street, we turned to follow trail across the bridge when we saw, in the distance, our venerable hare. We stopped. We waited. While we were waiting, Swedish Eagle appeared. He had followed trail, but didn’t find any beer. Poor hasher. He’d been scouting the Marathon Monday Ball Buster Trail, so we didn’t feel bad for him. Why do Ball Busters when you can get all the beer with drastically less running? Eventually, we got bored and ran after the hare.

We saw him again, stumbling along the river bank. We stopped again. No one caught up to us this time, but we started running again and crossed back through the shopping plaza we had tranversed a few beers ealier. Trail forked down along a river again, and again, we were lied to about the proximity of the beer to the Beer Near mark. Eventually we found it. Goat decided to fall down a step embankment to get the beer instead of running along the level path. Whatever. He’s a goat. As the beer check was ending a car pulled up across the river and someone started yelling at us. Apparently, Google Maps didn’t realize that she wasn’t driving an amphibious vehical. 

Trail, Part C:

After crossing an abandoned rail bridge, trail wound along 128 to Echo Bridge where we stopped, again, because we saw the hare. We also saw some very confused looking Chinese tourists who seemed to take pictures of us as if we were part of the natural landscape. Odd. I hope they remember to keep them on hashscpace. On the other side of the bridge there was true trail and  BN. This time the beer was near, as the On In was Friar’s house.


2nd RAed and called the hair into the circle. We told the hare that we had been f*cked again, and he sang some song I don’t remember. We brought in Virgin Alex, who was good a math, but didn’t know the square root of 69. His favourite barn-yard animal is a snake (apparently there are snake farms in France) and says yell “Mon Deux” when the com. Strange, but he’s French. We then heard someone running up the stairs and it was Little Sister Fister, alive, on trail, and beerless. We sang to him, and gave him his longer desired beer. We then called Friar back in for not having anywhere near enough tags for his long hashing career and learned that he was not always Friar Fuck! His original name was “Floppy Dick” or something because he brought a 3.5” floppy with him on his first trail. That name was quickly replaced by  this…

The Boston Hash, in the mid 90s, went up toe Acadia National Park for a weekend of high class debauchery. This debauchery included some long bike ride on a dirt road. The young hasher then known as “Floppy” didn’t know that bike seats are not built for padding, and therefore did not have proper padding in the seated area. After a day of riding, then walking in pain, then riding, with the hash long out of sight, he eventually found the end and an elated pack since they wouldn’t have to go look for him. Asked what took him so long, he explained as named “Numb Nuts” since his nuts were, at that point, Numb.

We drank to Numb nuts.

Blow Bot then alerted the pack that someone was at the door. A police man? Maybe? Who knows. Eventually calls went out that it wasn’t the police, it was Goes Down on Bouys. The pack was therefore quiet startled when Yanke Pay $5 More walked up the stairs! We called him in for also being DFL, and Blow Bot for confusing Bouys and Yankee.

Other things happened. There was cold pasta.

That’s it.


Also, we need hares for May. Look at the calendar, chose a date then e-mail Butler or I.
OnOn, -Wikipedophila.
(Yes, I am officaly the scribe)
*Really, you thought I’d annotate this?
** Spell check is for wossies.