Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| Boston Moon AGM Part 1 | The “Not a Repeat of Last Years” Trail | 2nd An*l Hot Mess Trail | The Carlos Danger Trail aka GAP Don't Hurt Me, Don't Hurt Me No More | E4BH3 #17 |

Boston Moon AGM Part 1 (about 5 years ago)

What: Boston Moon AGM part 1

Who: Your new BMH3 GMs, Invidick and Just Tasty
Bag car: The Crying Gay
Where: Tavern at the end of the world

Pack: A visitor from DC with 3 virgins, another virgin, Just
Tall Bubbler, Just Alex*, Mangia My Vagania, Harlot Globe Fondler, Vagatarian,
Blubber Fucker, The Guy Who Had Balls Drawn On His Head (note, not his name,
but I forget it), Bring out the Gimp, Twat My Mom, Yankee Pay $5 More, Spunk in
the Trunk, Sweedish Eagle, Senior Cocksucker, Little Black Cock in my Pocket,
Salami, other people I am forgetting.

Started behind the TatEotW, and ran over some abandon train
tracks. Gimp yelled “train!” and I looked. He mocked me. Trail then crossed
over actual train tracks and we scrambled up the slope to Sullivan station. The
FRBs and pack were separated by a “traffic light check” that even I didn’t want
to cross, and then ran straight past a building under construction to a
baseball field which we crossed following definitely maybe marks that definitely
disappeared. True trail was quickly found and lead to a Jello Shot check. The
jello shots were not really jello as such, but rather goey blobs of alcohol. The
pack devoured them. Trail from there ran on past some warehouses to more
abandoned train tracks. The scribe zenned, but was on trail when Sweedish
randomly jumped over a 10 foot fence and took off straight ahead. I just kept
running. Shortly there was a BN followed directly by a Song check (we had been
told in circle that pack must wait at
a song check for everyone to catch up; I know f*ck rules) but we waited. The
check was also right in front of an idling truck of electrians who seemed amused
by our presence, and our song. Eventually everyone showed up and we ran to the
Beer Check.

Beer Check 1: There was beer. About 10 minutes into the
check, we saw a beautiful lady running in full stride down the trail towards
the beer. Seeing quickly that it was ALL the cocks, the male hashers lined up
to show her what she loves seeing best. Eventually beer was drunk and hares
were gay. Pack followed.

Trail 2:
I ran down the road towards a park with a trash bag with the
empties, and pack followed for no apparent reason. Trail was marked going the
other way on the other side of the street. Turning around and catching up with
pack we hit the Turkey/Eagle split, and since there were promises of shiggy and
“trail head check” on the Eagle, the kool kidz took the Eagle. The trail heads
check was lame; we ran past a house addressed 420, but the shiggy was fun and
steep. Trail caught up with the turkeys on the downhill, at a song check, and
we were happily waiting and singing about jesus when “Kumbiya” was called and
we scattered down the hill. Trail meandered through Charlestown and we finally
came upon the “HSC” human sit-a-pede check (you remember these from your
leadership challenge courses in highschool – everyone sits in a circle with the
weight evenly distributed) however there was an very disappointing male/female
ratio for this challenge, so we sat, shifted, smiled, sang, and left, running
towards the beer. Bag car was spotted not too far away and we humped it with
our beer and bags into Boston’s Secret Dog Park for circle.

After pack arrived, the beer was deposited and the hares…disappeared?
Really. They did. So we started circle with virgins and moon virgins. It was a
bit of a cluster fuck, but basically all the virgins got on their knees and
since there were more virgins than sponsors, moon virgins were called in as
proxy sponsors. Or so the plan went. Harlot ended up sponsoring two virgins –
not sure how – spunk sponsor another, and the rest acted out their favourite
cartoon characters having sex. They were definitely not acceptable, but we took
them anyway! Finally the hares showed up smelling like, well, Butler, and we
sang “Drink a little bit…” They might have sung us a song, maybe not? Circle
was beginning to get drunk. I was called in and did a shotgun – not quiet sure
why. And I think at one point, everyone had been called in. Mexicans were
called in. Kilted hashers. GMs, former GMs, future GMs, RAs, pretty much
everyone we could think of. By the time we were really drunk, Just Alex was
called in circle to be named. Not sure why. Not sure how he was named “Chris
Brown Eye” but he was. In a conversation after, the hash decided it was because
either he headbutted a hooker, or because he tounge-raped someone? Who knows. He
will now be known as Chris Brown Eye at all Moon hashes. Other kennels can (and
wil, stay tuned!) name him. At this point there were 6 beers left so we called
in 6 random people to do shotguns, before trying to start religion. We got out
the first verse of “I met a whore in a park one day…” and then circle ended.

On After was the original Pub 99.

Who knows what happened there.

On – there’s still another half to moon AGM next month – On


FREE BEER THIS WEEKEND: BH3 summer BBQ; trail starting at
Noon HST from Dot Ave Tavern, there will be a trail, a BBQ, and a pub crawl. Details are on the calander.
Wed 8/28: Boston Hash at Great Scott in Alston, hared by
Wiki and Necrophiliak Jack.
Sat 9/27: Pearl necklace!!

The “Not a Repeat of Last Years” Trail (about 5 years ago)
What: The “Not a Repeat of Last Years” Trail
Where: Dot. Ave Tavern
Hares: Yankee Pay $5 More, Certified Poop Accuntant
Who: Just Tim, Just Laura(n), Just Carly, Just
Who-Brought-A-Virgin, The Virgin, Bring Out the Gimp, The Butler Hit It,
Blowbot, Pappy Van Tinkle Doucheland, Mangia My Vagiana, Wikipedophila, Blubber
Fucker, random people form the bar.

Start: The pack arrive between well before HST and well
after HST and the hares didn’t really seem to care. At one point, after not
seeing them for a while, we assumed they were gay. They were not. They had been
out getting cancer. They told us “We aren’t gay, have another beer!” So we had
another beer. Eventually…

Trail (the part with no check backs):
 Circle was held at
the first check, and the virgin was introduced. Note, some guy in my office
just yelled “There has to be cocaine in this somewhere! They wouldn’t have
mailed it here without!” Anyway…we left running after the hares through
Dorchester. There was a tit check and a false down an industrial park with
trail running towards a Dunkins. After a song check, a check back 8 (thanks
Doucheland), pack ran through traffic and around a park to a very familiar
looking beer check. 

Beer check: Mostly we drank Bud Light and wondered where Fixed
Queer is. Was he a secret co-hare? No? Okay. More beer. No conversations were
of note to write down, unfortunately.

Trail (the park with all the check backs):
Starting from the beer check there was a check back 8, and
trail ran back towards some major road. At another tit check (what pack would
have done without mangia, I do not know), we ran the wrong direction twice,
before finding trail through a parking lot and turning down some other random
street. After another check back (6), trail rain under around and through the
bowls of the JFK/UMass station and back across some road. Again, there was a
check back, and Mangia freed us to find trail. After hitting a check back 13
and a check near a park, we turned to a back alley to the whiskey check.

Frisky Whiskey Check:
The point of this check was to drink an entire bottle of
something that might bear some resemblance to whiskey, but even that it doubt
full. Basically everyone got very drunk very fast, including Doucheland, Just
Tim, Just Tall Blubber, and Just Luara (with the quote “I’m going to
deep-throat this bottle”). Just Tall Blubber then found some “sealed brown
boxes” hoping for cocaine (see above) but finding instead neon-yellow safety
ninja belts, we donned these and finished the whiskey. After a brief bit of
trail heads, pack left.

Trail (seriously, everyone else got lost):
Trail rain straight to what was an extremely obvious Check
back 20, and I turned and ran back towards Dot Tavern – which was in sight of
the corner. Apparently, pack followed Gimp and Blubber (bad idea!!!), ran out
the Check Back 20, then zenned around, and eventually came back about 10
minutes later. 


No one was in any rush to circle up after that trail, and
pizza was delivered shortly after the pitchers. Drinking and eating ensued, and
the locals never really quiet understood what we were about. For no apparent
reason, I ignored them, though it is my belief that they were key players in
what made this trail so good.

Eventually Mangia started circle while Blubber was … away …
before he took it over. We sang to the hares, and told them to use more flour
and chalk. FRBs, (Wiki!!), FBI (Just Lauren), DFL (Mangia) and various others
were called in. The virgin was called in and CPA demented him, I think we took
him? Who knows, I through beer on him. The floor was opened to accusations;
kilted hashers, bald hashers, rasicsts, same shirts; we had a lot of beer to
drink through. People who had not been accused were called in, people who had
not made accusations were called in. Drinking happened. Eventually a local put
on the entire Mettalica Discography and we blessedly ended circle.

More drinking happened.

On – where’s fixed queer? – On


Trail next week in Eastie; check the calander.

GAP this weekend, and E4B on Sunday in Arlington

Sign up for Pearl Necklace on September 28th:

Hash BBQ (Free beer!!!) Next weekend (August 24th) will –not-* be this exact
same trail but with different food and free beer. 
*This is a lie.

2nd An*l Hot Mess Trail (over 5 years ago)
Hares: Harlot Globe Fondler, Anal Disco
Hare Erasmus: Anal Beeds
Bag Car: Tragic Carpet Ride and ALL the Cocks
RA: Blubber Fucker
Pack: A lot.
Visitors: Wang Chunks, Just from Burma, Ass Gagger
Virgins: One was good at math, one was Jewish, most were single
Start: Bean Town Pub

There was a vigorous debate while we were waiting about the
price scale of the beers; $5 would get a Bud Light or a Highlife, and $6 would
get you any number of actual good beers. One side wanted beer; the other side
wanted good beer. Both got beer, so everyone was happy. After annoying all of
the wait staff, and most of the customers, we eventually left to circle up in
the Common.

Attracted any number of passers by, tourists, and general
curiousity at the group of people gathered in trash bags and white tea-shirts,
and we went over marks that were actually seen on trail! (Except for the CB?)
The virgins were introduced, and our RA admitted that he had been pre-gaming so
we learned their names,  their
relationship status, and their religion. After introducing them to the pack and
the marks, we took off.

Trail: Part Rational break up:
The first part of trail took us out of the common and down
through down town crossing before cutting through the maze of streets that is
Boston to a shot check near the site of the Boston Massacre. We drank tequila in
honor of all the Mexicans who died for our independence. Also, there was a tit
check. Trail continued through Phanuel hall with a song check that competed
with some street performers and then through (actually under it) the building
itself, and out into the greenway. Did trail go through the fountains? Maybe.
Probably. The hash did. We like to get wet. Note: This scribe ran through
fountains with a kilt for the first time…it was a suprising? Refreshing?
Hashman like? Experince. Trail then went to the North End, where it would say
for the rest of the hash. Winding past tourests, and maybe some locals, we
enventually found beer on this hopeless trail at a play ground.

Beer Glitter Check #1:
Was there beer? Yes, but no one cared. The beer was dosed in
glitter and so too, soon, was the pack. The problem with Bouys holding shakers
of glitter over his head and shaking them on people is that those long arms are
pretty high up there, and there is a significant dispersal pattern. Pretty much
everyone was glitter bombed. Our esteemed visitors showed up late, having not
run at all (I’m told this is called “Wanging” a trail). We left. Looking for
more beer.

Trail: Dirty mess:
The second part of trail wound around the north end more. I
honestly had no idea there was enough real-estitate to in the North End support
more than just hashing through. If I recall there were two shot checks? Maybe
one. No one cares. There was a song check on the tourist street with all the
restaruants and we song days of the week. It’s mostly a clean song, and we
mostly didn’t offend anyone. Trail turned towards the water and our beer senses
were tingled.

Beer Slip and slide check:
No one wants to be a hot mess for too long, so the hares
supplied us with a gaint slip and slide on which to wash off our shame. Or
maybe we were washing on the shame. Either way, we slipped and we slid, and we
drank. We might have even danced.

Trail Part Straight on to beer:
The hares left the slip and slide with one piece of chalk
between them. Luckily, they knew how to draw true trails, and we knew where we
were going. Straight out of the north end, back across the greenway, and to,
wait for it…the HONG KONG!!

Pack eventually all filtered in, with a good amount of sweat
test failures, autowankers, and general wankers picked up on trail, and up the
second floor of the HK where we were treated to the dietary staples of the hot
mess: Ramen and PBR (actually coors light). No Ben and Jerries? Fuck no! This
is the hash!
Circle was actually quite short. We called in the FRBs –
Sweedish and Snapp Off, and the DFLs, Pat My Fly and Yankee Pay $5, and made
them drink for either r*nning too fast or not r*nning at all. We called in the
virgins – 4 of them! 3 of them are (were?) single, and gnome found on trail. Of
the virgins one would  get off on a bus
of nuns, another  help their uncle jack
off a horse, the third humped Anal Beads and  the fourth actually
knew what the square root of 69 was! This was astonishing, so we quickly
had to get them drunk. We did. They are justs now, I think. We then called in
the vistors – Wang Chunks, Ass Gagger and Just from Burma, sang them the wrong
song, then the right song, then sang about great big swinging tits! Newly
kilted hashers were called in, and it was accussed that they might be skirts,
not manly kilts. My laywer requires that I apologize to everyone who accused
me, as they were shown the error of their ways. We drank. It was fun.

We swang low because no body was paying attention anyway.
On – why is my keyboard covered in glitter – on

Pink Taco on Monday
Yankee and CPA on Wednesday
Ball Busters before FREE BEER at the Cookout (August 24th)
PooF this weekend (not actually announced)

The Carlos Danger Trail aka GAP Don't Hurt Me, Don't Hurt Me No More (over 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.