Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...
|Founder's Day 2010
(about 8 years ago)
Hares: Nice T*ts, N*pples Erectus
Bag Car: Drippy Spigot
RA: The 2nd Cumming
Wanger: Mr Rogers
Pre-lube: Honey Fitz, Malden Center
On-in: Honey Fitz, Malden Center
Weather: Clear and cold (20s)
Pack: Ski Bobbit, Hare Club for Queers, Sucker's Bet, C*mlocker, e=I'm a Douche, Brigham Tongue, Pbvzzzvvzzzz, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory, The Buttler Hit It, High An*s, Tw*t My Mom, Blow My Mind, Horse's *ss, Mexican Humping Queen, Peppermint P*ssy, The 2nd Cumming, Just Mike -> Deaf Dumb and Do Me
The pack assembled for the pre-lube at Honey Fitz in Malden Center. The first real excitement was when I managed to trip, fall, and twist my ankle running the 20 feet from the bar to bag car. Ha.
We found trail pretty quickly; it ran through a plaza and down the road before we completely lost trail in the middle of the median on Route 60. Somehow we found trail again, running down a bunch of really dark roads that didn't seem to have any distinguishing characteristics, in an industrial area. We did pass the Mystic Valley Gun club before veering off through some shiggy and parking lots. Trail must have been really well laid because until we ran through the parking lot of some big building and got lost, we didn't have too hard of a time finding trail. Shame on us for getting lost where we did, though – trail went exactly where it should, through some old or abandoned equipment and across a playground before running us along a ridge with a beautiful view of some tributary of the Mystic River at night before the beer check which was off in some sketchy park.
After the beer check the trail ran through some lovely Malden neighborhoods. After running a couple of blocks there was a check, and of course trail goes up, right? Well, sure, until you hit a great big False! We ran down Main Street a couple of blocks and somehow became very, very lost … we ran every direction except, of course, for the right one. Guess it was too dark to see the marks properly without a cranium lamp. A similar situation occurred a couple of blocks later in a park … the logical place for trail to go was up the park but someone swore they had just been up there and couldn't find trail. What we didn't realize was that "there" was the road paralleling the park, not in the park itself.
At this point we saw the bright lights of Malden Center ahead of us and figured we were going back there …. But where? Trail was supposed to be A to B, so we just kept plodding on. A couple of falses later (one of which was like 5 marks, sheesh!) we crossed back over Route 60, up through the Exchange Street garage and pedestrian walkway (a nice touch), back up to Pleasant Street and Honey Fitz.
You can check out trail here: http://maps.google.com/maps/ms?hl=en&ie=UTF8&vps=1&jsv=202c&oe=UTF8&msa=0&msid=118272277346908244801.00047db4c18da20c49597
The hashers swarmed the Subway sandwiches and mostly ignored the cupcakes. Geez you'd think we were an athletic group or something the way we were acting! After everyone had eaten their fill and moved on to the beer, circle began with comments on trail:
Noticing that we had a hasher named Just Mike who had been hashing since the fall if not earlier but didn't have a name, the pack took it upon itself to give him a name. Despite the fact that we know there was a story that he refused to tell about what happened at Anti-Buffett (I guess what happens at Anti-Buffet stays at Anti-Buffet…) a couple of names were tossed out most of which were really lame but the decent ones were:
Heard on and well, actually mostly after trail (one of these days I'll bring paper with me on trail …):
|Wolf Moon Hash
(about 8 years ago)
Hares: Mr. Papagiorgio, Tw*t My Mom
Bag Car: The Crying Gay, I Licked Butts
RA: The 2nd Cumming
Pre-lube: Alumni Café, Wollaston, Quincy
On-in: Merrymount Park, Quincy
On-after: Alumni Café, Wollaston, Quincy
Weather: Clear and cold (30s but it felt colder in circle!)
Pack: Accidentally An*l, Cocksmith, Bloody P*ssy, Peppermint P*ssy, Master Gator, C*mlocker, Just Carol, Beat By A Girl, The 2nd Cumming, Sucker's Bet, Bondage Barbie, +2 Coonass, Virgin Phil, Night of the Giving Head, Glitorus [in spirit], e=I'm a Douche, Just Amanda
Amid the cold and deep snows of midwinter, the wolf packs howled hungrily outside Indian villages. Well, so says the Farmer's Almanac and hence the Wolf Moon. I'm betting the wolves were howling because they knew the people in the villages had beer (or other mind-altering substances) and they weren't sharing.
For the first time in what felt like months the hash started somewhere other than Boston, Cambridge, or Somerville. And what a wonderful location Quincy – there was a Brigham's Ice Cream, a Middle Eastern grocery, and a dive bar. Oh, I guess I could be talking about Watertown too … anyway moving on … pack gathered in the lovely Alumni Café for some libations before the hares were away in a surprisingly timely manner.
Since we were promised shiggy, half the pack headed directly for the marshes trying to find trail but what do you know, trail went the other way, through a parking lot, down some stairs, and along a long deathmarch straightaway until …. CB8! For better or worse once we got back to the check there was really only one way trail could go and from there it went along almost exactly the same route as STD's going away hash last August, including a t*t check and the crazy short tunnel heading directly out to a major road where we all did our best to be very careful. OK so I don't really remember if STD had a t*t check there but it sounds like something he would have done. The more the merrier except when it's cold out hey although come to think of it maybe that's the point …
On the other side of the tunnel most of the pack again assumed this was a recycle of STD's trail so headed towards Furnace Brook Parkway. For some reason a bunch of people stopped to stretch once they realized that was the wrong way. Not sure what was going on there. Trail, of course, went the opposite way before heading up a steep hill, and up, and up, and …. CB6. Sheesh … back down we went, then around, and back up (I'm getting dizzy just writing this). Luckily we stopped for a song check, singing "I Used to Work in Chicago." Moving on …. At the next check we found a quick series of marks which turned out to be a false. Figures, since the beer check was about 20 feet in the other direction in Furnace Brook Golf Course, through a hole in the chain-link fence. Happily, unlike STD's trail there were no killer mosquitos out, or poison ivy for that matter. I guess there are some good things about winter.
After a while we realized that we had lost Master Gator somewhere on trail. No one remembered him being at the song check, and The Crying Gay figured that he probably just went home. However, he showed up – not entirely sure what he was doing during his separation from the pack but one might postulate that it has something to do with his name. Or maybe wolves. Peppermint also left after this beer check, something about being tired, or something, whatever it was her excuse was boring.
After the beer check we ran downhill for a little bit before heading up the aptly-named Summit Ave, because this was a hill to remember. Night of the Giving Head was so far ahead of the rest of us that The 2nd Cumming and I blindly followed him all the way up to the summit of the hill before realizing that we hadn't seen any marks in quite a while. So we ran back down the hill, found the check (and the rest of the pack), and had to run back up the same hill on another road. Got what I deserved I guess.
Trail headed straight across the golf course, through a turkey-eagle split, and rejoined shortly thereafter on Furnace Brook Parkway, running up it, through some huge building's parking lot and out over to Adams Street where the FRBs wandered aimlessly for a while before finding trail again. Unfortunately the town of Quincy didn't know how to spell Buttler correctly, as we saw a sign for Butler road right by a song check where we sang "The S&M Man." At this song check we realized we had lost BBAG, and after this song check there was yet *another* false.
Finding trail again and crossing 3A, we got into some more serious shiggy. At a check, half the pack went towards the marshes and I hear that some people actually started wading into the channel before we heard "on-on" from the path not taken. Figures that the path not taken would be the one we were meant to take, doesn't it?
We emerged from the woods onto a field and immediately lost trail – there were about 10 of us looking in all different directions before somehow someone figured out that we'd reached the on-in and called everyone over. Turns out BBAG had gotten into bag car at the beer check. Well, he was pretty drunk to start out with…
Comments on Trail
I also feel compelled to say that for a pack that wasn't drunk enough or cold enough, we managed to mess up the lyrics to almost every single song we tried to sing.
Heard on and after trail (sadly, I forgot a lot but some is better than nothing):
We got cold pretty fast, so wrapped up circle and headed back to the on-after. Notably we walked through more shiggy to get back to the bar than we had run on trail! Unfortunately we were trailed by a cop so people had to ditch their beers. Look at those cops making us abuse alcohol like that, it's a sad, sad thing. When we got back to the on-after the locals remembered us and then also started singing but unfortunately I think they were singing to the juke box rather than drinking songs.
See you all next month, same bad time, same bad channel…
- Bloody P*ssy
|Robbie Burns Hash 2010
(about 8 years ago)
Hares: Ski Bobbitt and Cum Fly With Me
Bag Car: Ski Bobbit
Pre-Lube: The Cask n Flagon near Fenway Park (Beat By A Girl and Dude Where’s My Virginity with Cletus the Fetus On-board left after pre-lube)
Whiskey Check: Swam Garden Walkway next to Amory Park Brookline
Beer Check: The shores of Ye Olde Loch Muddy
On-In: Punters Pub
Scribe: Sugar Plum Fairy
Pack: High Anus, Necro Jack, Brigham Tongue, The Buttler Hit It, Nipples Erectus, Taj My Hole, Fucksaw, Pat My Fly, Spitz, Vagitarian, Shawskank, Dribbles, Stick It To the Bros, Immaculate Erection, The 2nd Cumming, Bondage Barbie, Brzzzz, Double Flush, Cums Alone, Catheter the Great, Dirty Latte Sanchez, Floppy Dick, Hoover McFuck n Suck, Jamaican Me Cum, Vagitarian, Cum Locker, Viagra Doubt Fire and Lube Me In with Just Riley, Sperm Breath,
Justs: Mike, Evan, Stan
Visitors: Jimmy Crack Whore, Pig Fucker, Counterfeit Dick, Pussy Factory and Anti-Cock
Transplants: Just Carol (Madison), Horses Ass, Blows My Mind, (sorry didn’t
write it down) Plus 2 Coon Ass and Swamp Gravy (Atlanta)
Returning: Rocky Mountain Whore
Late Cummers: An Inconvenient Poop
Lame Non-Cummers: Bend Over Mommy. I would call her a late cummer but she arrived so late I’m not sure she came at all oh and, Velvet Pelvis
Ski Bobbitt treated everyone to a celebration of Scotland’s most favorite person next to Jackie Stewart and William Wallace. As we gathered at for the 69th stumbling of the Anal Robbie Burns Hash. The first thing I noticed about the upcoming shitshow was that it was no where near Charlestown or Malden.
After circling on top of a parking garage next to the Cask behind the Green Monster, trail led us around Fenway Park down Lansdowne Street and around Fenway Park toward Brookline Ave and the Riverway. It was at this point that Pig Fucker, Velvet Pelvis and I veered toward the Fenway neighborhood. PF mistakenly thought he saw pack go that way and we followed him a few blocks before we decided that following Pig fuckers only leads to one thing, feeling like you have been fucked by a pig.
PF and VP decided to go back to following marks and I ran toward the Muddy which I intended to follow until I hit trail which I thought I would soon see. I was actually right, and began to see orange blotches and thought I was wicked smaht. As soon as I lost sight of the orange blotches I spied the walkers cumming toward me.
They told me they were going to the Beer Check which was a long the shores of the roaring Muddy and that to get to the Whiskey check would take forever so I waited for the rest of the pack with them. Real trail went toward Brookline via Beacon Street and ended at the Whiskey Check off the wooden walkway next Amory Park. I wasn’t there but I’m pretty sure whiskey was drank producing many a sour puss. Following the Whiskey Check I was informed that trail went through Brookline and the Longwood Medical area and around Emmanuel College back across the Muddy to where Oat Cakes, Shortbread and Belhaven Scotch Ale were waiting.
At some point an entire pizza floated down river which we assumed was Hare Clubs idea of speedy delivery. We stayed there until Necro Jack bitched about being cold which was not surprising when you wear shorts and a light shirt in winter time. Trail then snaked its way through the Fens the warmer environs of Punters Pub on Huntington Ave.
After making ourselves at home our sexiest RA Shawskank got our circle going so we could chastise the hares for their shitty trail. Over the inane babbling I heard, “Not enough Turkeys.” I also heard Bondage Barbie say not enough dick checks to which I offered my own private check in the corner. I figured with Tea Bags being laid up and me being the giving person I am, I would fulfill her request. Sadly she declined.
Cum Fly with Me sang a great song that I could barely hear but I think it had something to do with a Scotsman finding out his girlfriend is a man bye looking under his kilt. There were quite a few visitors and transplants my favorite being Just Carol who gave us an early look at the full moon before the Full Moon hash on Tuesday 1/26.
Our one Virgin Leslie was demented and apparently she moos like a cow when she is REALLY excited. 2nd Cumming was also demented….Nobody knows why. Accusations were made down-downs quaffed and we were all reminded to register for Marathon 2010. Swing Low was sung; we ate pizza (no not the floating kind), drank beer and made the world safe for democracy.
HEARD AT THE HASH:
(about 8 years ago)
Hares: Maid of Honor, An*l Beads
Bag Car: C*mlocker
RA: Necrophiliac Jack
Pack: Brigham Tongue, Vagetarian, Better Late Than Pregnant, Tampon Jelly, High An*s, Bring Out the Gimp, Octop*ssy, Mooseknuckles, N*pples Erectus, Necrophiliac Jack, The Buttler Hit It, Catheter the Great, Nice T*ts, Bleeps, Sweeps, and Creeps, Bend Over Mommy, Goat Throat, e=I'm a Douche, One Girl Two Cups, My Chemical Homance, Schindler's Fist, Pbvzzzzzz, F*cks All, Just Rebecca, Just Susan, Dirty Latte Sanchez, Tw*t My Mom, Jamaican Me Cum
Latecummer: Just Melvin (showed up at or around the first beer check and took his usual place as FRB)
Wangers: Beat By A Girl, Dude Where's My Virginity, Krusty the Meat Miser, P*bic Service Announcement, Spunk In The Trunk
Pre-lube: Charlie's Kitchen, Harvard Square, Cambridge
On-after: The Pub, Ball Square, Somerville
Weather: Clear, sunny, and cold (20s)
Amazingly the entire pack wasn't wasted at the start thanks to the slaughter masquerading as a Patriots game and not enough parfaits. Gagh, well there's always next year.
Given that this was a furry hash, some people came well prepared. Mooseknuckles had moose ears (nice!). The hares, of course, were hares (haha), Tw*t My Mom was a bloody version of the Cookie Monster, e=I'm a Douche was a gorilla, and Bring Out the Gimp wore a yellow chicken outfit brought by Maid of Honor because Necrophiliac Jack refused to wear it. Guess he must have been concerned about his appearance that day because he had gotten a haircut and complained that none of the people who mentioned it actually said he looked good. Octop*ssy asked Douche if he had a head, which was hilarious on many levels.
Goat Throat was visiting and apparently confused red cellophane with fur, as he was wearing a copy of his attire for the Seacoast Red Dress run, namely he wrapped himself in red cellophane and called it a day. I really hope there are pictures of this on Hashspace because it was probably the most weather-inappropriate attire I have ever seen. Also on our way to bag car a civilian told Goat that his shoes didn't go with his dress – although I am hard pressed to think of shoes that would go with that dress.
I am also compelled to note that BBAG showed up with a standing lamp for Catheter the Great, who announced she was not taking it on trail. But it was a nice lamp.
Bag car was parked on JFK but since no one knew exactly where on JFK we walked the long way around the block in the freezing cold weather. In the process of getting to bag car we found a check so after an extremely abbreviated chalk talk we headed immediately to the check. About half the pack apparently found the right trail but either didn't tell the rest of us or, more likely, we couldn't hear them due to the lovely sounds of Harvard Square. The rest of us tried to find trail, heading towards Harvard Square proper. We didn't find trail but some Japanese tourists took our picture.
Eventually we did find trail but were quite confused to find a mark pointing the wrong way. This was one thing leading up to the check we found but entirely another once we were on-on and heading in the proper direction. Heh. Anyway trail led down a few blocks and back up across Mount Auburn and up to the Harvard campus. Just inside the gates there was a song check where we sang a few verses of "Yogi."
Inevitably, trail led up the stairs, past the libraries and through what is apparently called the Sever Quadrangle. Less inevitably, trail did not go up the art museum ramp but instead just went around the corner on Cambridge Street. After running past the library yard pack somehow got lost even though the marks were fine. Eventually we found where we were going, saw a BN, and from there it was a quick run into the first beer check which was outside An*l Beads' place.
At this beer check the hares reported that they had already had their photos taken with an Indian family and a cop. Wonder what the cop thought about two hares running around on a night other than Halloween. Buttler had managed to find a very large frozen cucumber on trail, and Necrophiliac Jack was heard saying "I just got shanked by chalk, and not in a good way." As opposed to getting shanked [by chalk] in a good way I suppose.
After quickly drinking our beers (hey it was cold), we headed out – crazy me I hit a F, but the rest of the pack went the right way. Due to this I was near the back of the pack when entering Lincoln Park and encountered some guy laughing maniacally at us from 100 feet away. At first I thought this was another hasher but I guess it was just some random guy but he was literally cackling at us – loudly – he sounded evil. Not even kidding.
Running away from the scary-*ss guy we continued up and around through the streets of Somerville. When crossing, I think Highland Ave., I heard one of the funnier comments on trail: "The chicken went that way and hasn't come back yet." Well, it was funny at the time. Right around this time Buttler found a Christmas wreath on trail which he wore the rest of the time. Kind of furry, I suppose.
The promised urban shiggy was in the form of going through a fence and along live train tracks before veering off the tracks and running past an abandoned and half-collapsed International Paper Company factory where we had our second beer check. The hares clearly had the most fun today because they ran into some crazy lady who was going off about how much she loved rabbits. To snuggle, or to eat … or both, perhaps! The hares ran away before being subjected to any of this.
After the beer check trail was pretty well a straight shot to The Pub. Oh, silly me, no, the on-in wasn't inside on a freezing cold day instead it was in the parking lot across the street by the train tracks. In the hares' defense I suppose that with the NFL playoffs on it was probably hard to find a bar that would allow our shenanigans.
It was far too cold for me to take any sort of notes so apologies for the sparseness of the recounting of circle. The hares sang us "My Girl's a Vegetable" and pretty much right when that was done the pack got really cold.
I do remember that there was a social for everyone not in costume (which was at least half the pack).
Buttler accused Bloody P*ssy (who dat?) of losing her dildo on trail and produced what was at this point a broken frozen cucumber. Lovely …
We tried to name Just Melvin (who really does need a name) but were far too cold to think of anything creative. Which is good because I was too cold to write any suggested names down. He was tossed back and the pack went through quite probably the fastest version of "Swing Low" in recorded history, much to the apparent disgust of the RA, who was probably too cold himself much to care that he lost control.
I had to leave just after circle so I'm not sure what debauchery went on at The Pub at the on-after.
I am now going to get on my soapbox and implore winter hares: Unless your trail is long (like over 5 miles), consider having only one beer check. Beer checks are cold, we lose our warmup, and there's less money to spend drinking at the on-after where it's warm. Just my $.02.
- Brigham Tongue
(about 8 years ago)
Hares: Necrophiliac Jack, 5 Inch Penalty, Shawsk*nk
Pack: Bend Over Mommy, Dribbles, Just Sam, Brigham Tongue, Octop*ssy, Just Melvin, The Buttler Hit It, e=I'm a Douche, C*umlocker, Virgin Desiree
Wangers: Vagetarian, Jamaican Me C*m, Stick It To the Bros, Bondage Barbie, Twat My Mom, I Eat Tea Bags
Pre-lube & On-In: Sligo in Davis Square
Weather: Clear and cold (20s)
A pickup hash, in case you are not aware, is where the first hare runs until he or she gets caught, then the snare becomes the hare. The unfortunate part of this is that the FRBs become the hare, thus leading to perhaps a longer hangover hash than people were anticipating. Oh, also this was a Cajun trail.
So Jack walks into Sligo looking like death warmed over, or at least someone who had a really, really, REALLY good time at the Twelve Bars of Hashmas. Unfortunately for him, because he was hoping no one would show up, a bunch of crazy hashers did indeed make the trek.
Eventually Jack realized that the sooner he got started the sooner we'd be done and went off to go lay trail. Eventually the rest of us decided it might be about time to go follow him, so after a quick chalk talk (we *did* have a virgin after all) and were off. We ran through Davis Square but probably for the first time ever, did not run through the T station but instead headed up Holland Street before cutting west and running through the neighborhoods. At one point along the bike path we hit a check and one direction had a whole bunch of snow plows out so we sincerely hoped trail did not go there as the marks would be gone. Luckily, it did not.
Trail wound up to, and through, St. Paul's Cemetery by route 16. On the far side of this, on Broadway, 5 Inch Penalty finally caught Jack who had stopped to walk. And a good thing, too, at the rate we were going we probably never would have caught him!
5 Inch led us down Broadway back into Somerville. So we figured at this point, this being a hangover hash and all, that trail would lead back down Holland in a relatively straight manner back to Sligo. Boy were we wrong! I'm not exactly sure where we went but we wound up running north through the hills over to, and through, the Tufts campus. At this point C*mlocker had a particularly bad hash crash but, like Wes Welker (too soon?), she made it up and was able to walk. Unlike Wes Welker, she was able to run so it was all good.
Shawsk*nk snared 5 Inch on College Ave very near Sligo, so her part of trail lasted all of about 5 minutes but was notable because we doubled the distance we ran by not paying attention when trail turned, and trail led us through a parking lot and courtyard with a door that I at first couldn't open. Happily I figured it out because the fence didn't look sturdy enough to climb.
For some reason the pack was less than enthusiastic in our singing. I think we were all shellshocked that the trail was more than about a mile! Virgin Desiree either did not remember or did not want to share her first sexual experience. I'm not really sure which of those options I prefer. Anyway as a result her sponsor Octop*ssy had to share (and demonstrate) her favorite sexual position which happens to be reverse cowgirl. Excellent choice Octop*ssy.
- Brigham Tongue