Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| Divorcee Hash 2.0 | hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB | Zig Zag Hash #(something) Trash | Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem | BH3 - 43rd Founders Day Trail Trail |

Divorcee Hash 2.0 (over 1 year ago)

What: Divorcee Hash 2.0
How: Swedish Eagle, Yellow Dick Gnome, Chunderelli Chunderelli
Where: Whitey’s Harvard Sq
young just, old just, ass cowboy, quater mile quack quack queer, do me decimal, po po peep show, wikipedophilia, anal disco, peeping tom pussy, strap on strap off, kunckles deep, orgasmn falmon, necropheliciac jack, the butler hit in, oboner, dribbles, dry hose, luva lamp, full frontal fireball, vagabond, sketchy, testicular mechinaics, foreskin abortion, probably others i’m forgetting, no capital letters.

Start: Pack made up the entirety of the crowd at Whitneys and Vagabond did a much more friendly impression of “give me yo money” than I ever had. We discussed why we were here, and our sincere hopes that this trail would be better than the last divorce trail . The hares were eventually gay - if only, that might have helped their marriage - and we continued talking amoungst ourselves. Eventually two people showed up who looked like they were going to be the bouncer for the night, and we ignored each other. Pack away was called and we played another game of “cram bags into small cars” as we filled quater miles’ transport with our shit.

Chalk Talk:
Was relivitely calm; we said what we wanted to get in the divorce, and went over marks...some of which were used, some of which weren’t. We were told that there would be an abritraity number of “bad decision splits” - the hares would make them up as they go but we could expect things like “401k/vacation house.” Cool idea, we left to find marks.

Leg Honeymoon:

Well, this was no honeymoon. This marriage was off to a grey start as the first leg of trial [note: I -am- trying to spell trail but google (I’m writing in google docs) is -always- correcting it to trial.] was marked in grey and sidewalk color chalk. Combine that with us running through the never-thronged-with-tourists-and-summer-camps-harvard-square and you could just tell that pack was already harkening back to the early days of crushing and mid-day bangs. Eventually we found a mark which was a perfect metaphor for the divorcee trial; a true trail leading to a locked gate. On the other side of the gate was one of the best splits I’ve ever seen; a “Drinking Alone/Therapy” split; the drinking alone just looped you back to the locked gate true trail and the same split again. In order to continue on trail, you NEEDED TO TAKE THERAPY!!! On the other side of the therapy was a song check in the middle of Hahvahd Yahd, at which I thought it was appropriate to educate the denizens of The Yahd about how you can have a balanced diet - and stable marriage - if you eat hot viginia for breakfast, lunch and dinner! There was a kids/pets check on the other side of the Yahd, and then trail rejoined and we run through “lower Cambridge” towards Cambridgeport and a beer check in the park near the Western Ave Bridge.

Beer check:
Had Beer! Though, to be fair, it was divorcee-able beer, as it was, we hope, finally the last of the marathon beer check gennie cream and warm PBR (though bag car had placed it on ice to try and gas light us into thinking it was good beer). Speaking of gaslighting, some people talked about early 2000s German ciniema and no one had heard of The Edukators. Kool.
Pack away was called (or I thought it was)

Leg Working Through It:

The second leg of trail was one designed to remind pack of everything they hadn’t as we trampsed on various paths through Harvard Business School. There was a Mom/Dad/Runaway check. Your humble narrator took the “Mom” path which was a pleasant stroll passed some pavillions, gaint out-door chess and a “cool art” check. Nerco and Vagabond ran off to have sex, and I scouted trail alone across whatever extension Hahvavd is building into Lower Alston, and ran into the 401k/Vacation house check. The vacation house led quickly to a “B”N so I looped back and ran the 401k backwards hoping to find “shots” but none were to be found, so I caught up with the walkers and ran into the “B”C.

Not Almound Champaign Check:

The B was in quotes because the refreshments on offer were cosco-champaign and the champange of beers - High Life. Blessedly there was no Almond Champange and pack began to think “maybe the hares aren’t gunning for ‘Worst Trial Of the Year’”

Leg Run to the Courthouse

From the second beer check trial meandered again through LA to an obivous check-back on Hooker st, which I blew through and found true trial a block away pointing to a “CN/CC” where the hares had hidden the other six bottles of champange under a bridge. Second rolled up to the check with a posses coke-addicted doll which he used as a batton to pass around champange. I think her name was ... Sally? He found her in an Alley? I forget. Trial continued across the North Harvard Ave Bridge to the Most Obivous Checkback Ever (TM) back across the Mass Pike to a pretty much straight shot to where all marriages end; the backroom of the Shilloute.


Was the backroom of the Shilloute. Bags and pizzas were distributed and we stuffed our faces with pizza and free pop corn until Ass Cowboy called us into circle. The hares were called in for being hares and laying a shitty trial. They admitted to their crimes and sang that they were dumb. Visitors were called in - one whose name I forget from Everyday Is Wednesday - whose naminy story involved banging in the Hahvad Library, and a visitor from Boulder CO, #PossiblyTheBestBH3. They were welcomed and song “Dead Whore.” Then July birthdays were called in - second, popo, butler, maybe others - and we sang to the linear progression of time. I was called in any number of times for any number of crimes. Strap on Strap off was called in for following me and I massarced the “Like a Virgin” song. Dry Hose and Luva serinamed us with their weird song, though I forget which accusation drove it. Eventually the beer was running low and the more constrained passing of time which we were aware of was getting close to the end so ass cowboy called for announcements (see below) then we swamg low.

On - there are no such thing as mistakes just wrong decisions in the moment - On

TONIGHT TONIGHT TONIGHT: Choir practice at the Owl’s Nest Beer Garden on the Esplinade. Google maps:
I will mark trail from the Feedler and Dartmouth St footbridges.
Saturday: Zig-Zag Trail starting at the Shilloute, 8PM HST
Next Wedensday: Revere Trail, Bill Ashes’ Lounge
Saturday 7/20: Bullbuster
Saturday 7/27: Boston Moon H3 Present: Tour de Franzia 2.0
Wednesday 7/31: Mastor Gator is haring a trail which isn’t the Tropical Hash

Saturday September 7th: Green/Yellow Dress Run!!

hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB (almost 2 years ago)
What: Hash Backwards Trash
Where: Zero Washington Dog Park
Who: Shits and Ladders
Pack: Right, a lot of justs, a just who was named Full Frontal Fireball, a virgin, Sex the Final Frontier, PoPo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Organsm Falmon, Dribbles, Bring Out the Gimp, Wikipedophilia, Testicular Mechanics, Foreskin Abortion, Bottom Wrangler, Quarter Mile Queer, Dry Hose, a just from holden (well, rutland, but I’ll take it), other’s I’m forgetting.
Chalk talk:
The marks being blue and well trodden were slightly hard to see, and since we were all eating pizza (suprisingly good?), we weren’t paying much attention. There were no flour marks, though the majority of trail would be laid in flour. We did introductions in a record amount of time, as a very drunk Wrangler spon around in the middle and told us to “Yell out our names” when he pointed to us. The virgin was very confused, but we ran off anyway.
Trail goes up, because of course it does:
Trail turned left out of the start, and we were immediately deprived of some of the best urban shiggy and abandoned train cars in boston. We ran around the back of a retire complex then crossed Washington street when we saw and sign which cruelly promised that a T station might be there soon.. We ran up a short road, crossed a green bridge, then got to a 5 way intersection and a song check. Unfortunately the motorists had their windows up so they couldn’t hear us saranade them with the gang bang song. We crossed the intersection almost directly and ran pretty much straight up the backside of whatever-hill-has-that-tower-on-it-in-Somerville to our first beer check. There was some pleasant musical accompanyment for the FRBs, but by the time pack got there the muscianians had dispersed.
Beer check sans music:
The beer was dropped off and the musicians left. We spent time enjoying the views of our fair city and wondering where trail would go from there. We were promised an indoor or outdoor onin, depending on weather. I had my suspicions, which were wrong, and caused some bad zenning in the future.
Trail goes down:
Apparently Somerville is fixing stairs and doesn’t want people running on grass? Anyway, we had to run around the tower to get back down to Union square, and a check that was actually solved relatively easily, given the roads in the area. We ran over the bridge past CEPs old place, and Testicular tried really hard to pull a Butler by darting out in front of a car. Everyone saw the car stop and then ran around it too. This very much confused the driver and he tried to yell at us, but we were running for beer! There was a group hug a bit down from CEPs and I am getting confused as to how we got there without cross a major street, but I’m assuming somehow we did?  We then had a nice jaunt through deep Cambridge and it’s warren of not-quiet logically connecting streets until we ended up at the backside of the Kendal area. There were no marks down the train tracks because apparently those tracks are becoming more and more active? Trail ran through the bio-tech building neighborhood to and we were finially rewarded with a beer near a dog park/playground thing off Binary street.
Beer check in the dark:
Despite the lengthening days, it was getting dark and we were getting kinda cold. I found out that one of our just was from Rutland and that sadly he was more well versed in the Holden bar scene than I am. In my defense I actively avoid the Holden bar scene like the bubaunic fucking plauge. Cool story.  With the darkness encrouching on our rage, we hastily finished our beers and took off in search of trail.
Trail smart or stupid? Everyone’s stupid.
Trail ran straight for a few blocks to a smart/stupid check. Gimp somehow found trail and ran almost straight to the end. I thought I knew better than to follow a Gimp sprinting off into the unknown, so instead I followed Sex. I have regrets in my life. We scouted a block and found trail and then verily happily ran trail, despite marks being slightly hard to find, for a few blocks. We heard On-On calls in the distance and were vauguely heading towards them. Then there was a check dozen people coming from one way and a dozen people coming from another and we kinda just looked at eachother all stupid like until I decided that maybe following Sex wasn’t a good idea, so I followed falmon and we eventually found our back to the joining arrows of the smart/stupid – but still no sign of Gimp. A few blocks later we were running past the court house and our beerdars were flashing red alart. A quick mob-run across Cambridge street greeted us with a Beer Near and OnIn at Courtside.
Circle got started quickly with the Ras accusing the hare of an S-H-I-T-T-Y trail, and the hare singing a short dity about our sisters. We then brought in our virgin who was close to guessing what eight something squared was and had a very ineresting interpartation of a pig orgasming. She’s now a just, and I promise to be good a remember justs this summer! #scribegoals Sensing that pack was already drunk and that there was a story which just needed to be told, the RAs accused Just Lindsey of being a just. As she knelt before us we heard tale of her drinking too much fireball at marathon, going home, leaving her door open (who amoung us hasn’t done that?). Her roomate then came home, thought someone had broken in and called the cops who founded our earstwhile just contentenidtly passed out on her bed. At another trail, this time in Oregon, she went down on a fellow hasher after she though trail was over. When she came up for air, she discovered that they had not finished trail, and were in fact, in circle. Based partially off these relaltively true events, just Lidnsey will be known as Full Frontal Fireball from now on. That out of the way, we moved onto accusations. Backsliders were called in, I think, though somehow I missed out? There was an accusation of a group back massage and Testicular face planting running down a hill. Since we were at Courtside there were pitchers and shitty pizza flowing generously and the RAs, admiting that they could no longer control themselves or circle, swung low. Oh yeah, there were announcements – beaver trail in Billerica Sunday, in which we might burn down Gimps house? I’m unsure. Summer campout season is upon us, so you know, get your tent and rage?

On – Rage – On

Zig Zag Hash #(something) Trash (almost 2 years ago)
Zig Zag Hash Trash -
March Zig Zag - Willy Wonka rules
Hare: E = I'm a Douche
Beer bike: Clits and chips and chips and clits
Pack: Me, The Buttler Hit it, Mr Bean, Just brad, Just Ian, Just Cydney. This was the first time I ever actually ran a zig zag trail, as I have hared all the others.
Prelube: Pack congregated at Sligo Pub, a little hole in the wall that some of you may have experienced. We drank beers and wondered who else was cumming tonight, and it turned out to just be us. Douche left at 9:30 to do a thing and pack eventually wandered off after him to do their thing.
First leg: It turns out a pack of 6 moves a lot slower than what we are used to seeing at Zig Zag, and we slowly worked our way through Somerville, solving checks. Just Brad took a digger on the ice (for which I would later drink), a random hasher who didn't know Boston had a hash identified himself but refused to join us, Chits and Clips pedaled indefatigably and we all just perservered until we got to the beer check.
First BC: As we basked in the glow of our reasonably cold Natty Ice in some park by some railroad tracks in Somerville, Just Cydney (or should I say Violet Beauregard) gave in to the temptation of being warm and going to sleep. "It's willy wonka rules," I joked, not knowing the precience of those very words.
Second Leg: About 5 minutes in, Mr. Bean (Augustus Gloop) fell into the proverbial chocolate river and went off to see a man about a horse or see a horse about a girl or something like that. How do you like them apples?
Up the hills, down the hills we ran, as Douche watched us sipping ciders. We were even slower and midnight came fast. Our valiant beer biker realised that she had to leave or risk being stranded in Magoun Square, so she got on a bus. I've decided she is the Veruca Salt of the story because of her selfish desire to go home at a reasonable hour. I hopped on the beer bike and pedaled away as she hunted for the 89 bus stop, her silhouette receding in the distance until she was but a speck on the horizon.
Second BC: In a park somewhere. Buttler, Douche, Just Brad, Just Ian and me.
Third Leg: We proceded to the on-in, Buttler's house... Almost all of us. Just Brad (Mike Teevee) bailed about 2 blocks away. It was 1am, and apparently some people like sleeping more than drinking. There's no accounting for taste.
On-in: What I expected to be a really short circle ended up being pretty fun. We sang songs, complained to the hare about his shitty trail, and did honor downdowns for the fallen soldiers. I did the math about how many hours I would get to sleep before my kids woke me up and headed back to my car.
Announcements: Trail the next day somewhere, Boston Marathon 4/13, Zig Zag marathon 4/6
If you're still reading, I am looking for a hare for 4/6. If you are interested please message me.

Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem (almost 2 years ago)
Sweagle presents Sweagle's Swedish Winter Mayhem
Hare: Swedish Eagle
Bag car: Shart of Darkness
Bag car car: Massage a Trois
Pack: TinderDick, Angry Crotch, Mudslut, Choke and Stroke (Chicago), Bring Out Your Gimp, Blondie McFucksalot, Yellow Dick Gnome, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Cuntcussion, Clit Notes, Sex: The Final Frontier, Crooner Screwer and Fuck of the Irish (couple proximally from RI), Just Sarah, 5 Inch Penalty, Luva Lamp, Just Matt, Marbleous Asshole
We started at Vagina Pizzeria in Wellington. I dismounted from my incredibly smelly Orange Line steed and was about to complain to myself about how I never find any damned thing in these generic artificial attempts at neighborhoods built over recovered industrial space when I spotted a Shart, tracking her to native drinking environment. Pack arrived, hare finally left after 3 and yet we waited. Bag Car was here, but Bag Car CAR, belonging to Massage a Trois, was not here. It seems she had been occupied giving herself chemical burns with an Apple watch, thus losing track of time.
Leg1: Through many parking lots and the school district that I work in, we followed a Sweagle trail - laid sparsely but findable for the fastest 69% of pack, while losing the other 31%. A Song Check after a middle school caused us to pause and take note of our fallen comrades, whom Fellowship then returned to locate.
Once we cross the Mystic River, I recognized where we were, though I was arrested by a Tit Check. A record 7 Harriettes came, but all passed me by (story of my life) and 5 Inch and I stopped to consider the probability that 7 Harriettes - with 14 mammaries between them - would all eschew the check*. Muddy's house was Beer Check 1 and we were greeted by hot chocolate, Mallort, and choices to roofie ourselves. The trailing 31% of pack managed to consolidate and eventually found their way to us.
Leg 2: We proceeded around the Tufts Alum Field, and Sweagle found every single stair in Tufts and took us up them. At the top of one set, Fellowship waited in mirth, making us all certain that a Check Back awaited us, but it proved pure trolldom. After about 4.20 miles exactly:
Gimp: I wonder what the chances are this ends at Buttler's.
Just Matt: High.
We found our way to Buttler's, held lengthy accusations in which we all took turns** stalling until pizza and wings came. We accused Bag Car Car of being her usual hot mess, the visitors performed a skit(?) for us, we all drank a social for losing TinderDick again, Shits 'N Ladders arrived just in time to be a Sweat Test Failure, Cuntcussion announced some kind of Big April Event, involving Fireball and Smirnoff Ice. We swung low and got a piece.
* Pint of lager, I realized our calculations were moot, as such probabilities are not independent
** Just kidding, accusations were a truly indefatigable Blondie marathon.
Upc*ming dates:
Wednesday: MisMan meeting
Saturday: Zigzag H3 (Douche)
Sunday: Daylight Ragings Time (Hoes and Cougar Whisperer), bag car needed
Following Saturday: March Ballbuster (Sweagle)
April 13: Marathon Main Event

BH3 - 43rd Founders Day Trail Trail (about 2 years ago)
The 40-somethingth Founders' Day Trail
Hares: Dead WIki, Live WIki and Clit Notes
Bag car: Dribbles
Pack: Sex: The Final Frontier, Pat My Fly, Just Matt, Knuckles Deep, Clit Notes, Just Lindsay, Master Gator, Hare Club, Pop Cum Ear I'm Infected, Just Sarah, Massage A Trois, Cherry Popping Paddy, Quarter Mile Queer, The Buttler Hit It, Waxx Off (STF), Virgin Nick

Prologue: Doing nothing but checking my social media obsessively, I resolved to head to the newly reopened Beacon Hill Pub early and read. I arrived to find Knuckles already there with a self-starting virgin who learned of the hash when he stumbled across a Red Dress Run in South Carolina. We marveled at how much BHP had undergone in the 6.9 ish weeks it was shut down: there was now a door to the toilet so it was possible to shit without the need to avoid eye contact (or to make it vigorously?).

Leg 1: Wiki is the Machine who Goes "BING"

We were promised a short trail with a new* On-In. Trail was dead-laid and we wondered out, finding very little marks. We found a trail going through a building tunnel, but it lead to a CB6 and we were back to where we started. Somehow approx. 69% of pack found trail, leaving me, Quarter Mile, Just Matt, and Hare Club(?) wandering desperately. Just Matt elected to follow the old adage, "Trail Always Goes Uphill". Still nothing. We shouted our desperation, lost until finally we heard a nonchalant "On-On" from what could only be the voice of Buttler!

We followed Buttler to pack and happily reunited (0:22). We followed pack down hill to Cambridge St, where not even a check was to be found. We ran back and found nothing until Wiki stood directly next to the mark we were supposed to see and directed our attention. The utterly invisible mark was well camouflaged by road salt of the exact same color and the fact that all of pack, excepting Just Lindsday neglected cranium lamps on a winter trail that started at 6:30pm. We proceeded in this manner, utilizing Wiki sonar to locate the marks that may as well have been laid in disappearing ink, until arriving at a CB.

I ran out ahead down Cambridge St, finding a check at Staniford. Giving up after several scouts, I began to take note of which direction Wiki was willing to walk with pack and redirected my energies accordingly. With the hindsight of Strava, this is where we lost Buttler (0:38). As he was scouting west, we ran down Staniford, guided by Wiki and when Buttler turned around we were gone. Buttler valiantly strode pack and forth about 5 times, without the benefit of Wiki sonar, before finally solving trail.

By this time, we had proceeded through the West End apartment complexes, toward Storrow. I half-assedly scouted that way before turning around and seeing Wiki unmoved to the direction of the other scouts. Trail went past the science museum. Without stopping to find marks, I went straight to one of our favorite beer checks, though it had moved to be under a bridge to ensure maximum windiness.

Leg 2: So Cold.

Clit Notes volunteered to join Wiki to live lay and they were off about 6.9 minutes later than we wanted, given the cold. We found utterly no trail in 368 degrees, but Just Lindsay found a mark on the sea wall, leading us through the toast warm Cambridgeside Galleria and on out to a Song Check, which I relocated to into the warm toasty mall, where muggles completely ignored our entreaty to Meet the Hashers.

More near-invisible marks lead us through Kendall, a Hash Sitapeed, and out onto some river road. As we took the Longfellow back to Boston, QMQ and I mused that the "new*" On-In was likely BHP. We were arrested by a Song Check, and a CB2, before heading down into the lovely new landscaped area. At this point, we gave up and zenned to BHP, Just Matt displaying an enormous feat of rac*sm in sprinting ahead last minute to win the hash and the associated medals.

Circle began and Wiki sang Hasher Charlie on the MBTA with the one verse anyone knew. I attempted to improvise my own verse about Wiki and sh*tty, but got stuck and Wiki-ed myself when I found myself unable to rhyme "marks" in time.

Since we were waiting for pizza, we stuck on accusations for a while, lasting longer than any hasher would in bed. We accused Wiki several times of the trail. Waxx Off was a Sweat Test Failure. We demented the Virgin, who declared himself to be back woods. We decided we didn't find him acceptable but would take him anyway. We swung low, attempted to finish our beers, and walked to HK for 1S1DH3 (2:22). The evening finally ended a little after 2 that morning as I stumbled out of Coon Ass' place trying to catch a Lyft home that turned out not to exist.

On - 43 more years - On