Hash House Harriers

a drinking club with a running problem

Hash Trash

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

| In Da Panties Day XI | !! NUDE TRASH !! | Beaver Pre-Pre-Prelube | Pink Moon Marathon Pre-lube | The Quadrennial JP Hash |

In Da Panties Day XI (about 1 year ago)
What: In Da Panties Day XI
Where: Bell in Hand Tavern
Who: THE 2nd Cuming, Clit Notes

Pack: Um, lets see if I can remember all this:
Do me something (transplant), Motherload, Plus 2 Coonass, Bottom Wrangler, Shart Of Darkness, Easy as 123, Orgasim Falmon, Shits and Ladders, Dry Hose, Udder Whore, Spank Me May I Have My Mother, Bum Fucking Vagabond, Blowbot, Pat My Fly, Dribbles, Yellow Dick Gnome, Just Mom, Queer and Foaming in my Anus, Can’t Eat Pussy, others I’m forgetting.

Pre-lube: Leaving the office around 5:30, I quickly stopped by the victorias secret in the mall to buy some sequined red panties which i thought would go great with my red dress and cape, though i failed to collect them at the end of the night, and made my way to the start bar.

Feeling slightly out of place in my civvies, I quickly changed into running clothes + panties in a bathroom full of confused muggles, then returned to the bar and continued to confuse more muggles as I was the only one who decided to prelube in panties. Eventually more people showed up and panties were handed out and adorned our nether regions. The hares scampered away and after finishing our beers we followed them.

Chalk talk: Was held at the top of the stairs by government center, though this wasn’t marked, my bad...anyway...we went over the checks we’d be seeing on trial, including the most important one the panty swap!

Trial granny:

Looped around the courthouse near government center, including running past an occupied police cruiser which someone - I’m going with Spank Me - could not identify as being occupied by a member of the constabulary. I guess we are only lucky that there wasn’t a panty swap or dick check in front of it. There was a check by an N-way intersection in front (another) court house and we were all standing around until I said “You know, that alley looks suspiciously hashey-like” though no one had scouted it. Shits and Ladders eventually ran up and didn’t return so we followed and called onon as we began our ascent up the backside of beacon hill. Coming to the top of the hill there were marks which lead down, but CEP and I decided to never give up the high ground and agreed that if we reached the sea plane base, we’d gone to far and would turn back (that’s like a 2 year old inside joke). However, instead of a seaplane base we found a song check and got most of the way through a butchered version (you can guess who messed up the verses) Sexual Life of  a Camel before pack caught up and we kept going. Trial then meandered down the more touristy streets of Beacon Hill and many people commented on my sparkling hips (that might be a lie), until we reached a panty swap by an outdoor cafe which I traded by sequins for a rather restrictive though. The trick with thongs is just to push everything to one side. Trial then continued through the flat of the hill, then reached the footbridge over storrow and we all stood around and waited for the FRBs to come back from the not at all predictable CB to the BC at the friendly lady’s house on the other side of the street.

Beer Check Front Stoop:

The beer check was on the same front stoop as it was last year, people milled around and drank and discussed various topics from the predictableness of trial to how to achieve general physical fitness. The male hashers also discussed the comfort levels of various panties and pantie design. The thong, once properly aligned was surprisingly comfortable, while the male speedo bottom was painfully contristicing. We convinced a passing important person - you could tell by the general disdain he had for our debauchery and that he was wearing blue tooth ear phones, to take our picture. By we convinced I mean the do me harder yelled “HEY! HEY! PERSON WALKING!” and he took our picture, however he did not take the offered beer. The hares left after hanging out for a while and despite the RAs best intentions, pack might have given them 8 minutes.

Trial thongs:

That pack gave the hares 8 minutes is a slight technicality; people started scouting in a very lazy fashion after about 8 minutes, but we didn’t find trial until about 15 had passed so it all works out in the end. Trial ran through the gardens, past a wedding photograph, and crossed into the common. Glutenless turned left and followed a very attractive runner across the common before admitting that he was following ass, not marks. Marks were laid in the other direction to a song check in the marble gazebo type thing. We sang “hashers, meet the hashers” then ran off to find trial crossing Boylston street. At the point the inventory of panties were well know and people were yelling out “I want the pink thong” or “give me boys, boys, boys” or “who has america, i want the flag!” as we traded panties in front of some fancy wine bar. A muggle ask what we were doing and after giving a quick ernest response of “panties are hard to put on” answered that we’re a drinking club with a running problem, then ran off to follow pack. Slightly confused from the new construction, I thought the shot check was in front of the strip clubs, but instead it was in a rather fancy alley behind some new condo building. There were more shots than people and had your humble narrator not loved America so much the night before, he would have been more game for drinking them, but given as though half of pack was in the same condition (loving america), the shots were sadly abandoned as we ran through the theater district. There was a check back to an alley through BU/Tufts Medical to a final panty swap near the Wang Theatre. I looked around and said “I’m gonna scout the Silhouette” and no one followed me, but, after cutting through some choice alleys I saw “Have you figured it out yet?” in chalk, then the hares talking to the MC of the evening outside the Boston’s favourite dragshow bar.


(RA’s note: circling with cat walks is amazing)
Knowing what was going to happen later, we decided to get circle out of the way as soon as everybody was in and had a beer. The hares were called into circle and while a lot of people were surprised at where their panties ended up, no one was surprised at where the trial ended up. We told the hares that they should’ve used more flour and chalk and they sang back to us about this great old car that they used to drive. They drank and got out of circle. Next, since we had no virgins or visitors, we called the transplant into circle. She ended up coming to Boston by a long and circuitous route (via circus, crescent shiggy and denmark), but now that she’s here she’ll be pretending to be a smaht kid at some brick building school north of the river.  She’s stupid, but she sang us a great song about STDs and dinosaurs, and we welcomed her as one of us. This didn’t actually happen, but it should have, so given the lack of virgins we called in In Da Panties Day virgins and they confessed that while they had never run around the city in panties before, they all had dreamed of it and Spank Me sang them a great number about running ‘round in women’s underwear. FRBs and FBIs were called in - Jack and Vag - and they were accused of sex on trial; DFL (Foamy?) came next (if at all) and we sang him a short song he could understand then kicked him out, but only for a second, as it was on to accusations. Apparently Mr. In My Anus has some problems with seeing things, like speed bumps that are around ankle level and tripped over a couple on Beacon Hill, so he drank for the end of the month. Continuing on with accusations Udder Whore was accused of wearing new shoes, and we, being hashers of science, subjected them to a gravity test - which they failed so she drank (and the shoes actually tasted new!). Accusations continued on to anyone with same shirts or racist attire, and they were made to drink for their crime but were reminded that at least it wasn’t cum.  Other accusations followed, but apparently Udder wasn’t the only hasher with new shoes, Easy as 123 was accused of a similar crime, and her shoes also failed the gravity test. The beer was running low so a final call for accusations was put out and Just Mom announced that she would like to accuse her son (the hare, THE 2nd Cuming) of having a birthday! So Just Mom administered the down-down and we sang about instest time in Texas before going into the birthday chant. There were more accusations, and some announcements (see below), but circle was ending and food had arrived so we swang low.

On - In Da Panties! - On

Saturday: There might be a beaver trial; check the facebook group.

Tuesday 7/11: BH3 Mismanagment meeting -> Do you want to help run this shit? Really, you’re an idiot, but please come to the MM meeting to start planning for next year! It’s really fun!

Wednesday 7/12: Hashing Of the Bulls -> Another annual trial in which pack chases the hares (Twat My Mom and Justine Beaver) while being chased by bulls! Start location will be posted soon.

Thrusday 7/13: July Full(ish) Moon/Invihash Pre-lube trial: Hared by Laurance My Labia, Quater Mile and “Myster Co-hare” start is JJ Foleys in DTX, “mystery shots!” will be on trial!

Friday-Sunday: Invihash in Burlington VT:
It’s a campout week in North VT, and probably one of the top 5 New England area anual events.

Boston H3 needs hares for July, August and September. If you want to hare a trial, contact the hare raisers:

B3H3TM3.69 -> Ballbuster trust me, September 22-24

Sometime in October: AGM

Sometime in November: Sadie

Sometime in December: Anti-buffet

Sometime in January: Robbie Burns

Sometime in Feburary: Moon Away

Boston H3 Marathon Weekend -> April 13-15

Sometime in May: NURD, NUDE, or whatever they call it.

Around July 4th, IN DA PANTIES DAY XII

(stop reading, drink a beer)

!! NUDE TRASH !! (over 1 year ago)
What: NUDE 2017 (14th NURD)
Where: That girl scout camp
When: May 12-14
Piggy, Decy, Tapp, others who will kill me when they read this and find out I barely remember their names after all these years...

(The nice day)

I arrived at the camp just after 3 and was greeted by some friendly visitors from flour city who very nicely reminded me of the rules, etc, etc, I pretended to pay attention, but was really jonesing to get unpacked and start raging!

Quickly after setting up camp behind the manifest destinied manifest cabin, I reacquainted with my old friend Two Minute Ride who informed me that he was about to roll a blunt. I replied that I hadn’t smoked one of those since college. However, the process to roll said blunt took long enough that I was able to pass my greeting to those who came by, always feeling bad for the late arrivers who’d arrived mid-rage.

Whore dock was well populated, but I decided that I should best make my introductions carrying a pitcher of beer for the dock. My actions were not as well received as I should have hopped; as the dock was well beered, but my friends on the shore were sad to see me pass by before returning to fill them up. Counterfeit, for no apparent reason, wanted to see how many people it would take to submerge a section of the dock, the answer was surprisingly not many.

Getting bored, and fearing for our sobriety might be harder to vanquish than we thought, Piggy announced that it was time that we re-baptize the no-longer broken Kursty in the cleansing waters of Lake we cleared the dock and a naked - not sure that’s needed, but just incase you couldn’t figure it out - Krusty sat in the now dick-less wheel chair and was pushed off the end of the dock. There was physical evidence of the temperature of the water, and we cleared the dock and went back to the pavilion to get more beer.

Dinner was called - surprisingly since we were suggested to feed ourselves and I made the first of many voyages up to the pavilion - now with beer for 2017! The dinner did not make my notes but I believe it was something with meat between slices of bread? Really I have no idea, Two Minute and I housed that blunt on the way up to the food and my memory’s pretty fuzzy until we get to the puddling shots in a half dozen paragraphs or so.

Returning to the fire pit after dinner we continued to rage and greet newcomers until trial was called and we followed lines of glow sticks into the woods past the platform tents. Trail crossed a bridge and there was a harriet telling people not to walk into a pole. Apparently someone hadn’t realized that the pole was immobile last year and walked into it. Did that actually happen? Does it matter? It makes a good story. Honestly, I needed to helpful reminder and I was quickly getting rather high. The first shot check was unimpressive, and we walked around the woods to the second check which featured me filling my vessel almost entirely full with some sort of lemondrop concoction. This was a bad idea, but I soldiered on. Trail continued into the woods until everyone stopped. The hares were lost. Wikilost. We backtracked and found trail going to another cooler full of shots; my vessel still being full with lemondrops, I had to decline this one, and instead sipped, regretfully on the alcohol citrus juice in my vessel. Shortly trail emerged from the woods - much to my relief as I literally had no idea where I was - to the registration tables which were repurposed to hold pudding shots. I decided that pudding shots I could do - though Bill Cosby isn’t dead - so I poured out my lemondrops, refilled with beer and remembered how glad I was that I had trimmed my beard and was not therefore entirely covered in pudding. After the majority - though not all - of the pudding was consumed, Krusty jumped on the table and announced that PANTS OFF DANCE OFF was starting at the Disco Shelter and scampered off. Word spread like wildfire, but we all stood around and drank more until we heard the pulsing beats of DJ Dark Moves flowing across the lake and we made the trek down to the dance floor.

One the way back I decided that the blunt had worn off - I believe I was able to judge this because I regained the ability to have coherent thoughts, and decided that would be a great time to give out the rest of the Butler cookies I had squired away after Moom Fight Club. I believe I gave some to Udder? Maybe Easy? Maybe Butler? Maybe someone else? I don’t know, but I found an empty bag in my pocket the next morning. It’s also entirely possible that I ate all of them myself.

Following the music - and the glowsticks - to the dance floor, where everyone was dancing and marvouling in how shinny the dickhelmets were, we all danced for a very long time. Or not again, time dialation is a thing.  At some point I walked over to the fire pit which had been lit after the shot-trail, and watched the flames consume all the wood in the teapee. I should note that I’m listening to the NUDE playlist, and I’m not entirely convienced that this is what we were listening to. I feel a significant wiki-influence might have been filtered out...not that I’m complaining  - not everyone wants to dance ATR.

At some point there was an UGH - i mean, not at some point, I’m pretty sure it was at, or after midnight, and I’m pretty sure that CEP and Pussy Passport hared it, and I have a rough memory of trying to RA circle, but instead saying some form of “fuck this, I’m going to bed” and walking away...except I didn’t go to bed, because I got lost and went back to the now much emptier dance floor and danced some more. It was actually at this point that I came to the conclusion about the playlist and eventually went back to the pavilion to have some water and watch people play drink ball, while thinking “yeah, there’s no way I’m drinking anymore” before eventually finding my tent and going to bed.

All in all, a fun friday night; great weather, great company great trails, dancing and rage...if only the rest of the weekend were like that.

SATURAIN (rage) -

I awoke before the rain and thought, innocently, that perhaps it would all blow over. Talking around the fire I recovered my vessel from where I had left it after the UGH the night before (see above) - apparently, i couldn’t find my tent because I turned the wrong way off the road, but, whatever...anyway, after regaining my vessel I decided to test it to verify that it still held beer and, gentle reader, you will be pleased to know that it did. Vessel properly charged, I migrated up the hill towards the food pavilion to fill my face with the standard breakfast fare of rice and beans, and various forms of scrambled eggs with things in them. There was also coffee, something which I would be remiss to leave out. The left over pudding shots were placed next to said elixir of life and proved to be a very nice substitute for cream.

Having filled our stomachs we, the royal we, made our way back down to the fire pit and stood around it for a while before decided that perhaps we should go under the pavilion since there was also a fire there and it wasn’t raining. Oh, yes, Spank Me came through on a mission to find his pants, some one suggested perhaps that he check his tent, which he said he had, then it was suggested that perhaps he check the tent that he ended up in. He came back a half-hour later with his pants and a small grin. This story is at least 50% true, which, given the conditions in which we find ourselves so often these days, should be taken as nearly Unquestionable Divine Law.

We were kind of milling aimlessly about for a while, and it was decided that if we were going on trail, it would definitely be announced at the fire pit, so we should change into trail clothes, but remain in the area. It should be noted that Udder Whore, far from being the sweet and innocent paragon of classic femininity, poses a high-kick which can reach over my cranium. The ability to effortlessly execute this kick is a requirement of all of her pants. She has been added to my list of people to ph34r, as she demonstrated this ability multiple times, then laughed, heartlessly when my effort to do the same resulted in the effortless triumph of gravity and my reunion with the forest floor. I brushed myself off, filled up my vessel and waited for trail.

Trail was called that it was started from the pavilion, and I quickly decided to join team Nature Walk - having learned my lesson multiple times over that they are normally the rageier, and therefore wiser choice. I cemented my decision by filling my vessel with sweet nectar to keep me hydrated on what was sure to be a long and arduous trail. Quick note that the hares were Piggy and Willy. There was a very important announcement at chalk talk, that I didn’t hear - more on that later, and we eventually scampered off after the hares.

TRAIL Pt 1: A stroll through the Woods

The FRBs came back and reported that trail did not, in fact go over the bridge to the shots like it did Friday night; instead trail turned right after the out-house and followed, for a brief moment, in the path of the trail last year. There was an, in hindsight, hilarious attempt to try and walk around the mud and water that trail led us through on a long loop around the swampy-pondish thing that the bridge eventually took us over. Having refound ourselves on solid ground, the FRBs took off running. I sighed, sipped my beer and let the pass. I was in a strange no-mans-land between the running runners, the walking runners and the walkers, but this is a place I’ve spent many a trail, so I strolled along in silence.

Trail eventually led to the road, and since my beer wasn’t finished, and i could see traffic in the distance, I decided that perhaps discretion was the better part of valor and dumped the now quiet flat (i mean it was coors light to begin with) contents of my vessel on the road and took off after the runners, who had turned back into camp to take off some layers [RAGE], then turned back on trail, which continued along the road for about 100 yards after camp, though the hares took pains to not mark on the roads, instead using trees offset by a couple of yards, before turning and heading down a ravine-ish thing into the woods. There were gleeful shouts from the front as the FRBing runners found the beer!


There was a crate with 4 gallons of beer. There might have been orange food, but I wasn’t paying much attention.We stood around for a while, talked of things pithy and profound and commented that trail so far, hadn’t been that bad. A few beers laters I decided I wanted to go back to camp - being that it was cold and wet - so I did what all good hashers do when they are on trail and want to get to the ONIN, I quietly left the check and started following trail.

Trail ... um ... Part 2: I guess we’re doing this?

I might as well state this here; it was not my intention to go on this part of trail, but I’m an idiot, and I take full responsibility for my actions. I will attempt to keep the whining tone down, but - bad decisions aside - I had a great fucking time. SHIGGY!

I left the beer check early, hoping to get a jump on the rest of the walkers, and headed into the woods. The woods quickly became damp, and the damp woods quickly became a light-swamp. You know, the type in which trees still grow, but there isn’t really much solid ground between them? Trail was laid pretty much straight through this, though pack splitted into a “line abreast” formation for reasons that I don’t understand; the path of least resistance was to take the path which the hares, and FRBs had trodden. This trail lead to something on the horizon which I hoped beyond hope was a dirt road leading back to camp since after about 10 minutes, I had had about as much of the shiggy as I had planned for and was quickly coming to the realization that I was on the Eagle trail.
The road ahead of me wasn’t a road, just a random dry-ish patch - a return to “damp forest” from “trees in water.” There was a clearing visible through the trees and I had a sinking feeling that I knew where we were headed, but could see no other way. I tucked my vessel - remember I brought it with me because I thought i was doing “team nature walk” - into my hoodie, zipped up my coat, took a deep breath and turned left to follow trail. There were maybe a hundred yards of dry trail for me to mull my fate over in before we turned quiet abruptly to the right and into an actual swamp. Trail is rather visible from space, as if you zoom in far enough on google maps you can see the observation deck then the expanse of swamp/bog/whatever in front of it. Or, if you were on eagle trail last year, you guys did the other half of that damned thing.

However, this wasn’t last year. This was this year; a NUDE in remembrance of those we lost, and the hares lived up to that billing trying their hardest to lose pack in the swamp. There was a true trail pointing in, then nothing, then a few orange ties on bushes on the other side of a gently flowing stream, surrounded by patches of swamp grass. In we went. I journeyed in with the guy who’d eventually get naked and trip over the course hazard on the Beer Mile (see below), and Twinkle Toes; I think there were people behind us, I mean I know there were, but I was focused on what I learned from We Sing Silly Songs - “When you walk in the swamp go swish not stomp!” Continuing forward momentum was the best thing going. I learned quite quickly that channels had to be entered gently - Twinkly Toes preferred the Jump In and Splash Around method, and the other guy laughed at us. There were times again when Twinkle and I were used as human-yard sticks “this gets about waist deep on wiki here!” or “watch out for that area; wiki went chest deep!” I will point out that I didn’t go chest deep, but that my foot was stuck and I threw myself on a tuft of swamp grass to lever my leg out, then adopted the strategy of “stick to the channels.” In future, I’d recommend this, you get more wet (not like that mattered), but the mud and depth were more consistent and the constant falling into, then climbing out of mud canyons was quickly getting annoying.

At this point in the narrative, we were just about half way across the swamp and could see the observation deck teasing us in the distance. However, due to the weather (the hares dispute this, but i Iike the story better this way), the walkers had abandoned the second beer check and returned to the food pavilion leaving us Eagles to slog through the swamp for no one’s glory but our own. Trail, or rather, slogging through the swamp, continued for another swamp-length (whatever unit that is), as we slowly turned away from the observation deck and headed towards shore. There was a song check “Them them, fuck them” on the road which lead back to the deck and the sports field, however, despite extensive and wishful scouting by your humble narrator, trail did not go that way. Trail turned right and continued into the woods.

There were some gentle hills and we left the open of the swamp to the cover of trees - mainly pine as my memory informs me - and trail continued through the woods. I had started walking trail as there are frequently, um, how shall I put this, comfortable consequences to running in wet, muddy kilts - at least for me. It was a pleasant stroll through the woods, though I wished that my vessel wasn’t tucked into my hoodie and instead filled with beer; also I wished that all the runners would stop running past me so we could walk and chat or whatever. Enough of that, back to trail. The hike through the woods was relatively unremarkable with the exception of the part in which the hares played “how many times can we cross the same river?” I lost count at over a dozen. Eventually, though, we stumbled out onto a recognizable road and ran uphill to the beer check, which was in the same location as the first beer check last year.

BEER CHECK #2, and a walk down hill.

Yeah, I bailed on this like a paratrooper over Normandy. Is that a joke? Maybe? It feels 20% right, 30% wrong, 50% wierd? But I’ll go with it. I grabbed a beer and followed spank me and we wandered down the hill back to camp, and stumbled out of the woods.


With the wide-eyed look of someone who had survived something they hadn’t meant to, I wandered around the camp until I found a group of people playing cards under the pavilion, and joined them. We played asshole until we had gathered a crowd almost as large as the game itself, and I must admit that my heuristics, or strategy, or whatever, for this game were horrible; I was asshole once, veep once, and alternated between the top and bottom of the group the rest of the time. People were walking by and tossing candy on the table, which was nice, but they never filled our beers, which was the job of Peepers, because while she wasn’t always asshole, she was the best. There competitions as to how many times we could skip Bleeps or Just Sean, and I just bumbled around trying to figure out what was going on. Eventually we tired of the game - mainly because there were too many people and dealing cards was actually quiet difficult in those circumstances. With our hunger not satisfied by candy bars, we slowly shuffled our way up to the food pavilion and ate sandwhiches, left overs from last night and chilli. Over lunch we talked of many things, most notably Gerald, the elephant in the room. I fucking see you, Gerald! But growing tierd and cold in our (my) muddy and wet clothing, we retired back to camp to change and figure out what was going to happen next.

After getting into some dry clothes we reconvened around the pavilion and talked, drank beer, and planned to take over the world until Disco showed up! There bets were 7/3 (I have no idea what that means) against, but she just strolled up as if she’d been there the whole time. She quickly made friends by handing out weed cookies, and was welcomed into the conversation.

Krusty came in and announced that the beer mile would be happening at 5, so we all trudged up the hill to the food pavilion to watch Krusty, Little Wang, a just from Boston*, the guy who I went through the swamp with, and Boner Doner do a beer mile. Bets were taken, such as who would win the women’s division - No Man was the odds-on favourite, who would win the men’s, and how many wipe out’s there’d be. The race started and No Man declared that she wasn’t running, so I started drinking. After the first lap, the just quit - something about not like humping turtles - and the race continued. With no one having fallen after first two laps, and since everyone had money riding on at least one hash crash, I ran into the woods and tossed some sticks in the middle of the course as a hazard. The runners generally ignored this, except for one - the guy from the swamp - who “fake fell” but ended up being covered in mud anyway - the judges counted that as a trip and we all drank. Krusty won - I think - and we all retired to either the food pavilion, with it’s fire for warmth and long, hipster table, or the smaller pavilion with it’s weird game and beer.

The pavilion had a much better game; Come Up With New Ways Of Drinking Disco’s Alcohol. Disco brought hard alcohol, this should shock no one, but what should be shocking is that no one else did. So a group of us sat around the tables drinking it in ever more sophomoric ways. The first, and best, was the idea of pickle backs. Everyone loves pickle backs, right? Well, Wanka had brought some horseradish pickles, and disco had whipped cream picklebacks? I said I’d do one, and after dumping my beer and getting water for a chaser I bored myself a shot of each, held them in front of me, and down they went. I waited for the predicted vomit, but nothing happened, so my face went from nervous, to scared to, well, meh, oh, that wasn’t bad at all looking. And NO ONE believed me. So I dared No Man to drink it, because I didn’t make a face. So she did, and she didn’t make a face. Then she dared Udder to drink it, because No Man didn’t make a face, and she did; and so the game went; no one who drank it reacted negatively to it, but no one who hadn’t drunk it believe that it wasn’t the most vile thing in the world. This game continued until food was brought out and we paused, briefly.

Dinner was pulled pork (or chicken, doesn’t really matter), and left over chilli and potatos. The potatos are important because they were key to the next game...

You Are *clap*clap* the Best Drunk *clap*clap*

I could never get the syncopation of those claps down, and neither could anyone after the game was over so it doesn’t really matter; honestly none of this dose, but we’re seven pages in and haven’t even gotten to circle, so we might as well keep going. The point of this game was to see who could drink the most, weirdest things. We had a limited supply of booze and needed to ration it to those who earned it - like those who’d take pulled-chicken shots, or potatao-and-butter shots. These are exactly what you think they are, and it was quiet a game between between Krusty and Harlot, thought there were others. Easy played for a while, then ran off to join “the other game” - which, as far was we could tell - involves standing around table and sometimes running around it naked. Was our game better? Who knows. After running out of things to food with the whipped cream vodka, Harlot poured everyone a ground a “Creamy Codders” to serve as a base as the game continued. Mansauce provided a set of potato-funnels to facilitate drinking; I tried one (twice) and ended up just pouring alochol all over my face. With our shots running low, we started handing out “pre-mixed cranberry juice” to everyone who came up asking for shots. Only the just figured out that it was juice everyone else remarked “wow, you can hardly taste the vodka.” Enough of this, circle.


Piggy called everyone to the food tent and got the hares into circle. It was a good trial, and they drank. Next all the “kitchen bitches” who worked so that we could rage were called in - THANK YOU! We’d be cold, drunk, and hungry were it not for them! Virgins were called in - Yes, there were Virgins - and we demented them; they had (have) no idea how (or why) they spent their weekend in the woods and are probably still questioning their life choices. NURD virgins - first time NURD/NUDErs were called in and for a second we thought that this was going to be the beginning of the famous 3-hour circle where everyone from 1 to 14 was called in. I believe that they got through first and second timers, then called in everyone who’d been to all of them - which I believe was just Piggy (maybe Deccy too?). They need to get a life. Old-timers were called in - Tub Slut and Dancing Fool - and asked to sing us a song which no one remembered anymore. They did, and I had no idea what it was. They then called in anyone who had been born after 1987, the year Tubby and Dancing Fool started hashing, and a surprising number of people were. Anyone who ran the beer mile was called in, including the just from Boston, who baled after one lap. Disco yelled out “hey, get outta circle, you quater  mile queer!” Silence fell on the pavilion, and quorum was granted from Boston for Piggy to name the just “Quarter Mile Queer.” So, whoever that Just from Boston was, he is now “Quater Mile Queer.” The beer milers then drank. It being mother’s day, all mom’s drank, after ordering themselves in various ways. Circle was briefly opened to accusation and apparently I lost some shit in Butler's car, which he made me drink for. I tried to accuse Udder of punching me in the face but was told that was hashman like behaviour. I’m sure other things happened, but those pre-mixed cranberries were really piling up, so we swung low.

The Virginator took over for Krusty on the dance floor and everyone broke off to either dance or find somewhere warm.

Oh, Harlot and Udder can’t walk in a straight line and there’s a pueblo village in Harlot’s toes. Midnight came around and everyone was too cold to UGH, so we (I - the royal we) went to bed.

We all woke up Sunday morning and pretty much raced to see who could pack up their tent and get home into their warm and dry bed fastest.

Also, Gimp had a heart attack, or something. He’s okay, but has a new TV, and if I know a joke you can play on him involving a plug...



July 14-16: Burlington H3 -> INVIHASH! It’s like NUDE, but marginally warmer in Vermount. There might be fewer swamps on trial.

Itheca as a camp out weekend in August, but I don’t know the dates or the link...reply to this and I’ll update the posts.

Flour city might have something too? See above; reply and I’ll update.


Beaver Pre-Pre-Prelube (over 1 year ago)
What: Beaver Marathon Prelube
Who: E=IMaDouch, Salty Mudflaps
Where: Alewife reservation
Who: Um, maybe the largest beaver pack ever?


Was at a weird amphitheatre under one of the most beautiful sunsets of the year a hundred yards or so down the Fitchburg bike path extension from Alewife. Quick note on getting there; rougly an hour before trial, Douche posted to the failbooks asking if anyone had chalk and could mark the trail to the start from the station; he had run out of flour marking trail from the road to the start, since so many people were driving...anyway...back to the prelube.

We were standing around in an ever growing circle as more and more visitors, and beavers, and boston hashers kept on showing up. There was a near constant stream of texts between people there and people not there asking if pack was away, or if people could send them beer check locations; but the answer was inevitably, nope we’re still here, still drinking.

A quick note on drinking, there were ample prelube beers supplied, mostly shitty, though a surprising selection of shitty beers, including many Mexican beers (all beavers are Mexicans, of course), PBR roulette, Gansett, Bud Heavy, Bud Light and allegedly some Coorslight too? The hares wanted to get us nice and lubricated for what was to come.


Douche went over all the marks we’d see on trail, it really was an unremarkable chalk-talk.

First Leg to the Wine:

Went around the pond to the island about 50 feet from the start. There was a mark that said “swim” with an arrow pointing to the island, but marks also lead around the pond - fear not, gentle reader, we’d get wet soon enough.

Wine and Jelly Pigs which have been Soaking in Rum for a Year Check:

There was a cryptic post by Douche a few weeks ago “how long can swedish fish type things soak in rum before they go bad?” The general consensus was forever, if the rum was strong enough. Not thinking anything of these comments, we ignored it and moved on to the next post...but then there was a thermos with puffy pig-like things and really strong (sugary) vodka being passed around. Naturally, we drank it. A few people tried to eat the pigs but they were dangerously alcoholic and very hard to chew and swallow. There was also a bag of wine for the more cultured among us. Having traveled all of 100ft, at it already being 8’clock and getting dark, we decided that perhaps we should go find trail and the hares shoed us of out the check.

The Part of the Trail which We Thought was Going to be the Shiggiest:

Leaving the check trail flirted with pavement before coming a check at a bend in the path. Everyone who came from Alewife knew that there was a false on the pavement a-cranium, so into the shiggy we dove. The area we traversed was, and I’m not an ecologist, lightly forested swamp? It’s tightly packed vegetation, but thin, prickly, and generally not fun to walk through, and that’s where trail went. Fellowship commented that it was probably easier to be in the back of pack when most of the shiggy had been tramped down by the people in front. I had no idea what he was talking about as I was merrily breaking all sticks, twigs, or anything else which tried to stand in my way, until, of course we got to the Alewife brook, with a true trail pointing into it, and another arrow on the other side. I had no idea how deep it would be, but, whatever, in I went, and pack - after seeing that I didn’t submerge “Wiki’s tall - lets see how deep it is on him” - followed after me. I was greated on the other side by some nasty thorns and did some bag scouting before running into the “turkeys” who avoided the shiggy standing at a song check. I led pack in a rousing rendition of “The Engineer Song” waiting for everyone to catch up. Trail continued in a “standard” fashion, under route 2, across the soccer fields, through the hobocamps and over the foot bridge and back to the offices in Alewife Linear Park. The FRBs had gone scouting a head and said they’d found an SN but no shots and were moving on. No Shots? Moving on? Blasphemy!

Jello Shots:

The shots were on an “island” that short people had to jump to but the taller members of pack were able to bound across easily enough, retrieve the bag of shots (assuming they were nips) and toss them back to the waiting pack. Unfortunately, as the title of this section indicates, the shots were actually jello shot and there was a moment of panic and near drinking frenzy when it was thought that the shots had spilled on the ground; but the jello containers were made for beavers and were able to take a bit of rough play. We move back away from the swamp and stood around eating all the jello shots until we decided it was dark, almost 8:30, and we still hadn’t hit the beer check, so on ward we went.

Trail, Oh, this is the Shiggy:

Trail ran along the path to the woods past the offices, and there was a hilariously obvious check going back to pavement, when trail was clearly going to go into the woods. In the woods we found a song check and sang about a bear who could probably be found in the woods. I, with foolishness equally that of the mocked hashers in the previous sentence, scouted along the trail through the woods. Ha! Trails! This is Beaver! Trail was laid into the reeds. Douche was standing around being useless and Salty took charge yelling “follow the path we trode, idiots!” So, again, Fellowship and I blazed the trail through the reeds. The reeds were about 10 feet tall, and rather thick. The bog water was freezing and just deep enough to submerge your entire shoe, but no deeper. I doubt the bog went on for more than 50 yards, but FRBing through those reeds made it feel ten times that. What greeted us on the other side? A embankment covered in throns we had to climb up, but of course! From there trail turned right and ran through the back of a development, across an on-ramp to Rt 2, and back into the woods for a casual stroll through the woods until there was a BN next to a hole in the fence. The BC was marked right in the middle of a construction site, and pack thirstily replenish the liquids lost to the shiggy, wondering what the construction workers would think of the the BC and foot prints all over their worksite.

Beer Check #1:

See the sentence above. There was beer, we drank it.

Trail Shitty Pavement Pounding Pt 1:

Leaving the construction site, trail looped through Belmont for maybe a half mile to a ever nice looking school with a playground and some soccer fields.

Beer Check #2:

Was there.

Trail Still More Pavement (Pt 2):

Continued through idyllic suburbia for agian, maybe a half mile before getting to ONIN behind the apartments at the end of the Fitchburg bike path.


This being a Beaver trail, and since all Beavers are Mexicans, there were homemade TAMALLES (by DUI Done Right) which were shoved into our mouths before circle started. Once all the Tammelles had been consumed, Douche wrangled us into some sort of circle. I’m gonna cop to two things; 1 I’ve realized that writing hash trashes hungover on a caffeine high is way more fun than sober and well hydrated 2; due to, or in relation to, the remark above, my memory, for some reason, got fuzzy at, during, or around circle. Here are some accusations I remember; Yoron, for bleeding on trail, the hares, for the shiggy, visitors, for being visitors, beaver first timers and beaver second timers, I dunno, I’m sure I butchered a song or two, chaos, drinking, you know, generally a good circle. I have go do some work now so I can leave on time and rage the beer mile tonight.


Beer Mile tonight, north point park, $5, 6:30, Pub crawl to follow
Marathon main event tomorrow; Kinsale Pub, Gov’t Center, 12:30 for registration and beer
Fat boy sunday: Tits in porter
I dunno, other things.

Pink Moon Marathon Pre-lube (over 1 year ago)
What: Pink Moon Trail
Where: Charlie’s Kitchen
Hares: Ugly Fuckingly, Anal Disco*
Bag car: Blowcone

Laurance of my Liabia, Yoron Weed, O’Boner Where art Ow?, Bring Out the Gimp, Chunderilli Chunderilli, Not Dead Yet, Clit Notes, Amilia Airfart, Just Pat, Anal Apologist, 2 Virgins, Queer and Foaming in my Anus, Mr. Bean, Fellowship of the Cockring, PoPo Peepshow, other’s I probably forgot.


Was at charlie's kitchen; Disco and I talked about conversation tones, other people drank.


Was held in a parking lot, the owner of which came by and asked what we were doing, and Spank Me, without warning, started leading us in stretches. This pleased the owner and he moved on. Marks were reviewed for the virgins and visitors, though your erstwhile RA (and humble scribe) forgot all the “interactive checks” (thought fear not, they were liberally used) and we took off.

Leg: “How many ways can we get there from here?”

The answer is, of course, a lot, and, as hashers, we weren’t so good at finding them. Trail ran around (though not through) the charles square hotel, however 5 inch penalty ran directly into, then got tangled in a wreath stand while scouting a false. There was the first of many song checks in a parking lot and trail continued towards, and eventually through the seminary school before depositing us, not at all predictably, at Longfellow Park. The only real question was “shots or beer?” and the answer was alcohol. It was green and fizzy and smelled slightly of aniese. For reasons which escape me now, I abstained, though by the looks on peoples faces it was of a standard shot check quality - that is, slightly above undrinkable.

From there trail flirted - that slut* - with sending us over (or maybe through) the river, and pack tried as hard as they could to get us free admission to Mount Auburn Hospital, or maybe that was just the pack running back and forth across the street. Either way there was a hash sitapead astride of the ambulance entrance. Luckily there were none of those coming as we sat and sang, and then took off looking for dark blue chalk, on brick side walks in the dark. They were totes easy to see. So easy. Like hi-vis on a sunny day easy. That might be a lie. Either way we continued down whatever that road is with our beer-dars going of like woah, until eventually found beer near and one of the hares in the park.

Beer check: Don’t get sick.

One of the hares got rather sick and baled on trail, so the remaining hare was nervous about getting snared ... more on that later .. most of the conversations focuses around the temperature of the beer, the lack of natural light, and the lack of sufficient supplementary illumination on the part of the pack. After giving the hare a very liberal 15 minutes, pack eventually chased after him.

Trail “He can’t be laying this alone”

...But he was. Also, he’s a bit of a racist, but more on that later. Though there were half the hares on the second leg, there were roughly twice the marks, and not all the checks were song checks. It was a bit death marchy, and pack was getting generally worried that we were straying quiet far into watertown, when we was a SN/SC/CB13. The shots - surprisingly good bourbon for a moon trail - were passed around as pack shuffled they way back the requested number of marks before finally turning north. I have to be honest now, as a scribe and as a hasher, I get lost every time I go near Fresh Pond - to me, it looks the same from all angles, so I was relieved that we were approaching it, but really couldn’t pin down our location any more than that. Luckily, I didn’t have to as we were quickly met by a BN and a BC by a bag car parked in the parking lot.

Beer check - Is the beer warm or cold?

One thrity rack was warm, the other cold, and no one could remember which one was which, and there was orange food. Blowncone tried to pawn off more hab, and seeing that it was getting late and trail was short, we quickly chased after the hare.

Trail “Where in the park are we going?”

Spoiler alert; the other side, by Paddy’s. However, to get there we had to run past a car dealership and a gas station, then behind a shopping center before getting to a check back that left some of pack standing in the middle of a crosswalk waiting for OnOn to be called. Apparently this behavior is outside the bounds of normal activity, but eventually we made it to the park. Then we ran across the park, past a soccer game to the OnIn.


Was interesting; we sang to the RA, Marbels, and reminded him how hard it had been to see marks, and suggested that next time perhaps he should have used more flour, or chalk. After that he called in the FRB/FBI who were Five Inch and someone else, and they drank, then we called in the DFL - OBWOW - and it was only half-way through “are you lonesome tonight” did we look around and figure out that Butler and Yoron were still on trail. Whatever, we kept singing. Next in were Moon backsliders, which was everyone except for Douche and I, though, in all honestly, it was probably smarter not to go to his frozen-ass trail, but, whatever, I digress. At this point there were two very confused people in circle; the virgins and they were called into be demented in the glorious return of the Dementress Extrodenaire, PoPo Peep Show. She got one of them to admit that the weirdest place she had ever had sex in Boston was her office, then copped to being Anal  Apologist (who she insisted on calling Anal Beads)’s boss. The other virgin has always wanted to hook up in the fens. Pack fell silent and looked around at this, not sure what to make of it. Was she being funny? Did she know what that meant? Anyway, we taught them how to down-downs, and accepted them - kinda - into our midsts. Around this time Butler and Yoron showed up and we made them drink as well. No one remembered that Moon used to be infamous for shot-gun down-downs, and no one remembered that we used to call border jumpers in...traditions, kidz, tranditions, with out them we are merely drunks! With them we are “unqiuely cultured drunks!” There’s a difference. Okay, I’ll get off my old-man soap box now. We met a whore in the park and dispersed into the night.

On - pink moon - On
-Laurance of my Labiaia

BEAVER TRAIL TONIGHT -> Alewife station on the red line, $15, bring cranium lamp and change of clothes. Good beer and good food at the onin.

CUMBRIDGE BEER MILE TOMORROW - North Point park - do NOT show up early and pre-game by the river; pregame at the offically sanctioned pre-lube Courtside, just a few blocks away.

Gather at 6:30HST, beer mile starts at 7PM SHARP.

Pub crawl will commenance shortly there after, in or around north station area.

Start is: Kinsale, Gov’t Center, Boston MA
Show up before noon for brunch
Registration and beer starts at 12:30
Hares away/opening circle at 1.

Start: Tavern In the Square, Porter

MONDAY: BEER CHECK @ Mile 20, get there aroun 11.
Also, Ball Buster starting @ 10, ending at the beer check.

May G have mercy on your Livers!

The Quadrennial JP Hash (over 1 year ago)
What: The Quadrennial JP Hash
Where: JP? Specifically Cafe Luna, or something
Hares: Goat Throat, Goes Down on Bouys
Bag Car: Show Me the Penis
Bring Out the Gimp, Salty Mudflaps, DUI Done Right, Easy as 123, Shits and Ladders, Orgasm Falmon, Luva Lamp, E=ImaDouche, Not Dead Yet, Skethcy Ho, CEP, The Butler Hit It, Wikipedophilia, Friar Fuck, Lobster Cock (?? transplant from EDW), Virgin Someone, Krusty the Meatmiser, Blowbot, Fellowship of the Cockring...others I’m forgetting.


Was at a very nice bar. Everyone agreed that JP was a great place to live, probably, but was wicked far from work and friends...

Trail Part The First:

Chalk talk was lead by Krusty and we went over a bunch of marks, some of which we would see and others of which we would not. We explained most of them to the virgin, and tried to go over pack marks, though that wasn’t entirely helpful as most of the chalk left to us by the hares was of the dark and not easily visible type, as we had assumed that the hares had taken the brightly colored chalk for themselves. Side note; they hadn’t, but more on that later.

Trail ran straight through the not-quite-a-brewery complex and up a set of stairs. I had attempted racist behaviour earlier in the day and my legs were protesting more than, well, it’s hard to finish that joke without offending anyone, so just understand that they were protesting, and the stairs did not help matters. Wow, that was quite the tangent, anyway, there was a very cheerful family with a mother leading her children in chants of “keep running, the zombies are coming!” as we ran up the stairs. As DFL I was lemming pretty hard, so was saved when 90% of pack hit a pretty long YBF as trail actually righted, um, left, I think, and crossed over the train tracks into more central JP. There was a series of switchbacking turns leading us up hill and past a deliciously smelling Cuban restaurant, eventually to a song check in front of a church. Either my sobriety of 4 straight days of hashing confused me to the point of thinking that it was Thrusday yesterday (it wasn’t, it was Tuesday), so I tried to sing a Jesus saves verse about pharacies, and was properly mocked. Once all of pack (minus the walkers, fuck them), caught up trail countied through the courtyard of the chruch to what was a T/E split, but had been crossed out and replaced with S/S, then one of the S’s had been crossed out with another T. My vague directional awareness took hold of me and when I saw a downhill for the eagles and and uphill for turkeys, I decided to take the turkey, guessing that our short uphill would be better than whatever the eagles were going to have to do, and I was correct. The hill wasn’t very long and before we were running down hill towards the emerald neckalce, at which point pack began playing everyone’s favourite game “guess which beer check they’re using.” Our guesses and marks eventually lead us to a beer check ontop of a hill near a pond.

Beer Check #1: (IE, where are the walkers?)

Waiting for us at the beer check was warmer than air-temperature PBR, aggressively salted salt and vineger chips, water, and no walkers. The eagles showed up moments after the turkey’s cracked their beers, but by the time we had finished the walkers were still a no-show, so we had another round and kept waiting. Eventually they strolled in, drunk and giving 0 fucks, as walkers as known to do, and we promptly set off on the next leg of trail.

Trail Phase B:

Being well marked (actually the whole trail was) on the exit to the beer check, trail crossed a road then turned back into the emerald necklace park and then did a half a loop around Jamaca Pond before a Hash Sitapeed (the check was misspelled), by the boat house. Fellowship demurred saying that it was “above his thermal tolerance” or whatever that means, but the hash is challenge by choice so we sat on each other’s laps without him. Trail from there crossed the street and meandered through the more suburban part of JP past many helpful muggles - “They went that way!” before coming to a song check on center street, at which, in honor of the transplant from EDW, we sang “Days of the Week” to the confusion of the locals. We then ran down centre street for a few blocks attracting more comments “those people are weird” before turning left and heading for some more light hills near a church type thing. There was a check and stairs and a tit check, then a dick check, more stairs and shoots near on the green way. Shots were fireball, so pack gingerly sipped then shied away from and continued down the green way, with only slight alteration in course towards the Arboretum. We ran past a lady who, while walking a dog, exclaimed “You’re hashers!” “We are” we replied and she said that she’d known of us in the past, so we yelled the website and ran on towards a beer near by forest hills station and a quick sprint through light shiggy (apparently there was a path) to the ONIN.


Pizza, bags, and beer were delivered, devoured, drunk and discarded. Eventually afer the quiet of mastication had descended over pack Krusty stepped forward and lead us in circle. The Hares were called for laying a surprisingly good trail, and made to drink for trying to revive a hash. FRB (that’s me!) and FBI (easy) were called in and we were told we were number one, but people were flipping us off, so it was confused messaging. DFL(s) were called in next and that group numbered almost a dozen, and we sang to them as well. The virgin, looking very confused, was called in a Clit Notes demented her; she wasn’t good at math, likes corduroy powder, and would get off a bus of lesbians, she isn’t worthy, but we took her anyway as a just. Salty was called in for sowing about half a dozen happy coats, then everyone who had a happy coat sewed by her was called in and we all drank. There were more accusations, and I was a frequent target, but all in all it was a great night for drinking in the woods, and that’s what we did. With circle running out of steam (and beer), we swang low.

On - 4 more years - On

All marathon trails are on:

Moon trail tonight - Charlies Kitchen in Harvard Square, 6:30HST
Beaver trail tomorrow - Marks from Alewife, 6:30 HST
Friday Cumbridge H3 presents it’s 6.9th beer mile: North point park, 7pm HST, followed by Pub Crawl.
Start is Kinsale Pub, Government Center, 12:30.

Sunday: Pink Taco Fat Boy
Start is TiTs in PORTER

Monday: BEER CHECK at mile 20, and ball buster run starting at 10 in JFK park by Harvard square (ending at the beer check)

July - Invihash

Labor Day weekend - Boston Islands campout?

November - Sadie?

December - Anti-buffet?

Januarary - Robbie Burns?

Feburary - Moon away?

March - Mardi Gras?