Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...
|Summer BBQ Hash
(about 1 year ago)
What: Summer BBQ Hash
Where: Tasty Burger
Who: Show Me the Penis, Clit Notes
(Bag car: Goat Throat)
Pack: There sure were a lot of you. Fellowship took attendance, but here’s what I have from memory: Nercopheliac Jack, Vagabond, Plus 2 Coonass, Yellow Dick Gnome, CPA, Goes Down on Bouys, The Butler Hit It, Black cock down, Beat By a Girl, Rammerhead Shark, her virgin, Wikipedophilia, Bottom Wrangler, No Man on the Moon, Honorable Vaginal Discharge, Luva Lamp, Mudslut, Anal Apologist, Foreskin Abortion, Swedish Eagle, Five In Penalty, 3 Ring Cervix, Pat My Fly, Dribbles, lots of other people, but let's get to the hash...
People got to the bar early, and by 6:30 we had pretty much taken over the area in front of the bar in the Tasty Basement. The RAs briefly considered doing a PBR race to see who would lead circle, but decided to tag-team it instead. Butler was walking around with a bag of visibility green cookies offering his rage-enhancing baked goods to the masses. I will say they were, um, pungent, and kinda numbed the lips...anyway...luckily I had set a timer so after the hares had been gay for 6.9minutes, bag car was called and we left Tasty Burger
Trial to Bag Car:
Was up a rather long set of 4 flights of stairs. We did introductions and shared our favourite BBQd meat. Trial would be short, we were told, with jello shots - at which point a jello shot was lobbed at the RA - and a beer check. Understanding our mission - rage first, maybe run a bit - we ran down the stairs back to the bar for the start of trial.
The problem with “knowing” where trial goes, is that trial almost never “goes” the way you “think” it will. Trial ran down Mt. Auburn street for a block, then turned up and ran across Mass Ave and into Harvard Yard. There was a hash sitepead - which was captured on film - and a song check “young girls” which caused a passing student (in a poloshirt), to comment to the girl he was walking with “Ugh, that’s so vile.” Not wanting to disturb the sensibilities of the Harvard crowd any more, we ran behind the science and math buildings to a long song check at the law school, about the various professions our significant others might wish to pursue. Trial was marked through a sunken quad with a volley ball net to a YBF in front of YHS (your humble scribe’s) apartment. I blew through the YBF, grabbed 4 heady toppers from my fridge than ran back and rejoined trial in front of the Sheraton Command/Nubar on the other side of Cambridge Common. Trial continued us on our tour of Harvard, this time going through the divinity school. There was some confusion as to if we were heading for Longfellow Park or Hemingway Park (it was Longfellow), and we ran past a BN, past bag car, past the statue, across the field, then into the slightly sketcher field on the other side of the road for the beer check.
Beer check KC:
There was no Kansas City beer, but there was Naragansett and Jello shots. Lots of Jello shots, some of which didn’t taste horrible. We stayed there probably for way too long, drank all the beer, and eventually decided perhaps we should chase the hares to see where this trail would lead us.
Trial South Carolina:
Guessing that trial went south, everyone scouted towards Mt Auburn hospital from the check, but there were no marks that way. Instead trial ran about a 2 block detour through some public housing developments before linking back up Memorial Drive about 50 yards down the road from the beer check. Pack had caught up with the walker so must of us just sauntered to the OnIn, though maybe a dozen people broke off and followed trial to more shots.
As soon as pack got to the ONIN, the grill was fired up and Spunk, Butler and 3 Ring, I think, started cooking for all of us (thank you!). There was some standing around indecision until it was announced that there was an open tab for us inside the bar. I took this knowledge, went inside, got myself a beer, then started walking around telling people how to get their well-earned beer. Pack generally milled around for a while as the food was cooked and beers were drunk. After everyone had been feed and beered, the RAs move off the patio onto the lawn and sang the siren song of “Hares of her Dicky-dino” to get the pack to circle:
After taking a fearfully long time to assemble - or maybe not, i was 2 cookies, multiple jello shots and a few beers in a that point - pack eventually formed up and the hares sat in the middle. We went around asking for comments; generally not enough check backs, too many smaht khids and not enough jello shots. The RAs decided that the hares should’ve used more flour and chalk, and we expressed these wishes, joined by the pack, to the hares in song. The hares then responded that their cocks would choke us. We threw them out of circle and called the FRB/FBI (five inch and orgasmn) in and song to them. Butler was called in for being DFL, and we asked, in perfect 36 part harmony, if he was lonesome on trial. At this point the rest of pack was having a good time, but there was one person who looked extremely confused, so we called the virgin into circle and welcomed the return of PoPo Peep Show as Dementress! It was as glorious as it ever was, and while the virgin did not turn out to be acceptable, we’ll take her anyway. We then called in back sliders, because there were a lot, and inquired as to their locations over the last few months. Backsliders were thrown out and we opened up circle to accusations. People who blew through the YBF to get good beer were called in, as was anyone who ate a butler cookie. YHS and Butler were then accused of turning a Phish song into a hash song and we had to drink. Then Jello-shot H3 was called in (for the first of many times) and they did something, drank, then left. Show Me the Penis was then called in for leaving, and after a rousing rendition of “Fuck off” she drank from the Wooden Shoe, and got out of circle. I believe that Jello-Shot H3 came in again for more shenanigans, and we started to wrap up accusations with birthdays, and it’s Show Me’s birthday, and when one ex-gm drinks, we all drink! More shenanigans until it was time for announcements, see below. It was getting late and we were all drunk, so we swang low.
On - BBQ - On
There are (still) open position in MISMANAGMENT for next year, including SCRIBE! If you have an interest in story telling (real or not) then contact me or the GMs and we'll get you set up for next year.
Wednesday 9/6 -> (Next Wednesday) WE NEED HARES (at least at the time of the writing of this trash) contact Dry Hose, or Udder Whore
Wednesday 9/15 -> A YANKEE trial!
Saturday 9/16: New York City Red Dress -> Run around Manhattan in a Red Dress:
Friday 9/22 -> Sunday 9/24: Ball Buster Hardcore Hash House Harriers Trust Me v3.69: Register in the FB group, or from the link in the e-mail to the runs list! There’s limited space, but there are still some open slots!
(Or reply to this e-mail/post and I’ll send you the rego info)
Saturday 9/30: Boston H3 AGM
Sometime in October: Moon AGM
Sometime in November: Sadie Hawkins
Sometime in December: Holiday Party
Sometime in January: Robbie Burns
Sometime in Feburary: Moon Away
Sometime in March: Burlington Mardi Gras, Philly Green Dress
Thrird Weekend in April: Boston Marathon 2018
May: SFH3 Bay To Blackout!
July: Burlington Invihash!
August: Boston Hash BBQ!
|Not my circus, not my monkeys trash
(about 1 year ago)
What: Not my monkeys, not my cricus trial
Where: Ashmount Grill
Who: Gluteness Maximus, Broke Back Baby*, Just someone
Pop Cum Ear, I’m Infective, Pat My Fly, Dirbbles, Spunk in the Trunk, Sketchy Ho, Quater Mile Queer, The Butler Hit It, Orgasm Falmon, Not Dead Yet, Blubber Fucker, a transplant from San Jose, his two virgins, others I forget.
Fearing that the redline to ashmount might be a rather long journey - one that your humble scribe (YHS), has never undertaken before, I left work at 5ish, and headed due south. After some unsurprising redline delays, I got to the bar just before six and ordered a beer to pass the time while I waited for pack. Pop cum ear came next and assulted their wishkey selection. Blubber fucker showed - shocked as he was to see us we were to see him and we started drinking reminesing about shitty trails of yore. The rest of pack slowly arrive, and by the time the hares were gay it was well after 7, so bag car was called directly and we shuffled out of the bar questioning why we ever decided to hash in Ashmount.
After explaining all the marks to the transplants and virgins - apparently San Jose uses flour so the marks are either three dots, or one - we took off in search of trial, which clearly went up hill towards Quincy. There was some discussion of the direction trial would go - Quincy, Milton or Dorchester - and this seemed to solve it. We ran down a few streets in a roughly zig-zag way (always going up hill, of course), until we got to the first fish hook. There was some confusion as to how and when the shots were to be drunk, so could the next hare who uses this mark please tell the RA more than “there will be fishhooks” - anyway, the first 3 FRBs downed some nips of shitty vodka and ran to the back of pack. The next block had an SN (hidden) and then two marks straight. I guess technically SN is a check, but we were drunk and didn’t scout very well as there was a true trial pointing to play ground literally on the other side of the street, in which we found the hares and 3 bottles of glutenlesses’ standard “apple juice and vodka” cocktails. We told the hares to GTFO and passed around those vial bottles while discussing hash events past and future.
Trial Gdansk (did it used to be called something else?)
Trial from the shot check ran across a rather busy 4-lane road which, thanks to CEPs observation, featured working pedestrian crossing lights. Protected by the red lights and under the watchful gaze of the white watch man, we ran across the street then up a hill. There was a check and we ran up another hill. Shockingly we then ran down a hill past a bunch of school kids on bikes who were confused as to what we were doing until we told them it was a scavenger hunt. Not wanting to be pick up for child abuse, we quickly ran away and into a park by the river. There was the most obvious check back mark in history on the entrance to the Neopononsett bike path, so quater mile and i decided (at Blubbers suggestion) to scout the other side of the bridge before heading down the path, and to our luck, we found marks. I crossed the street to behind technically ahead of him when I hit a fishhook 1. I downed the shot and turned and hoped to see pack crossing the bridge from the check back. I saw no such thing, so Quater mile cared on as I ran back across the bridge, then down the bike path to where I started to encounter pack coming back from the check back, so I turned around a followed them only to be greeted by Quater mile who had found another fishook 1 and ran back to keep me company. Trial then passed under 93 and dove into the shiggy hugging the edge of the Presidents golf course before emerging for a brief jaunt through suburbia before heading back into some light shiggy at the southern end of the neoponsett river marshes. Thank G there was a beer check.
Beer check Katowiceo:
There was beer and orange food in the woods. The hares were informed how packs opinion on trial, then ran away. Ten minutes later, we chased them.
Trial actually did not go uphill from the beer check, though I did scout it. Trial ran through some back roads and over a mound before crossing through a whole streach of parking lots. The night time parking lot guards were none too happy with a couple dozen people running through their ... pristinely manicured fields of asphalt? I really have no idea what their deal was. They enthusiastically told us that if something happened to us they’d be liable and that they would call the cops if we didn’t leave. We told them we were trying to but didn’t know where to go. This confused them even more - life must be simple if your job is to guard a parking lot from runners - anyway, eventually trial was called on and we left the guards alone with deep and meaningful questions about life and their position in it. Trial continued down the back road behind North Quincy station, best that weird Best Western to OnIn under the Neoponsett river bridge.
Food was provided - cold cut sandwhiches with pickles - so it was handed out before circle. Once everyone had inhaled their rolls of most bread and some meat and beers were handed out, circle was started and the hares were called in. People need to learn more versuses to all songs, including, but not limited to, Hares of Her Dickey-di-do. We sing it every week. It’s not that hard. Anyway, pack was asked for their comments on trial - too many fishhooks, what’s shiggy on a boston trial, and too many death marches - were the common theme. Summed up, we told the hares that they should have used more flour and chalk, then asked them to try to repair our opinion of them by singing for us. They launched into el camino, and after everyone (not just me!) butchered their verse, we ended it, thanked them for setting trial and kicked them out of circle. The FRB and FBI were called in - Not Dead Yet and maybe Quater mile? I forget, we told them they weren’t 5, 4, 3, 2 or 1, and then made them drink. We then called in DFL and FALMON proudly declared it was her! Butler joined her for support and we tried to inquire via song if they were lonesome, but I’m pretty sure I messed up that song too. Blubber Fucker was then accused of being Blubber Fucker and was made to drink. We then called in the transplant, welcoming him with a brotherly song then he sang to us about this prodigious foreskins. Looking around circle there were two very confused women watching the proceedings, so we called in the virgins and handed them over to the capable hands of “Drunk Spunk” to dement them. They were revealed to be helpful virgins - they’d help their uncle jack off a roof, and get off on a bus of lesbians. I didn’t know their favourite cartoons, so I can’t comment, but they weren’t very good at math and their metaphorical skills were lack, but it’s okay. We showed them how to do a down-down and accepted them into our midsts. Important business being over, circle was opened to accusations, and, I’m not gonna lie, I’d been drinking and this is where my memory gets fuzzy. There were accusations for racist attire, people who hit fishhooks, people who ran the checkbacks, people who got stopped by parking-lot cops, and bald hashers. The ex-gms all drank, as did ex-ras. Yeah, things got fuzzy. See below for announcements, and we did an inverted swing low - last verse, second verse, first verse. This was totally planned and not at all the RAs mistake.
On - Poland, I guess? - On
Wednesday 8/30 -> HASH BBQ Trial! Start is Tasty Burger in Harvard Square.
Friday 9/1-9/3 -> Harbour Islands campout! I think there’s an event somewhere? Take the ferry out Friday night or Saturday morning and show up for trial. Stay home in the city, or camp on the islands! It’s up to you!
September 22-24: Ball Buster Hard Core Hash House Harriers Trust Me #3 -> Rego will go up next week! Stay tuned!
|A glorious summer trail
(over 1 year ago)
Howdy Wankers and Bimbos!
Without our hash trash, Wiki, on trail last night, if falls upon yours truly to write up notes from trail. I'll do my best, but I was sorta drunk last night, so I might forget some important points. And I cannot guarantee as many unintentionally hilarious misspellings and grammar mistakes as you have come to expect from these hash trashes.
What: A Glorious Summer Trail
Hares: Swedish Eagle, Senor Cocksucker
Bag car: Sketchy Ho
Pack: Yellow Dick Gnome, Easy as 123, Orgasm Famine, Bottom Wrangler, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Sex the Final Frontier, Brown vs. the Board of Fornication, Goes Down on Buoys, I Eat Tbags, Luva Lamp, No Man on the Moon, Mud Slut, The Buttler Hit It, Salty Mudflaps, Dry Hose, two visitors, three Justs, three virgins, lots more people that I either forgot or don't know their hash names or don't care
Pre-lube: American Fresh Brew House Beer Garden, in Assembly Square.
Pack assembled (heh, see what I did there?), and some hashers tried to get info on trail, to decide whether or not to walk. Sweagle promised them that walkers trail sucked, so they might as well run. I'm pretty sure Brown vs. the Board of Fornication was the only walker. At some point, hares were gay, and pack milled about for a while longer before heading over to bag car and chalk talk.
During chalk talk, we learned that there were not one, not two, but three virgins! We promised not to lose them, but you should never believe a hasher's promises. We learned about lots of different marks, then ran off to find trail.
Trail part It's Summah, Kid:
First mark was a check in front of the pre-lube, and trail went through Assembly Sq, leading to a check (but strangely, not a song check) in front of the giant lego giraffe. From the check, trail led to a parking lot across the street, except it wound up being a YBF (this will be a recurring theme for trail). Trail instead took us across a bridge into Medford. We wended our way generally northward, through some neighborhoods, finding checks and falses all along the way, until we eventually turned onto some abandoned railroad tracks, and then into a wooded area to find the first beer check, about two miles in.
Beer check Where's the Beer?:
We arrived at beer check to find one hare (Senor), but no bag car or beer. Apparently Sweagle told Sketchy the wrong location, and Senor didn't have Sketchy's contact info. We started pulling out phones, trying to find Sketchy's contact info. Every time we called her, we got her voicemail, and pack was starting to become concerned about the lack of beer. I have no idea who finally got a hold of Sketchy, but eventually beer did arrive. Pack set about drinking their tasty beverages, and hares were gay at some point. Sex, Bottom Wrangler, and I shared some terrible Holocaust jokes, and eventually pack was away.
Trail part We Assume Senor Was No Longer Haring:
Trail left the woods, and we quickly found a check at a large intersection. Despite checking every direction, no one could find anything other than a false. Pack started ranging, and eventually we found a check. Once again, we could not find trail (aside from a two and out), so pack again started ranging. We finally found trail after a long section of no marks. Pack agreed that Senor must not have been haring on this section, because trail went from well-marked to a complete shit-show. We eventually ended up on a bike path, and then came across a hash sitapede. Since engaging in a hash sitapede on a well-used bike path in the dark seemed like a terrible idea, we moved over slightly, and had a mostly successful sitapede. From there, trail continued on the bike path to the second beer check, about 4 miles total into trail.
Beer check Is There Anywhere To Pee Around Here?
Short answer: no. Pack drank some more delicious beverages, ate some orange food, and contemplated the fact that there were no convenient bushes to pee behind. Sweagle promised us that we were close to the end of trail, though "close" for Sweagle is not necessarily close for anyone else. As soon as hares were gay, Bottom Wrangler called 6.9 minutes to pack away.
Trail part It's Full On Dark Now
...and almost no one had cranium lamps. Also, here's a little known fact: pink chalk is basically invisible in the dark. At this point, we were definitely somewhere in Malden. After a few checks, trail was mostly a straight shot to Waitts Mountain park, and it's beautiful views of Boston, for a total trail length of about 5.5 miles.
On-in Do You Know About Public Drinking Laws?
Pack started drinking their beverages, and hares were called into circle. Pack agreed that their trail was S-H-I-T-T-Y, so we sang them a song about their shitty trail. Visitors were brought into circle, and made to sing the songs of their people. Around this time, we realized that walker(s) had not arrived yet. When asked where Brown was, I was told she was on a "separate but unequal trail", which definitely wins comment of the night. Virgins were brought into circle, along with their sponsors, which is when we discovered that all three virgins were brought by Justs! They were demented by yours truly, illustrious Dementress Emeritus Extraordinaire! They were asked what the square root of 69 was, and a sponsor answered for them (bad sponsor!). They were also asked what a dollar over my crotch might be and after some rather creative answers that I can't remember, pack explained that one to them. We taught them how to do down downs, then tossed them out of circle. FBI, FRB, and DFL were called into circle and that's when we discovered that Brown had in fact made it to on-in! Hooray! Finally, circle was opened to accusations. I was accused of claiming to be afraid of head (head, who said head? Also, I have NEVER been afraid of head. I will not have my good name tarnished in this manner!). Circle was just getting good when we saw some flash lights coming towards us. It was, literally, 10 cops with nothing better to do then break up our harmless fun. Cop Mr. Big Shot looked to be about 20. He asked who was in charge (no one), why we were there (just finished a run), why we had to finish in this particular park (we like to switch up where we finish), and if we knew about laws governing public drinking (*crickets*). Salty was pretty sure that another of the cops was encouraging her to shot gun her beer, but instead we broke up the party, and headed down the hill to... no bag car. Sketchy was still trying to pick up the pizza, as apparently the pizza place had lost power and could not make our food! Demoralized, dejected, and hungry (not to mention far too sober), pack slowly made their way to Oak Grove station. People were about to disperse when a car came careening around a corner into the Oak Grove parking lot. It was Sketchy and Sex, with pizza! What was left of pack ate their fill, and maybe there was an on-after or something. I wouldn't know. I went home to get some sleep.
Next trail is the 7th A*nl Lingerie trail! The theme is Victoria's Secrets Angels, so get your sexy lingerie and angel wings ready!
On - this is harder to do than it seems! - on
Yellow Dick Gnome, guest Hash Trash
|In Da Panties Day XI
(over 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!
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.
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: firstname.lastname@example.org
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 Minnetonka...so 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!
BEER CHECK #1:
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.
END OF TRIAL
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 vodka...so 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...
ON - NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE NUDE - ON
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.