Missed a hash? Catch up on all the trash here...
|256th Annual Robbie Burns Day Trail - Sunday January 25, 2015
(almost 3 years ago)
Hares: +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare)
Bag Car (aka: haggis car): Sex, The Final Frontier
Start: Stoddard's, 48 Temple Pl, Boston
Whiskey Check: by the Robbie Burns statue in downtown Boston, of course
Beer Check: crazy as it seems, in the new North End apartment of 2 hares
On-in (this was reportedly a last minute substitution): Biddy Early’s Pub, Boston
Time: 2:30 p.m. HST (pack away around 3:30-ish)
Total Distance: about 3 miles walking … the rest of the pack ran around a bit more (they beat the walkers to the checks and on-in, so trail was relatively short)
Scribe: Cums Alone
Weather: cold … maybe in the 20s, cloudy
Promises from the hares: some [very] good scotch whiskey, some okay-ish scotch whiskey, scotch eggs, scotch tape, scotch guard, scotch haggis, scotch pizza, scotch H3 markings, and AN ALL NEW NEVER-BEFORE-USED ON-IN!
Hashers Present (if this is off, blame Wiki, he gave me the list): +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare), Sex, The Final Frontier (bag car),Wikipedophilia, ski bobbit, jello wrecked 'em, popo peep show,fellowship of the cock ring, orgasmn falmon, 5 inch penalty, blowbot, twat my mom, willy wonka and the backdoor factory, necropheliac jack, bum fucking vagabond, friar fuck, goes down on buoys, grease my monkey’s nuts, no man on the moon, mudslut, luvalamp, E=Iamdouche, cums alone, krusty the meat miser, easy to please, stuff that reich now (he has a new name Wiki doesn’t remember … maybe One Dry Hose, since I have that name written in my notes??), bloody slip inside, velvet pelvis, just bryan (later named foreskin abortion), blondie mc fucksalot, he's gone gaywol, queer and foaming in my anus … and others
Virgin: Joe or John?? (I have “John”, Wiki has “Joe”, so I’ll alternate)
Late Cummers: none (at least I don’t think so)
The Start and the Run:
The pack prelubed at Stoddard's and eventually gathered outside. Krusty and Bloody Slip explained the trail and marks. They said trail was in honor of a wonderful man they know nothing about. Marks were pretty standard, except for the flying dick check (I have no idea what that was!). There was to be a shot check and a beer check. I was with the walkers. It was a relatively short distance to the shot check; we arrived after the pack, so their trail must have been pretty reasonable, as well. There were 2 choices of scotch: Johnny Walker Red and some real scotch from (where else?) Scotland.
After the shot check, trail led toward Faneuil Hall. The hares entrusted the remaining scotch to Virgin John, since he looked to be the most trustworthy (Necropheliac Jack relieved Virgin Joe of the responsibility, and the bottles were passed around among the walkers). We trudged on toward the North End, with the pack passing us once or twice on the way.
The Beer Check was on a side street in the North End, at Yellow Dick Gnome’s and +2 Coonass’ brand new abode … a 4th floor walk up, that they’d moved into less than a week ago (but you couldn’t tell by looking around). The pack drank most of the remaining scotch, along with the beer that was provided.
From the beer check in the North End, it was a direct trail to the on-in at Biddy Early’s Pub in the Financial District.
The on in:
Bloody Slip Inside and mudslut?? were co-RAs, with some additional help from Krusty – again needed due to the boisterous pack. Note: Wiki blocked my view of the circle so all of this is sketchy. The hares were ushered into the circle for the usual abuse.
Comments included: Not enough bananas (there were dozens smashed on the sidewalk around the Robbie Burns statue), Not enough tourists said Wiki had a p*nis on his head, not enough black ice, not enough top floor parties, is the flesh colored chalk made of people?, BS that this is a never before on-in, etc.
The hares recited a Robbie Burns poem of some sort, which no one could understand due to the brogue. They did their down down and were banished from the circle.
Yellow Dick Gnome and Bum F-ing Vagabond demented Virgin John.
Ski Bobbitt made virgin John come, and Virgin Joe can’t wait to go down on Ski. If Virgin J was a ski slope he’d be a double black diamond. And Virgin John let the pack know that Ski’s is only 2.5 centimeters when it’s not inflated.
Just Brian was overdue for a name. He had been holding back on any good stories to provide fodder for a hash name, but that didn’t stop the pack. There was some rumbling about his circumcision gone wrong. Names that were proposed included: Back off My foreskin, Baby Fighting Cock, Steel Clap Trap, Failed Cock, Left Dick Fighter. The name that was chosen by popular acclaim: Foreskin Abortion (proposed by Friar F)
*birthdays - several, didn’t get the names (the bar was small and, again, my view was blocked)
* All kilt wearers were given a down down
* sweat test failure – Luva Lamp
* Same Shirts
* FRB, FBI, DFL etc.
We did hash religion. And then we had lots of pizza, and plenty of haggis to put on top.
--- Cums Alone, scribe
St. Patrick’s Day Hash
Nor’easter/blizzard hash on Tuesday
February 21 – 25th annual X-C ski hash in Rumney NH
April 19th 2015 Marathon
|1/18 Furry Hash
(almost 3 years ago)
A Famine/Shart Production
Prelube: Seven’s Ale House
Hares: Wiki and Udder
Bag Car: Show me the Penis
Pack: Luva Lamp, Blondie, Gaywol, Butler, Just Bryan, Queer and Foaming, Disco, Po-Po Peep show, Fellowship of the cock ring, Just Trevor, Jello, Sex the final frontier, Shart of Darkness, Blubber, Whack a Hole, Bloody, Goat throat, Just Megan, No Man on the Moon, Mud Slut, Friar, Dribbles, Necropheliac Jack , Coonass, Yankee.
Late comers: CEP, Cum Ear, Easy, Black Cock Down
I find it ironic that the furry hash happened on the warmest day of January to date. For the one hash where the theme allowed for as many layers as our hearts desired mother nature decided to make it so warm most people’s furry costumes seemed a cruel and newly sweaty joke. Did the RA’s forget to offer sexual favors to the proper cosmic entity this week?
We gathered in Seven’s on Charles Street to prepare for trail with whatever combination of food, hangover cures, or drinks we deemed prudent. Sometime during my first beer I realized nobody had asked me for money yet and some strange responsible part of me volunteered to begin collecting hash cash. Apparently my technique of shoving the ever-growing wad of cash down my shirt inspired much confidence because hashers seemed remarkably eager to give me money. As our furry menagerie grew and patrons of the bar gave us increasingly odd looks our esteemed hares (a bunny and a cow) departed in a cloud of orange chalk. An appropriate amount of time later 6.9 minutes and 69 seconds were called and we trooped out into the balmy weather to bag car. Chalk Talk proceeded in a disappointingly clean ally. We were informed trail would be in chalk but there was none to demonstrate the marks so a few of them were depicted in chalk. Bloody jumped up and down with most of his usual abandon and Blubber once again proved that RA’s need not be sober. Some brilliant soul suggested hashers get on with it and everyone ran off. That is everyone except for me and the other walkers.
Walker's trail: Yes wankers, I am a poor injured hasher so at least my portions of this trash will teach you about the wonders of walkers trail. As everyone else ran off I proceeded to pull a bottle of orange juice and a flask of vodka from my bag, drink a swig of orange juice, and replace the displaced liquid with vodka. Once my fellow walkers and I had shared in my bounty we investigated the map the bunny and the cow had kindly provided. We set off through Beacon Hill and quickly came upon some lost Flordinian’s who asked our motley group for directions to the science museum. We declared we were going in that direction so they should just come with us. Then we offered them nourishment from my orange juice bottle and they held up a vitamin water bottle and informed us they already had a vodka’d beverage! We all decided we would get on famously and proceeded to continue with them in tow. Along our scenic walk next to Storrow drive we learned they spent the night before at the glass slipper, were surprised by the level of nudity Boston strippers get to, and liked Hub Pub. Before our paths diverged we congratulated them on getting drunk enough at a bar on the freedom trail that they lost the trail and sent them off to the science museum properly inebriated. My fellow walkers and I found a group hug check and then the beer check. After I fell on the ice and added a bruised knee to my collection of mystery bruises (ok perhaps this one was not mysterious) we decided to warn the runners about the ice when they arrived. As runners trickled in we drank beer, ate orange food, took a photo to document the furry, and eventually the runners departed. I added a beer to my mostly empty orange juice/vodka concoction and it became an extra strong beermossa. Yankee joined the walkers for our second leg and we walked through the north end passing around the boozy drink. As we approached the location of the second beer check over-achieving runners began passing us and didn’t even stop when I offered them booze! The second beer check was in a playground, which seemed an odd location for our beer. We enjoyed the swings but were disappointed by the lack of good peeing locations. Po-po Peepshow made do with a small clump of bushes. Very hashwoman like behavior. When runners departed the drunken walker brigade ambled on. I would normally say that I have an unfailing ability to get myself to the Rover and the Wrong Kong but apparently my sense of direction was somewhat clouded by drink because we ambled through the north end and towards downtown with somewhat less than lazer-like focus. At one point we spied part of pack and Mud-slut was enticed to join our merry band. As we commiserated about injuries and drank away our sorrows we approached the Wild Rover just as pack arrived and we all climbed the stairs to our furry animal den together. - Famine
Runner's trail: Trail got off to a good start by taking us through as many crowded areas as possible. We amused and delighted the people in the Public Garden (I'm sure) before crossing over to the Common, where we came upon a shot check -- Haterate covered in gunky orange flour. In fact, the shot check tasted mainly of flour, so this may have been an intentional move by the hares.
We crossed up toward the State House and into Beacon Hill to give John Kerry a chance to admire us in all our furry splendor. After a few checks, we discovered yet another shot check, making the shot check to running ratio very good for this trail. The shot check was once again covered in moist orange flour, but being hashers, we were not dissuaded.
We followed trail toward (and through) North Station, where we found a song check on the other side. Some passersby took pictures (though we don't appear to be Reddit famous yet - damn, maybe next time) and one particularly persistent man filmed us despite Goat and Just Bryan standing directly in front of his camera to block him, finally calling us "fucking freaks" as we ran off. Boston is full of winners, indeed.
We quickly came upon the beer check, located at some park in the North End. We imbibed beverages and took a photo on the stairs (where did that photo end up, anyway?) before heading off.
I don't remember much of the next leg of trail. In fact, I had forgotten there were two beer checks until I read Famine's account, so that shows what a reliable narrator I am. There was indeed a beer check at a playground, although I couldn't tell you where said playground was if you paid me. There was definitely a hash sitapede at some point, which I remember because it worked unusually well. There was at least one more shot check somewhere; we were taken through Faneuil; finally, we ended up at the door of Wild Rover. - Shart
Circle: I was so drunk for circle that I have very fuzzy memories so I hope one of the real scribes takes over here. What I do remember is watching the end of one football game, being called into circle for performing jobs other hashers had failed to receive tags for at AGM, drinking much beer, struggling with the hand motions during swing low, and watching the beginning of the Patriots game! - Famine
Indeed, circle was short (but sweet?). Upon arriving at the bar, someone was told that the $2 beer we had been promised was not available upstairs. We first coped by buying nice beers (Lagunitas at circle? Say what now?) but some ingenious thinker realized we could just go downstairs, buy $2 beers and carry them up. This did not endear us to the bartender upstairs, but did provide us with a hearty stock of an alcoholic-ish beverage.
Beyond that, there's not much to remember about circle because it was extremely short. Blubber called in people whose tags he still had from AGM. There was another accusation or two. And then circle was wrapped up with announcements, and we actually finished circle *before* the food was ready, an unusual happenstance for any hash. We made do with watching football until the trays of chicken, quesadillas, pizza, and whatever else were set up, and then continued to engage in the American pastime of getting fat while watching grown men grapple with each other. - Shart
The day after: I realized I really was incredibly drunk the night before because it became apparent that even though I do not remember buying a drink once hash cash ran out I left my credit card at the bar. When I went to the Rover to retrieve it the only slightly judgmental bartender informed me she also had Just Bryan’s card. - Famine
On-Drunken walking adventures-My liver hopes I can run again soon-Not enough yiffing-On
-Orgasm Famine & Shart of Darkness
|Tropical Hash XII
(almost 3 years ago)
What: Tropical Hash XIII
Hares: Hare Club for Queers, Mastor Gator
Bag car: Pat my Fly
Pack: Nice Tits, Fellowship of the Cockring, Poo poo peep show, Jello Wreck ‘em, Some Virgin, High Anus, Yankee Pay $5 More, Sex The Final Frontier, THE 2nd Cumming, Just Jeff, Stuff that Reich Now, Orgasm Falmon, Twat My Mom, Blowbot, Swedish Eagle, Whack A Hole, Spunk In The Trunk, The Butler Hit it, Clitnotes, Skechty Ho, Clitnotes, Placentos the Freshmaker, Queer and Foaming in my Anus, Pubic Service Announcement, Five In Penatly, E=ImDouche, Pop cum ear I’m ineffective, Super Teflong Dong, Oink Oink Ohhh, maybe others? I tried to keep attendance but failed.
The start was not at Punters, but apparently, Popo, Fellowship, Jello and their virgin hung out there for a while as the cleaning staff was moping before eventually moving the prelube to Conar Larkins. Once everyone was at Conar Larkins, they might have posted in the FB event, and Tits joked about updating the hotline because no one ever checks it, maybe, in the end, she did, I don’t know. Pack slowly started to arrive at the start and we all tried to find the most tropical beer they had (there was a beer from Hawaii on tap) and donned our lays and Hawaiian shirts over multiple layers of thermal “exercise” gear. The hares left right on time, 15 minutes late, at 3:15, and bag car was called about 15 minutes after that.
Trail Antiqua (holy shit I spelled that right! First try!):
Starting with a very animated (to stay warm) chalk talk, our RA for the day – Clitnotes – instructed us on all of the marks we would see, and all of the checks we wouldn’t. The bag car was parked two blocks towards the city from Connars, and the first mark was in front of the bar pointing towards the MFA, so, in an effort to dispel the cold, we took off looking for beer. Trail ran straight from Conars back to Punters before crossing Huntington and going through parts of Northeastern, before turning we’ll call it right-ish towards some abandonded lots and “light” housing projects. At the edge of the abandoned lots was a bottle of yellow liquid (gatoraid?) and half a bottle of coconut rum, which the FRBs completely destroyed leaving empty bottles for the rest of pack. Leaving the shot check was a most interesting mark – CB0 – which apparently is just a normal check, but YHS decided to run a lap around the block just to make sure. Trail continued vaguely up hill, skirting the edge of what I’m calling mission hill, before turning left and crossing over what I think is called Columbia road and into RCC. Nice Tits commented that she hadn’t hashed through here in a while, and I said that I vaguely recalled a trail by Goat and Fire (bikini/parking garage hash?) that beer checked at a park near by. We did not go to that park directly; instead we scrambled up some shiggy – with the requesit ‘get off my lawn’ from the property owner – and then through an interesting warren of alleys and passage ways, around (or through?) a church, and then to the very park that I had mentioned earlier, where we indeed found cold, refreshing, good beer.
Beer Check Bora Bora:
The beer was surprisingly good – Sam Winter and Yeungling for the FRBs – and the rest of pack got PBRs. There was orange food and what looked like Hare Clubs holiday party left overs (chocolate dipped pretzels, peppermint bark, etc). Despite the good beer and surprising food, the BC was a bit exposed to the light tropical breezes coming off the South Pacific, so, after strong urging from the pack, the hares were gay, and, in the time it takes for beer to freeze (I don’t think any beer actually froze, but I like that metric), so was pack.
Since we were able to watch the hares lay the first two checks, we followed trail quiet easy down the stairs and across some road before turning into another college-esque building before some more “light” shiggy, more street crossing and housing projects. I was generally confused as to what area of the city we were in until we immerged from behind a building to a crossing over Columbia again, and a bridge over the rail tracks in the distance. In front of the bridge, though, there were a group of hashers milling about looking in trash cans, kicking bushes, and looking in trees. They were confused because they saw an “SC” mark, which we finally decided meant “Song Check” not “Shot Check” so we sang about how much we love our girls, before taking off across the bridge, only to be stopped by a tit check. Released by the lovely Po-po (who I think also flashed a security guard), we ran through some parking lots then through the Northeastern dorms. This weekend was the Northeastern Res Hall Fare, since there were chalk drawings of cartoons and arrows promising a great time. We edited these to indicate the Hash was more fun than the Res Hall Fare, plus tit checks. Running through Northeastern can really only yield one result, so no one was surpised when we ended up crossing over the original trail which had been marked out and label “ONIN” at Punters.
After congratulating themselves on running an amazing B to A trail, the beer started flowing and circled started going. The hares were called in and we told them to use more flour and chalk, while they brought Whack A Hole in to be allouetted (was she a real good sport, yes she was a real good sport). FRBs and FBIs were called in; I’m calling them Five Inch and Whack a Hole, as were DFLs (some of whom had not made it to the ONIN when DFLs were called), so Cum Ear drank for them. The virgin was then called in and assumed the position as he was demented by Cum Ear and Falmon. He sucked a math, I forgot what question Twat asked, likes to make cows cum, and had no idea what a dollar menu was. Jello showed him how to do a down-down, and while he was by no means worthy, we’ll take him anyway. After that Douche showed up (note: we did chant Douchesquatch 3 times right before he walked in), so he drank for being the real DFL. Backsliders, bald guys and former GMs drank, anyone not wearing hash attire drank, blood on trail and alcohol abuse drank. STD showed up, so he drank for being a vistor and a sweat test failure. The Bud Light switched to IPA at some point and circle began to disintegrate as the smell of pizza wafted in from across the room. Announcements are at the end of the trash, but we swang low and stuffed our faces with vaguely pizza-like food things. Blubber showed up about 30 minutes after we swang low so he could maintain his “no trails when there’s snow on the ground.” Or, to quote him directly “I’m a summer RA.”
On – travel hash to the tropics next year? – On
Tonight: TACO trail, somewhere? I don’t have a taco, so I don’t care. It’s on the website, FB group, somewhere.
Tomorrow: Januarary Moon Trail; starting at the Tam at 6:30 HST. Hares are Jello, Popo and Cockring. It’s goth themed, so bring your eyeliner, angst, life-is-pain, nihilist, pleather, and cranium covers.
Saturday: Might be a ball-buster?
Sunday (1/18): nth-Annal Furry Hash, starting at 7s Ale House 2:30HST. Hares are Wikipedophilia and Udder Whore. Wear your furries!!!
Saturday (1/24): Poof in Northborough.
Sunday (1/25): Robbie Burns with Yellow Dick Gnome and Nice Tits. Scotch, Hagus, you know the deal.
Moon Away: Feb 13-15, $35, I think? There might be spots left? Rego link is in the FB group.
2/28-3/1: Burlington Mardi Gras (I think?) Harlot’ll spam us when it gets closer. Beads, glitter, retronome, rage.
April 17th-20: Boston Marathon Weekend. Rego is currently $69, but goes up to $79 on 2/1. Rego now!
January 2016: Tropical Hash XIV
|12/21 - the Holiday "I Don't Believe in Hangovers" trail
(almost 3 years ago)
What: The Holiday "I don't believe in hangovers" trail
Hares: Orgasm Famine and C*m Test Dummy
Bag car: 5-ring Cervix
Pack: +2 Coonass, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Gone GAYWOL, Twat My Mom, Hoover McSuck 'n' Fuck, Friar Fuck, Pop Cum Ear I'm Ineffective, Goat Throat, Just Simone*, The Buttler Hit It, Yellow Dick Gnome, Black Cock Down, Easy as 123, Bum Fucking Vagibond, Necrophiliac Jack, No Man on the Moon, Mudslut, 5 Inch Penalty, Yankee Pay $5 More, Po-po Peep Show, Bloody Slip Inside, Pat My Fly, Shart of Darkness, Willy Wonka and the Back Door Factory, Just Famine's Brother
Pack congregated at the Kinsale, where snow fell gently around us as we disturbed passerby and, ultimately, the Centre Plaza security. Bloody did some sort of crowd-hyping thing, we introduced ourselves and said the thing we were most excited to give for the holiday season, and we were informed that, instead of Turkey/Eagles, our hares would be laying Christmas/(C)Hanuk(k)ah checks "because Hanukkah is just a little bit longer."
Leg 1: A tale of a missing shot check
Trail took us through Government Center and down into Faneuil, where we were treated to a viewing of the Christmas trees. We found our way through Faneuil with only minimal confusion and crossed the street, where we found Shots Near. Huzzah! We scoured the rose garden (okay, looked around in a manner that was slightly less lazy than usual) but didn't see anything. Hmm... maybe the shots were further down the sidewalk?
We continued and found more marks... at some point, it seemed apparent that we had missed the shots, but we were too lazy to go back and try to find them. It later turned out that: 1) no one ended up finding the shots, and 2) the shot check was Manischewitz mixed with 151, which made me not sad about missing that shot check at all.
We continued through the North End and followed a C/H check into the West End. At some point in there, we found a couple truly horrifying dick checks that called into question whether our hares had actually seen a dick before (protip: if it looks like a clover, you're doing it wrong). Finally, we located the first beer check on the Esplanade by the tennis courts. We wanted to drink Magic Hat but settled for Pabst. After a somewhat brief and chilly-ish interlude, we were off.
Leg 2: We actually found the "sport drink check"
Trail continued down the Esplanade past a cute little Santa in a boat rigged with Christmas lights and then crossed back over toward the Public Garden. We started heading toward Fenway before cutting down to Commonwealth and heading back toward the Public Garden. To no one's surprise, Just Famine's Brother led the way - what a family of r*cists.
There was an exceptionally scenic Hash Sitapede across from the entrance to the Public Garden, where there were Christmas lights aplenty. We then continued into the Garden, where everyone but Buttler managed to find a "S.C." (which, of course, stands for Sport drink Check - we had done quite a bit of running at that point and our electrolytes required refreshing). After our festive and refreshing beverages (including a surprisingly delicious Blue Drank), we exited the Garden to find that Buttler had been busy scouting trail for us while we imbibed.
Trail headed toward, uh, the Leather District or something? Chinatown? Who knows. Anyway, true trail led us through a mall, and we quickly happened upon the hares bringing bags into the on-in at Sweetwater.
On-in: Hashers look better in the dark
We had the basement at Sweetwater to ourselves, except for the confused Muggles trying to use the restroom. The basement was very warm and very dark -- the lights weren't working and, although the bar offered to move us upstairs where it was more well-lit, we quickly realized that dimming the lights would work in our favor.
Our esteemed and experienced RA led us in circle. We had very few complaints about trail other than the missing shot check; we also thanked the RA for conjuring such festive weather for us. We had our visiting hare sing for us as much as possible, especially given that we were struggling to think of songs of our own. Those who were still hung over from Hashmas were called into circle (a group that did not include YHS, since I don't believe in hangovers, as the trail name would suggest).
Finally, it was brought to our attention that someone among us was returning to Germany/the Netherlands/wherever she actually lives. We brought Just Simone into circle and struggled to think of anything bad to say about her. Krusty had suggested naming her Mean Ass Bitch due to her sour personality; Bloody suggested Squeaky Cream and then promptly forgot his own suggested. Since she's working toward her PhD, someone suggested "Fucks for 'A's," which was quickly amended to "Fucks for 'C's." Competition was stiff (hee hee) between Squeaky Cream and Fucks for Cs, but the latter won out (that means the second one, you illiterate wankers). So Just Simone will return to Europe forevermore known as Fucks for Cs.
The food had arrived and was getting cold, so we quickly wrapped up circle and stuffed our faces with things that were fried and slathered in cheese.
Verdict: Officially Trail of the Year so far for the '14-'15 awards season!
12/28 - Swedish Eagle and Stuff That Reich Now hare some sort of Boston trail which will no doubt be excellent
1/17 - Boston invades Free Beer - talk to Twat if you're interested in joining
2/14 - a romantic Moon Away weekend
2/15 - the next day for which hares are needed for Boston - plan ahead, wankers
On-yes I sometimes actually write hash trashes-on,
(almost 3 years ago)
What: Tales from the Great White North
Where: The Great White North (ie, Jay Peak)
Who: A lot of people, most importantly Sketchy and Spunk.
While there was a trail, and I remember a surprising amount of it, there was a lot more that happened in Jay this weekend. Some of it I was there for, some of it I was there for physically, but I have gaps in my memory large enough to drive a shuttle through, some it I was there for, and have memories of, but the memories are beyond the pale of scribing.
[Part 1: The Voyage]
The Yellowist of cars idled around Sullivan for a surprisingly short amount of time before the prettiest of the hairettes joined the wikiettiest of hares for the long drive north. She started taking off her pants when the safety alarms in the wikimobile++ started going off and wouldn’t stop until she put them back on. Safetly third. Other than that, the ride north was quiet uneventful, and, unlike on other trips north, no one objected to pulling over and getting alcoholic reinforcements for the rage that would happen. North and north we drove through increasingly scenic surroundings until we found ourselves stuck in 48 miles of traffic along the side of 91 because of flooded out fields…oh, wait, wrong rage-mess-weekend off US 5 in northern Vermount; we got off 91 and meandered through landscape that made the passenger state, something along the cliché lines of “Now this looks like Christmas/winter/whatever.” I didn’t mock them because they were right. It was very pretty. Eventually we caught up to a Subaru driving 35 mph over the twisty mountain roads, and followed them all the way to Jay.
Finally arriving at the party condo, we checked in, dropped our stuff off and, after a brief interlude with Buttler, went to the waterpark.
[Part 2: Friday night]
Note: The rage was strong Friday (isn’t it always) so what follows is somewhere between “factually accurate” and “historical fiction.” Things happened; but the order the of the things might be.
After pregaming with cookies and wax, a group of people called the shuttle, and to the Pump House we went. The group consisted of Necro, Vag, Blackie, Wiki, Shart, Easy, maybe others? I want to say Blubber and Whack A Hole, so, yeah, they were there too. Maybe it was Rainbow and Cockbottle? Reader’s choice! After taking over the lazy river – adult raft, never let go – we got out and hit the tube slides. A bit of a physics lesson here; momentum works kids! Blackie and I were able to get some pretty good speed going through the blue tube (green sucks!), and eventually we convinced everyone to go down the Le Chute. The idea of Le Chute is much more terrifying than the actual La Chute, but since it spits you out about halfway to the exit, it’s a nice last stop before the hot tub. A note on the hot tub, since, unlike last year, it was above 0 out, they let us use it! I can say, with 100% certainty that it was the cleanest and most clothed hot tub I have ever been in at a hash event. Though fear not, gentle readers, it was almost 9, and our clothes were sadly still on, so we decided to beat a hasty retreat back to the Pump House to change, call the Shuttle and head back to the party condo.
[Free Hour At The Party Condo]
A bit of history, Day Light Savings Time, was apparently invented by some guy in New Zealand (shouldn’t it be winter saving time?), for reasons that were mentioned latter in the wiki article that I didn’t bother to read. The reason I bring this up is that for some reason, all the clocks in the Party Condo were still on Day Light Savings time. When the Pool Party returned to the Clothing-optional party, we looked around and thought “this is the right level of rage for 9:30 on a Friday” and we added to the rage, with a quick resupply of cookies. The Alagash was flowing free, and Twat won the “favourite person” award for showing up with a keg of PBR, though there were still bottles of “good beer” for those so inclined. Drink ball was played and a general good time was had by all. Some people, YHS included, were feeling very proud of themselves thinking “wow, it’s almost 11 and I’m not fading one bit!” Then, at some point in time, the whole 9:30 to 10:30 hour rewound itself and it was all over a sudden 10 o’clock again. After verifying that time had actually changed, we did the only sensible thing to do – have an hour long dance party! After the dance party, as people were becoming less and less clothed, and since it was now less than an hour until the unofficial underground hash, the drink ball table was cleared away and permission was granted to play everyone’s favourite game; strippy cup. In a very surprising turn, I was on the winning team, winning to the extent that we started to replace clothing so that we could continue humiliating the already naked team. Once everyone was naked, and the time of magic was fast approaching, more dancing happened as two sets of people tried to secretly plan a trail. When Friday became Saturday, and Gimp and Douche grabbed a bowl of carrots and ran away, quickly followed by a dozen or so naked hashers around the back of the party condo to a shot-check in the basement. In a truly surprising move, trail continued past the party condo, to the next one where there was a beer check of naked hashers standing around a surprising number of fully clothed hashers. The beer check was cut short as we turned and followed carrots back to the party condo. There was circle. There was a virgin. We swang low. We danced. We got drunk. We filtered out, went to bed and had magic dreams.
[Bad Decision Saturday]
Note: To all future Antibuffetters-> Remember to pack your ski-gear!
2nd Note: Butler’s cookies should come with a warning sign.
I could barely move until almost 11, when an echoing call of water park roused me from my slumber, and I followed DUI, CB and Rainbow, Twat and Wanka and… someone else? To the water park for a second time; again the never-let-go raft chain, then le chute, DUI and I double road the green and, according to Butler (who was there?) the tube sagged significantly as we went through. Most importantly, though, the outing finally cleared my head from the night before and I returned to the party condo a quasi-functioning member of the human race. Deciding that I was only going to change once (I failed in that quest), I took off my bathing suit and dawned myself in my winter hashing finest of pink warm up pants (<3 Harlot), the fucking bunnies shirt from marathon 2012, and returned to the party condo. A few people remarked that I was a beautiful vision in pink, while Rainbow, spotting an opportunity suggested that I needed bright pink shiggy shocks to go with my outfit, and I agreeded; I was now pink from cranium to toe! And then sat around and waited about 90 minutes for trail to start.
AntiBuffet XI Trail:
Hares: Bring out the Gimp, Pig Fucker
Bag car: Decible
Pack: Everyone plus Stops To Pet The Pussy, Roscue P Cum Stain, and their dogs.
Circle: Krusty attempted to RA that shit, and asked people who they were, where they were from, and where the person next to them was going to pass out. Pack was relatively unenthusiastic, but with most people passing out in the snow, we eventually ran off to find the hares. Oh, and gimp doesn’t know what a penis looks like, everyone show him.
Breaking news! We were on a mountain with skiers, so after a little bit of tooling around condos we hopped a snow bank and crashed onto a ski-run below one of the chair lifts, where we were stopped by a song check, deep snow and a strong reluctance to scout downhill. We are hashers, we know better. However, with no marks in any other directions, we eventually ran down the slope and, finding marks, called onon. There was another check on the slope, and eventually we exited right, over another snow bank and down some quasi-paved roads to a very paved road. A short death march later, as I was slowing down to smell a check back, I noticed that we were running past last year’s beer check, and thought this odd, though there was a check ahead. There were two marks up a snow bank, then a set of marks, though only one pair of foot prints down the snow back and into the golf course. Since there were plenty of marks, I kept following trail, yelling OnOn (though I’m quiet sure no one followed), expecting a CB or YBF to great me eventually. None did. The footprints lead me to the same road I had noted earlier, so I whistled for pack and quickly found the Beer Near/Beer Check behind the golf club house.
Was windy; there was beer and there was wine. Pack came and milled around for a while, and once our beer started freezing, we started shuffling about and moved on in search of trail.
[Trail Cross Country]
Since we massacred a well groomed cross country ski trail, I will take this opportunity to thank the correctly spelled Orgasm Famine for pointing this out to us, and informing us that what we were doing was wrong. There was also a sign that said “Pedestrian Traffic Prohibited” but we are hashers, not Pedestrians, so we ignored the sign. Trail followed the x-country path through the golf course before turning off into some deep snow in the woods. There was a check back that Ass For Gas scouted, and trail continued on pavement for a while up a hill, past some condos and to an empty lot near some dumpsters.
[Hot Chocolate, left over beer and wine Check]
Luckily for the hares, there was no official record of trail last year, because so far we had covered 100% of the checks and 98% of the trails. The Hot Chocolate check this year, though, featured spunk walking around offering people real chocolate/candy. It was getting cold and dark, so we left.
[Trail On Really Pourly Plowed Roads]
For those of you who don’t know, most of the condo’s a Jay Peak are Ski In/Ski Out, which means that asides from the main trails there are cleared paths connecting all of the condo blocks. It was on these that we spent much of the last part of trail. However, there are some people in pack, who were unaware of this, and commented “Wow, they didn’t plow these roads at all!” Also, I got complimented on my Unicorn hat, 90% of pack walked 90% of the trail, and no one (that I saw) followed the “True Trail” marks through the snow when the party condo was clearly visible up the “well plowed” road.
Dirty, sweaty, wet and warm we all piled back into the party condo. The FRBs were put to work moving furniture (though it stayed in the condo this time), out of the way so we could circle. The hares were called in and they should have used more flour and chalk, when asked to sign to us, Piggy sang us a lovely song about his old retriever to the tune of American Pie. FRBs/FBIs were called in (Ass for Gas and Shart) [probably not 100% accurate, but I really don’t care,] DFL was called in, and I’m calling her Disco, though I know that’s a lie. Either way, we then got to the survivor circle; all non anti-buffet virgins we called in. 2 timers drank, 3 timers drank, 4 timers drank, 5 timers, 6 timers – the crowd was getting thin – 8 and 9 timers drank and were dismissed, until at last Piggy stood alone with 10 anti-buffets to his name. Sadly, there are non Anti-Buffet Survivors, Piggy did regale us with story time about the history of Anti Buffet; basically it started in Happy Valley, almost died, was resurrected by Burlington (Moon), almost died/burned down, and was taken over by the beautiful pair of Scetchy and Spunk, who have returned it to it’s previous glory thanks in large part to massive excel spread sheets. So…back to circle. There was a Just there, who’d been a Just for a long time, or so she claimed, so we made her get on her knees. We started asking her stories, and she told some good ones, but then No Man, having scouted this naming, asked her a question “What happened your first time?” To which she responded “Well the guy tried to stick it in three or four times, but it won’t go so we gave up and tried the next day.” This story was greeted with ruckus applause and names (mostly bad) were tossed around until Piggy suggested “Whack A Hole.” Pack Agreed. Just Lisa is no more; hence forth she shall be known to the hash a “Whack A Hole.” Um…we also re-devirginized the one real virgin (we had popped his cherry at the ugh, but it grew back), and then thanked Sketchy’s mom for sewing OnOn feet onto all of our pajamas. Dinner was brought and we swang low.
[Either help clean or go to the water park!]
I choose water park…we filled two Shuttles with hashers as we, and everyone else at Jay, made their way down to the Pump House for post-ski/post-dinner relaxation. The lazy river was moving at a faster clip than before, or maybe it was all the kids running laps in it, when not being yelled at by the guards. Speaking of being yelled at, Goat and I decided to tandem the blue slide, nbd, right? Except that we gave ourselves and push start and started leaning into the corners. During of the dark corners in the tunnel, I think we either guessed wrong, or leaned to hard, because the raft flipped, and I ended up going down on my stomach before flipping onto my back as I flew out of the tube. There was a very pimply and very mad guard who informed Goat and I that we were to “stay in the raft the whole way down.” I quickly assessed the situation, I felt as though the hot tub would be the best place to avoid further runins with the constabulary. Getting to the hot tub, I found the hashers in the far corner and joined them, and was pleasantly surprised that little viles of quasi-vile liquid we being passed around to help numb us to the annoyance of the Canadian fuck trophies who were actively trying to freeze the hot tub. Alas, that was not another one of my horrible jokes, well, it was, but whatever, it was true. The kids were jumping out, grabing handfuls of snow and throwing them into the tub. This was very annoying, and Mudslut tried to get all teachery on them, but that only forced them to try to “hide” what they were doing. No Man, never being one for childish games, disappeared inside. She came back with a sly grin on her face. A few minutes later, a very official looking man came out and said “If anyone brings snow into the hot tub, I will bring them out of the pump house.” With our special viles gone, and all of us being depressingly sober, we decided that we should beat a hasty retreat to the land of free beer and bad decisions.
[Bad decision Saturday]
Returning to the party condo after 9…
There was an ugh hared by the taqitous without any beer…
…I next remember waking up on my bed in my bunny suit.
364 days Until Anti-Buffet XII
2/13-15: Boston Moon Away…it’s like buffet, but less skiing and more rage. Also, no water park.
2/27-3/1: Burlington Mardi Grass…it’s nothing like buffet, but is rage in Burlington.
Note: It will be cold!
4/18: Boston H3 Marathon: Disney Dirty Princess, May all your Wet Dreams Cum True.
[Rego will be up this week!]
December: ANTIBUFFET XII