The Wang and 2C Trust Me Hash

Hares/Organ-izers: Wang Chunks and Second Cumming
Religious Advisor: Krusty the Meat Miser
Assistant Transportation Fluffers: Stick It To The Bros, Floppy D*ck, Save A Tree Ride A Cowboy
Scribe: Jolly GREEN Vagina

Pack: Fire In The Hole, You Oughtta Blow, Super Teflon Dong, Anal Beads, Pubic Service Announcement, Schindler’s Fist, Drippy Spigot, I Eat Teabags, Laa Laa, Dirty Latte Sanchez, Peppermint P*ssy, Stretch P*ssy, Filthy Rhode Island Scum: Fuwangi Boner, Swamp Whine, Anal Crabs

In retrospect, I suppose should have been worried when Second Cumming started talking about a Trust Me Hash. Not because a Trust Me Hash is a bad thing, but because of he the way he pitched it, which sort of sounded like he was trying to convince everybody that he had a ton of really great candy in the back of his van.

In any event, I, like about two dozen other hashers, were dumb enough to get in the back of the metaphorical van and showed up at An Tua Nua early Saturday afternoon. STD was, of course, already drunk, and I don’t believe he left that state at any point during the weekend. In fact, I have credible reports that he didn’t get down to a BAC of .08 until late Tuesday night.

After some pre-lube beer and pre-lube food, the hashers piled into a half dozen volunteer cars, including Wang Chunks’ SUV which has a carbon footprint roughly equal to all of the cow flatulence in Brazil. Then we drove. We drove so far away. We drove both night and day.

Sorry about that. I couldn't resist. We didn’t drive that long. It was only like an hour or an hour and a half, depending on whether your car stopped for a six pack of Burger King Gristle Shots or not. (Mmmm, mostly sphincter-free mystery meat grilled long enough to kill almost all the E. coli, then covered with a layer of warm cheese product, sprinkled with tasty pickle puree and delicious single serving condiments, and finally wrapped in tender whitebread buns. Heavenly.)

Eventually, we arrived in Newport, at a super-classy Econo Lodge, which only smelled a little bit like Indian food. While we unloaded the vehicles, 2C and Wang went downstairs to convince the management that we wouldn’t break things or light things on fire. Immediately after dropping our stuff in the rooms, Teabags rounded up a couple people and started playing Frisbee in the hall, while STD went out to the balcony and burned a decent quantity of vegetable matter.

After a few minutes, the hashers piled into a three cars and started driving to pre-lube #2. Out of the 20 or so hashers, about twelve decided to get into 2C’s vehicle. I’m told that the highlights of that particular ride mostly revolved around STD being on, under, or intertwined with various harriettes. The highlights of the ride for the other vehicles were trying to find which of the 69 red Jeep Cherokees on the road was the red Jeep Cherokee that we were supposed to be following. And we also got to see Laa Laa press ham. Whoever owns the car that he was in, I hope that by now you’ve cleaned his skidmarks off the rear window.

Pre-lube number #2 was a place called Cappy’s, which had a large banner announcing that they “Proudly Serve Narragansett Lite.” I want you to consider that for a moment. "Proudly serve" right next to "Narragansett Lite." All done? Okay, moving on.

At Cappy's, we also picked up our Rhode Island contingent of Fuwangi Boner, Anal Crabs, and Swamp Whine here. Then we drank. I think we spent a pretty long time drinking, because by the time we left, the golf match on television was beginning to seem interesting to me. Also, my trail notes from this point on are almost completely illegible.

Wang split his time at the pre-lube looking either outside at the sky, which was filled with extremely dark, threatening clouds, or at the television, upon which a weather guy was pointing at a flashing red storm front with a caption that said “HERE BE TORNADOES” on it. It was just slightly south of us.

“Only a 20% chance of rain,” Wang assured the pack.

At around 4:30, hares were away. Around 4:50, the pack went out to chalk talk, where we drew penises on the ground, much to the amusement of parents with young children passing by.

Almost immediately upon being on-out, Teabags did a faceplant while running through a public park. Not to be outdone, STD performed his own faceplant immediately after. Well, actually, he was sort of outdone, because Teabags’ flop was a lot better. Then we hit a song check. I have no idea what we sang.

Back on trail, STD bummed a half-drunk Red Bull off a couple of townies, which he downed while running. Did I mention STD didn’t bring shoes and was running in flip-flops? No? Okay, well, STD didn’t bring shoes and was running in flip-flops. Then we ran through some sort of nature preserve thing with huge, old, stately oak trees which were great for ducking behind and pissing on.

On the other side of the nature preserve was a rocky shore, where we had our first Beer Check, and frolicked in the ocean mist. Or sat there and sweated and drank beer in the ocean mist. I think most of us chose option B.

Following the Beer Check, trail followed a walkway along the shore for a bit, then crossed a road, and a muddy culvert for storm runoff. Besides the storm runoff, the culvert also held the second largest snapping turtle that I have ever seen. The shell was something like two feet long. The head was about four inches across. It could have swallowed a tennis ball whole.

And the hares had marked it with flour. Right on the top of the f*cking shell. F*ckers.

At this point, the pack proceeded in a couple different ways. Laa Laa went upstream to where the culvert was shallower and the water was turtle-free and crossed there. I followed the culvert on the near side until I hit trail again. And a bunch of idiots crossed the culvert, many of whom didn’t even notice that they were splashing around right next to something that could have easily taken a chunk the size of a filet mignon out of their calf.

Surprisingly, we had no casualties.

After our encounter with Newport’s giant mutant snapping turtle, trail followed the beach and then took a long windy path through residential summer houses and stuff. Then we hit our second Beer Check, at another rocky shoreline cleverly hidden behind a few acres of poison ivy. Despite the rocky shoreline, heavy surf, and possible riptides STD and Teabags went swimming.

Surprisingly, we had no casualties.

Trail ended there, and we piled into various cars to go to a microbrewery to have our On-In, which is seriously the best thing that has ever happened in the history of the Hash. It was so cool that even Latte showed visible emotion, and said things which ended in exclamation points. Apparently 2C knows the owner, although I suspect that having the Hash there for two hours might have strained their friendship. I mean, if someone I knew brought Laa Laa to my company, I’d probably never speak to them again.

Anyway, after some beers, Circle started. I have something in my notes about Krusty wearing tighty whiteys. I don’t know how I came by that information, but I wrote it down, so it must be true. After whatever it was that involved Krusty’s undergarments, there was a bald guy down-down, followed by a C*mbridge virgin down-down, and a Smaht Kids down-down. Then Drippy and Stick It had a same shirt down-down, and apparently there was some trash talk in the circle, because they had a bukakke fight on the way out.

Next, STD and Teabags got a Darwin Award down-down, for being dumbasses and swimming under conditions that routinely claim the lives of drunken morons. Then we awarded a down-down to Brent, our server, and he acquitted himself well. Then came Blood On Trail, which was quite a list, and included also SATRAC, by reason of menstruation.

Then I and Laa Laa were called in for same shoes. Same make and model and everything, and yes, this was a drinking out of the shoe down-down. Sort of. I’m not ashamed that I chose to wear the beer rather than drink it, on the basis that I know where my shoes have been, and that getting a reputation as a wuss was preferable to … oh, for example … dysentery. I got Old MacDonalded anyway.

Finally, Krusty brought out the condom. Brent, our server, was given the choice of who would drink out of it. He chose wisely.

So after SATRAC did the condom down-down, we closed Circle with “Today is Monday,” and then had burgers and hot dogs (for which we offer many thanks to Fuwangi, who slaved over a hot grill for us). And we also had more beer.

Oh, and just about then, it finally started to rain. I guess it really was a 20% chance after all.

Overheard on Trail:

• Things happened in that car that we shall never speak of. –PSA
• That’s my wankin’ hand! –Unknown, possibly Krusty
• Booby, booby, booby … that’s the name of a bird. –Anal Crabs
• I was mentally born retarded. –Teabags
• When you’re bouncing, I can’t read. –Anal Crabs
• What is on my butt? –Anal Crabs
• Those are Bead marks. –Anal Beads
• This burnt Cheeto tastes like burnt Cheeto. –Krusty
• I just got wet. Who did that? –PSA

AFTERWORD

I don’t usually write up things that happened after Circle, but I’ll pass on a few gems from later that evening:

• After the brewery kicked us out, most of us went back to the motel, showered, and went downtown to some bar that someone recommended. Most of the bar appeared to be well below the age of 21.
• Some random woman did shots with STD. Then she stole his paper Burger King crown, which he wore to the bar. Apparently, the ladies love it.
• I think there was a DJ. I think there was dancing. I think I danced.
• I’m pretty sure I was not the whitest guy who danced.
• When the bar closed, the hash wandered out to various pizza places. At one place, STD ordered two pizzas, then realized he left his debit card at the bar. He ran back to the bar and got his credit card, but forgot about the pizzas he ordered and ended up going to a different pizza place. Teabags had to pay for the original pizzas.
• Trying to catch a taxi back was tough because all the bars emptied at the same time. One cabbie called out the window, “Hey, I’m looking for Dave! Some guy named Dave ordered a cab?” Without missing a beat, STD grabbed Floppy (whose nerd name is Axel) and said “Yeah, this is Dave, right here! There’s our cab, Dave!” STD referred to Floppy as Dave the entire cab ride back.
• Back at the motel, Fire In The Hole, SATRAC, Peppermint, and Drippy shared a room. Fire got one bed to herself. SATRAC, Peppermint, and Drippy shared the other.
• The next morning started with the Gatorade-and-Advil fairy making the rounds. Despite many people partaking of the goods the Gatorade-and-Advil fairy offered, no one offered him a blowj*b as a reward for a job well done.