Daylight Moon Hash

Moon hash apparently doesn't have a scribe, but that doesn't mean there's not trash to be aired, so I figured I'd volunteer, starting as far back as memory (kind of) serves. Until I decide not to. Or get replaced. Or, you know, move to Africa.

Hare: Goes Down on Buoys (Sp*rm Dumpster)
Bag Car: The Buttler Hit It (Cocksmith)
RA: Puff'n'Stuff
Pack: Hare Club, High An*s, Goat Throat, Bend Over Mommy, Just Sager (Saskapoon), Brigham Tongue (Bloody P*ssy), Stick It To The Bros, Peppermint P*ssy
Latecummer: Wang Chunks
Pre-lube: MJ O'Connors in Boston
Weather: Drizzly and cold

Not only was this a full moon hash without a moon, but it was a Cajun trail. This was all very novel and exciting, but the excitement wore off when the pack got lost within the first 5 minutes. Actually, it was more like the first 2 minutes. We found the first few marks just fine, then spent 15 minutes trying to find trail. Apparently a yellow "X" was a mark (silly us, we assumed chalk marks would all be arrows, albeit not necessarily pointing in the correct direction, and that "X" meant false. Apparently not).

Trail went through the Boston Common, and on past BBAG's place (where, sadly, there was not a beer check). Goat Throat proved to have a knack for finding the deviously-hidden marks, which were on things like trees, and underneath scaffolding in the shadows… unfortunately by the time we got back to near the
Common, Goat's luck deserted him. Someone went running off to the north while the rest of us looked by the Common, in the graveyard, up and down both sides of every road … well, except the road trail went down, where the mark was cleverly hidden behind a dumpster. Nice.

We then ran through the seating area of a restaurant called Marylianes advertising $1 oysters between 4 and 6pm (the things I notice…) and then pretty quickly got lost again. Around this point the pack lost trail again. Mommy reported that someone had called the hash hotline, and the beer check was under the bridge by the Barking Crab. So, we all proceeded directly there, confusing the hare and bag car who were expecting us to come from the other direction.

At this point, Peppermint P*ssy showed up, having run at least part of the first trail. Not sure what her excuse was, something about work? Or something? The pack encouraged the hare to be less sneaky by half with the marks, so we had a prayer of finding them. Once we got a little bit cold the hare headed out and pack was away!

Trail wound through Seaport and after about 5 minutes (we could actually find the marks on this half of trail), the pack got a serious case of déjà vu as the trail was almost exactly identical to AGM the week before: running through a parking lot, then by the Seaport hotel, but this time rather than up steps by the seaport we ran upstairs in a bus station.

Heading towards the convention center I was far in front of the pack. Having found a check I headed off to scout trail and somehow managed to fall down while running at high speed. The pavement was uneven, or that's my story and I'm sticking to it. No one witnessed this epic hash crash, but the evidence was quite apparent (and it still hurt like a b*tch the next week when I was scouting trail, OW!). From this point forward trail was almost identical to the AGM trail, including the long deathmarch near where the BC was at AGM. This time, the pack got lost (surprised?) very near the on-in and spent a little while looking for trail in a parking lot, down some railroad tracks, etc., and in the likely direction of the all the bars in Southie until I think Hare Club zenned or saw the hare/FRB/bag car at the on-in location, which was an abandoned lot, and led us there forthwith.

So we had something like 300 Natty Ice and Natty Lites for 11 people, and we decided to do the best we could to drink all of the beers. After we had drunk about half the beers, Wang Chunks decided to show up to help us with the other half. Apparently he had nothing better to do on a Saturday afternoon.

We had some moon hash namings! Starting with me, because of my aforementioned accident. Between the road rash and stories of my kitten who likes to jump onto my shoulders via the skin of my back, I was renamed Bloody P*ssy. That took about 2 minutes and was really the only decent suggestion.

Goes Down on Buoys was, after much back-and-forth, renamed Sp*rm Dumpster. I'm not sure why. But he seems to hate the name, which means it's a good name.

Just Sager (who STILL doesn't have a Boston hash name … seriously, people!) was christened Saskapoon, I guess because North Dakota where he is from is somewhat close to Saskatchewan. I don't know. But it was better than the other names, which I don't remember.

Finally, The Buttler Hit It was renamed Cocksmith due to an high school incident involving duplicating keys, and NOT GETTING AWAY WITH IT.

This lot must serve as an ad hoc dog park, because at some point during circle this beautiful dog came to visit us with its owners. Also, there was a party going on under a tent about a half a block away. People sounded like they were having a good time, and at one point I could have sworn I heard "On-on!" coming from under the tent but I must have been hearing things.

I don't really remember too much about the rest of circle thanks to the quantity of beer, and something about "when one p*ssy drinks, all p*ssies drink." Also, Cocksmith's attempt at new lyrics to When It's Hog Calling Time in Nebraska did not go over so well. Eventually we actually finished the beer, ended circle, and headed to Cornerstone Pub for on-after. I don't remember too much about that either, except I was told that Goat Throat stole a plate of chicken wings from a child. That doesn't seem like it could possibly be quite right, but there it is folks.

After the on-after, Buttler jokingly asked if we should crash the tent party. Emboldened by alcohol, I proceeded to do just that. Surprisingly, the partygoers were very welcoming and shared their beer until it ran out (but they went to go get more, so all was well). We entertained them with stories of hashing, and I did a solo rendition of Yogi, much to their bemusement. I don't remember very much else (surprised?).

- Bloody P*ssy (aka Brigham Tongue)