Snow Moon Hash with No Snow

aka the Thank Goodness for Hare Club hash

Hares: Saskapoon, Muddy Buddy
Bag Car: Just Keri, D*ck Bank
RA: Tw*t My Mom
Pre-lube: Victory Pub, Noddles Island (I mean Orient Heights)
On-in: Some park on Deer Island
Weather: Clear, cold, and wet [it had just rained] (in the mid-30s)

Pack: Tw*t My Mom, Bloody P*ssy, Mr Papagiorgio, Cocksmith, Bring Out the Gimp, Father Shishkapoo
Latecummer: Glitorus

Between the weather, Burlington Mardi Gras, and it being a Saturday night a relatively small pack gathered at Victory Pub. The crowd of locals was smaller than usual, but the ones who were there were great. Just Keri hit Saskapoon on the *ss (lightly), I don't know why, and when the locals protested claimed it was just foreplay, prompting one of the locals to exclaim: "Foreplay! He's black and blue!"

D*ck Bank (wife of Muddy Buddy) thought that Bring Out the Gimp was my husband which was amusing because while I do have three husbands, Gimp is not among them. And no, I'm not taking more applications thank you very much.

Since we didn't have any pack chalk other than the chalk that Cocksmith and I brought, and no virgins, we skipped chalk talk and went out to find trail. Of course that intersection right by Victory Pub is a pain in the neck; I went to look north but the trail went south. The half the pack that found trail couldn't go any further because there was a t*t check and yes, I was the *only* girl on trail. Hah. And no, this wasn't the only t*t check. Thanks guys, really. :P

We got lost pretty soon after that. There was a check, and we could only find marks heading towards the water facing Logan Airport, but at the end of those marks was a big old F. So we wandered around for a while, checking for a check, or a turn, and all the other directions. Eventually someone ran northeast far enough to find another check so we headed over there. At the next check we got lost again – someone in a car stopped and asked us if we were lost and needed help finding anything, to which we replied that we were indeed lost but there was no way he could help us. The next check was somewhat easier because one of the two possible ways trail could have gone was a dead end. You may sense a pattern here as much of the first half of trail was staggering from one check to another because the chalk was too dark for us to see (pink and blue don't work so well at night, especially when it's wet).

Trail wound along 145 past Belle Isle Lobster and Seafood. I had a bit of an advantage at this point because from scouting trail in this area I knew exactly where trail might have gone and was not fooled by the checks. Except that High Anus and I ran right past a check, and also right past some arrows that drifted off to the right of us because we were so focused on the road right under our feet. And it was actually well lit! I still say we fared better than Gimp and Cocksmith who followed marks through holes in the fence into a private yacht storage area. Having finally found trail, we ran (literally) into Tw*t My Mom who was exiting a parking garage having apparently run through the yachts and emerged on the other side. This was the location of yet another check where we couldn't find trail. It went east, then south, then at a check Gimp ran one direction and Father Shishkapoo ran the other. Gimp yelled "on-on" and we couldn't hear Father Shishkapoo, so we followed Gimp for a good couple of blocks before he hit a YBF and we backtracked.

Trail actually went through a park that had lots of little walkways and pathways on which we could look for marks. Father Shishkapoo was apparently yelling at us where to go, but none of us heard him. Eventually we figured out where we were going and emerged on the other side. Trail next ran through Winthrop Center which is actually incredibly cute, or so it seemed at the speed at which we ran through there. A few blocks later we emerged back onto 145 and proceeded in quite the deathmarch (broken up only by about three checks), before coming across the beer check at Saskapoon's house. Father Shishkapoo had beaten us here, despite blowing right past the beer check and continuing up the road, heads-down like he was a racist or training for something. Or something. Maybe this is where the hares got the idea to lay a great long YBF and make him run the same stretch twice, pointlessly both times.

Now I must say this was quite probably the most scenic backyard I'd been in recently, right up on the water, with all sorts of boats moored out there and the whole thing illuminated by moonlight. In fact, it would have been romantic except that the beer check was punctuated by conversations like the following:

• Just Keri: "Did you go to the Halloweenie hash?"
• Bloody P*ssy: "Yes, I did."
• Just Keri: "Yeah, me too. I had to show a lot of guys my t*ts."
• D*ck Bank: "I used to do that. Now they are just dried up like nuts."
• Tw*t: "Brigham, are you getting this???"

Maybe you had to be there. Moving on. There was a check just out front of the beer check. Father Shishkapoo and Cocksmith headed straight across the road, but the rest of us quickly found multiple marks heading east and started off at high speeds without even bothering to look behind us to see if the other two were following. Big mistake. We went a quarter of a mile (about about 12 marks, not even kidding) before finding a big, fat, YBF. Yeah, we sure as heck were and although we *knew* that trail would have to run past that general area again we didn't know exactly how so we ran back the quarter mile. Turns out we didn't entirely waste our time because in the meantime Father Shishkapoo and Cocksmith had tried every direction from a check before finally figuring out the right way (which was into the shiggy and really, shouldn't that have been obvious??).

So we ran through the park, through a playground, past the Winthrop Fire Department and over to a long stretch along the beach. Up ahead of us was a huge hill with a water tower with blue, white, and red stripes on it. At the bottom of this hill was a check, and from the beach the other direction emerged Glitorus, who had spoken with Just Keri at the beer check and parked at the on-in. Rather than thinking for 6.9 seconds about this, we all proceeded to run (or, walk…) up the steep hill to the top, despite not seeing any marks. Finally we figured out that was wrong, and trail actually went along a seawall the direction Glitorus had come from. Well, I don't regret it – the view from up there was stunning, and running along the ocean in the moonlight was beautiful.

Unfortunately from there on out trail necessarily got boring with a lot of straightaways along and near the beach before meandering through the neighborhoods a bit, through a parking lot, and up a really, really muddy hill to the on-in. I was pretty relieved at this point because I felt like I had run 6.9 miles. Father Shishkapoo's GPS said he ran 8 miles making this both the longest and most scenic hash I think I've been on.

The original idea was to do down-downs with Gatorade and vodka (the better to hide from the cops, who apparently are cutthroat in Winthrop). Sanity prevailed and beer was procured from bag car.

Comments on trail:

• Enough with the deathmarches
• Not enough marks in black unseeable chalk
• Not enough beach

Muddy Buddy had been accepted as a transplant back in the summer, but this was D*ck Bank's first trail since she moved from Houston. We asked her where she was from and she finally remembered she was from Dallas, but then she didn't realize when we were singing her down-down song and so got a bit of a late start. She also chugged an entire cup of vodka and Gatorade which, while impressive, also took a really, really, really long time.

Accusations and other circle shenanigans:

• Moon hash backsliders – Saskapoon and Muddy Buddy (yes, the hares!)
• Birthdays in the past week – Bring Out the Gimp (one year closer to death!!)
• Muddy Buddy accused himself of getting lost on trail. Well, if that's not enough, accusing yourself is an accusable offense …
• Father Shishkapoo and D*ck Bank were having a private party and were made to drink. Apparently she needed her pants checked? Yeah I don't know what was up with that, and I probably don't want to.
• Moon burn – Tw*t My Mom and Saskapoon
• At this point D*ck Bank asked why we were all inverting our vessels over our craniums, so we demonstrated a down-down for her, and, of course, made her then demonstrate that she had learned her lesson
• Just Keri, Saskapoon, and Muddy Buddy were having a private party
• Someone produced a bag of chalk that the hares had lost on trail, to which Muddy Buddy quipped before he drank: "All the marks you didn't see on trail? That's why!"
• FRB/FBI - Father Shishkapoo and Bloody P*ssy (first and only!); DFL – Cocksmith
• Glitorus was made to drink for being a latecummer
• Social started by Cocksmith's production of a Christmas wreath (another sex toy I had apparently lost on trail. Now not knowing how I would actually use such a thing as a sex toy I claimed it was a false accusation and it just degenerated from there)
• Mexican down-down: Father Shishkapoo, Muddy Buddy, D*ck Bank, Saskapoon

At this point D*ck Bank pointed at me (with her finger no less!) from the middle of circle and accused me of being too serious. Saskapoon chimed in that he was the hash drunk of the moon hash and it was unacceptable for anyone not to be drunk at his hash. Well, almost everyone had driven there so we couldn't very well get drunk but we did have a social.

Announcements consisted of a reminder to register for Marathon, and an announcement that the Seacoast Green Dress run is starting in Revere and will be held on Saturday, March 13th.

Some of you may or may not remember that attendees of this hash were told to bring $1 in addition to the $5 hash cash. After hash religion, we noticed a bus pulling away from the parking lot at the bottom of the hill. Apparently this bus runs once an hour, and we had clearly just missed it, hence the thank goodness Glitorus showed up late and could shuttle half of us back to the start! It was cold at this point and the prospect of waiting an hour or walking 4 miles were equally unpleasant.

Glitorus took off after dropping us off because amazingly, no one needed a ride back into Cambridge. The rest of us congregated at Little Asia which was really *just* awful. Really, hashers, don't eat there. Or if you do, don't order off the all-day specials menu; I guess the regular menu items were somewhat better. Even more surprising was the fact that no one ordered anything to drink and pretty much everyone went home after. I guess there is a combination of trail length and temperature that can make hashers quit drinking, at least for the evening!

Heard before, on, and after trail:

• "Are you employed by the government? What country?" – local in Victory Pub to Saskapoon
• "I don't know what you've got planned for tonight but count me out!" – Bring Out the Gimp to Saskapoon and Just Keri
• "I knew trail didn't go that way. I just wanted to run up the hill." – Glitorus
• "It's been 7 years!!" – D*ck Bank
• "I have a little throat." – D*ck Bank
• "Just open your throat and let it go down." – Just Keri
• "My husband is my vibrator." – D*ck Bank
• "I'm a great lay." – D*ck Bank
• "How many strap-ons do you have?" – Just Keri (NO, I am NOT making this up! And no, I don't know the context …)

- Bloody P*ssy