Monday, April 29, 2013

E4BH3 #17

Suckers in attendance:

Canis Lickus (Happy Valley)
Passion of the Dumbass (VA)
Bring Out the Gimp
Spunk in the Trunk (hare)
DUI Done Right
Salty Mudflaps
Swedish Eagle & Just Wally
E=I'm a Douche
Stick it to the Bros
Friar Fuck
Titney Spewston
Bent Over Sap Sucker (on after)
I'm sure others.......

Trail began in the Adult Fitness Trail, but there were no adults to be 
seen. Trail instantly went through a swampy area with delightfully 
smelling swamp cabbage & muck, we love our shiggy!. Upon reaching Rt129 
after a mile death march, the FRBs were treated to a YBF, went back to 
the last check, went a different way, and were treated to a CB5 and then 
found trail again that was all of 50 yards away parallel to the YBF trail.

Trail continued on as the pack caught up to each other through the dense 
underbrush, with repeated cursings from those who foolishly forgot to 
wear shiggy socks. Minor confusion set in, but we eventually found 
trail once more. Gimp was amazed to hear what he never thought he'd 
hear, which was Swedish Eagle behind him asking him to please slow 
down. Turns out Just Wally was unleashed & chasing Gimp and being near 
Rt 3, had to be leashed. Beer check was awesome, with people not 
realizing that bug spray was available, as it was "hidden" next to the 
water where no one would ever have thought to look. Passion offered to 
check Gimp's balls for ticks, quickly adding a "no homo" to the offer. 
Gimp was confused, surprised, and maybe even a little excited, but 
respectfully declined and suggested he join the Pink Taco email list.

Trail continued onwards with the FRBs taking the eagle trail, even 
knowing there was no additional reward to be had. Us turkeys enjoyed a 
nice shiggy-free trail run to the second beer check where Gimp got stung 
in the back by a bee causing minor alcohol abuse. We had a quick visit 
from some local teens sporting mullets & big hair reminiscent of Alice 
Cooper. Just Wally entertained the pack by pissing on every tree in 
sight, but somehow forgot to piss on Bros, so there was no black on 
black crime this day.

Circle was quick as we had to get on to the on after before the kitchen 
closed, but we first butchered several good songs while drinking several 
bad beers. The on after was as entertaining as ever....with the pack 
looking oddly at each other as the waitress asked us for our nerd names, 
confusion ensued. Way too much food was ordered over a 90's montage of 
music selected by our Dumbass visitor. Our waitress revealed that she 
was a rugby player, which required us to sing her and the bar at least 
one song.

Saturday, April 13, 2013

Boston Marathon Hash 2013

Where: 61 Chatham St, Boston MA
Marathon Chairs: Pubic Service Announcement, THE 2nd Cuming
Hares: Blubber Fucker, Ignorance is Piss, Senior Cocksucker,
Swedish Eagle
Pack: Way too many wankers. 

Start, The Wild Rover:

Pack started arriving sometime afternoon and were greeted with a beautifully designed shirts (thanks Sketchy and Wonka!), an unbreakable mug and a patch. We all mild about getting our costumes ready and waiting for the hash to start. A most amazing thing happened; I walked up to the bar and a very friendly lady handed me a glass of beer. Cold, refreshing beer. I didn’t ask, I just smiled and turned back to greeting all of the amazing visitors whom I have already forgotten. There were so many bodies in one space. So. Many. Bodies. Circle and chalk talk were announced, in 30, 10, and 6.9 minute warnings. I teased Wang that he didn’t look like he was running trail, but he told me that he decided he was going to watch Sasquatch (though I think he used her nerd name) watch the bags. This was also his time to rifle through people’s wallets so that he and ATM can afford gas and hooker money for their next RV adventure, which turned out to be a better idea than actually running trail, but more on that shortly.

Circle: After finally getting the pack out of the start, it
took three waves, we were immediately kicked out of Fanuiel Hall and crossed
the road to have circle in the green way. After taking a good eight hours to
introduce everyone, including an Aqua-hasher (with flippers) and establish that
one set of Ambiguously Gay Duos were more of an Unequivocally Gay Duo--and our
virgins, pack went to go find trail. Note that one of the virgins had a name
that sounded like a Japanese geisha. Virgin “whatever it was” sounded
appropriately fitting.

Trail, 0-10K:

We knew that the first check was in Fanuiel Hall. That was
about it. We ran around, and around, and around, looking for trail. Harlot
would like you to know that she did in find trail initially. Just her. She’s a hashing
genius! Pack split into about 8 different groups as we all tried, in vain, to
find trail. This included running through Haymarket with the help of some
encouragement from overly enthusiastic fruit vendors. Some ran through the
Boston Common before turn back down and, with the help of many puzzled
civilians who enuthesatically cheered and shouted “they went that way”
eventually finding a random song check outside the entrance to Chinatown (in
large part to a redneck 2nd waving wankers through like a schoolyard
traffic cop). Once trail was found, it was marked in a very chalk-friendly
manor (the hares apparently not wanting to pollute the sidewalks and alleyways
of Boston with high quality chalk—save the city, y’all!) and ran through Tufts
Medical Center, past my favourite* beer check, past a homeless shelter, under
93 to the BC.

Framingham Beer Check:

 Apparently some
wankers found trail immediately after circle and had been there for a good 20
minutes by the time this scribe arrived, and they hares had been waiting an
hour. Blubber would like you to know that he was good and lubed up during that
beer check. Such a shame no one took advantage of that.  It took two beers (I’m not sure the beer to
time conversion) for the rest of pack to arrive; some stopped to look at the
scenery of the sketchy South End; some decided to kick a bunch of playground
balls over a building; and others decided to ensure that no confidential
business information was on SF’s cape of bad ideas. There wasn’t any, but some
schmuck in Chinatown is probably reading a case brief from 1802 now. The wind
had picked up, and a lot of beer was drunk, orange food was consumed, and the
hares were informed that we had been given approval from Major Manino to
liberally apply chalk to his sidewalks so that we could find the glorious beer.
It is his last term in office after all, and we must celebrate accordingly.  

Trail To Half:

Crossing over into Southie, we ran through a lot of
beautiful, scenic, and archectually important parking lots. This is not a lie;
one of the visitors was busily taking pictures of every factory and loading
dock we passed. This was vaguely depressing to many a Bostonian. After taking
the Eagle (under a fence) we came to a Song check with marks going in 684684
different directions. Eventually, we found trail heading to a tit check in an
alley, and were freed by someone in a training suit. A visitor maybe? Visitors
who participate in tit checks should be rewarded with beer. Also during this
time 2nd decided that “he knew Boston SO WELL” that he, Harlot and
SF created their own trail.  And by that,
we crossed Seaport Blvd about ten times before we saw a gaggle of wankers
crossing a bridge up ahead. Wiki et. al. followed trail along a very long death
march and were beginning to slow down, smelling a CB or YBF when the FRBs came
running back. We had been had by the longest YFB since that CB26.2 last year.
Damn traditions! We knew it was coming (sucks for those visitors who thought
they would get a leisurely trail through the Public Garden where they could sit
on the duck statutes and try to crash the swan boats). Going to back to the tit
check, we found trail through more scenic parking lots to a song check at the
convention center. Sensing a pause for dramatic effect, we sang about how we
had all lost our jobs at that department store in Chicago. Visitors, tourists,
and even staties stopped to watch and cheer.  From there trail ran through more parking lots to a beer check by an
office building. Actually it was more of a Morton’s Steakhouse. 

Wellesley Beer Check:

As soon as beers were distributed we were told that we were
not allowed to BC there since it was private property. This is in fact true,
but the Hares would like you to know that NO ONE is around there on Saturdays.
Seriously, no one.  Instead we moved the
BC 10 feet to the sidewalk. Nice and inconspicuous. This beer check only last
one beer, since pack had stay together. Mostly we talked about making penis
molds, and admiring the mold of STDs penis, which was on his head. THE 2nd   cumming stood very judgmentally across the
street staring at us (he is one of the rasicsts who will be marathoning Monday,
so I’d be judging any bitches during a leisurely run too), and Necrophelliac
Jack and Friends made a mini-BC on the other side of the intersection
(creativity, bitches!). There might have been orange food, but I was unaware of
it. It was getting cold (don’t you just love Boston during the spring? Or
rather post-winter) and the hares had left as soon as we arrived, so we
grudgingly followed marks.

Trail To The Pain:

Unlike the last 3rd of a marathon, the last 3rd of this trail was easy, if not uselessly long. This was also the scenic part of
trail as we ran down Fan pier to where the beer check should have been, crossed
back over the river and ran under the Intercontinental, passing up a great
place to have a very acoustically sound song check. Well, in truth (who needs
it), there was a song check, but we just sang the first verse of “Friggin in
the Riggin” and ran on along the water. Trail forked at the aquarium past what
I think was labeled a “seal check” as trail was marked in front of the outdoor
seal tank. They seemed to not care that trail didn’t end there, so we left them
to swim around without beer. Crossing the greenway we were met by every hashers
favourite mark “BN” followed, a few marks later, by ON IN back at the Wild


There was a lot food. There were lines to get it, but there
was a lot it, which was needed to sedate us until the Hash Beer started flowing
again. One complaint: no one could stuff their faces with those tiny plates!
Who was really that concerned about portion control, people? REALLY? Once
everyone was good and feed, and refreshed, and drunk, Plus 2 Coonass lead us in
Circle. This was about 90 minutes after we arrived because we needed ice blocks
(that didn’t actually fit in the tinfoil trays provided, so that was an
exciting party to watch) and the DJ started playing some weird mashups from the
80s and 90s. No matter, we began the pillage in tutus on the dance floor

Circle, first we toasted to G! He is not dead, he is lost on

The hares went cheek-to-cold. They had nothing to say for
themselves (we couldn’t have heard them if they did), and we sung them the
Krusty original “You Should Have Use More Flour and Chalk” because they really
should have. 

FRBs, FBIs and DFL were called; Once You Black represented
the females, someone represented the males, and Friar (aka Numb Nuts) brought
up the rear.

The two virgins who survived (Virgin Randy and Virgin Japanese
Geisha) were called in. They enjoy “The Robot” and “Cowgirl.” Yehaw! They
weren’t acceptable, but we took them anyway. May Beer have mercy on their

The floor was opened up for accusations, and all real racists
(marathoners) were called in. There were visitors who were resists and
Bostonians who were racists. They are stupid, and really dumb, but we wished
them well with “Go Speed Racer!”

All of the groups of visitors – Rain City, New York/New
Haven, Chicago, Pittsburg, DC, Atlanta, Northborough and Toronto were called

More things happened, then vessels down, cranium covers off
and we Swang Low…

Post Circle:

An epic dance party ensued, and we were prevented from
taking our clothes off or playing flip cup. People got very drunk and amazing
decisions continued to be made well into the night.

On – It’s not a hangover, it’s a reward for being alive – On

Wikipedophillia and Skull F*cker

Tomorrow: Beer check at mile 20. Good luck to all racists! 

[Non-text portions of this message have been removed]

Tuesday, April 9, 2013

Don’t Change anything!

What: Eager For Beaver H3 Marathon Prelube
Where: A park in Malden
When: Tuesday April 9th, 2013
Hare: Bring out the Gimp
Injured Hare/RA: Can’t Eat Pussy

Pack: Bent over Sap Sucker, Titney Spewston, THE 2nd Cumming, Doucheswqatch, DUI Done Right, Salty Mud Flaps, Willy Wonka and the Back Door Factory, Brokeback Baby, Horses Ass, Bust Her Hymen, Yorun Weed,
Vagania Destroyer, a Just From Germany, Harlot Globe Fondler, Cuntjungle, Goat Throat, Magina My Vagaina, Pappy Van Tinkle, Plus 2 Coonass, Sticks it to the Bros, Jello Wrecked ‘em, Mud Slut, Yellow Dick Gnome, Wikipedophilia, others I am forgetting.

Start: The pack slowly trickled in, most drove, to the far
end of the Orange line to a park with a basketball court and an out house;
neither of which are important here. CEP collected hash cash (and took attendance!)
as everyone arrived and there were tasty beverages in a cooler for people with
descreet vessels. There’s only so much you can do in a park, so shortly after
the hare left, we did too.

Trail, Phase A:

Out of the park, up a hill and into a forest park/nature
place. Whatever. After scrambling up a hill we came across a very confused
looking trainer like man who said “Oh, I was warned about you” – whatever that
means. Turn took a turn down the path past a group of women lifting weights. We
tried to entice them with promises of running and 12 ounce curls, but they
weren’t interested. Further down the path were a group of women who appeared to
be practicing with katanas. Weird. We did not offer them beer. Trail ran out of
that park and into another, where the FRBs were halted by a tit check. Freed by
Jello, we ran onto Bros indicating another tit check that was really a Check
Back, but trail from there went up a hill to a reservoir. Gimp was waving at us
from the other shore. Not wanting to posion Malden’s water with a packs worth
of STDs, we followed trail along the (long) distance around the lake to the
beer. Second tried to short cut by running the other way but; “You can’t get
there from here!” so he had to turn around. 

Beer Check #1: Uneventful. We watched planes take off and it
got dark. We drank all the pre-hidden beer and left. We instructed to “run to
the end of the giant dick and turn left.” I have no idea what that meant.

Trail, Chapter 2:

There was no giant penis, just marks heading off into the
woods. Titney yelled “Turkey Eagle” and ran off by her self. No idea what
happened there. I (foolishly) decided to take the Eagle, which was a long run
back around the lake, and was feeling good until we were stopped by a tit
check. Mud Slut freed us, and after running 2 falses, trail went straight,
cuming to the top of a rise for a Group Hug check. Apparently other people in
back thought it was a beer check (it would have been a good spot) but instead
we just started some civilians out for romance and alcohol. Trail run down the
hill, eventually running past a Frank Lyodd Wright wanna be house on the way to
the most amazing mark any hasher can see “BN” followed by “ON IN” 


Well, first we had to carry all the beer up a non-small hill.
It was cold and windy, and CEP promised to keep circle short. He called in all
Visitors, (not noted here) and all first time Eager for Beavers (also not
noted) then opened the circle up to accusations. Nothing important happened
until the German Contingent was called in, collectively, for new shoes. Somehow
the Germans Contingent turned into Plus 2 and Yuron drinking out of each other’s
shoes (not sure why) and I had to drink out of mine for not knowing a song. CEP
asked what he could change to get everyone never to return and Mangina yelled
out “Don’t change anything!”

we sang religion (which is “Ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooh
DRINK!”) and filtered back to cars/subway/on after. I didn’t go to the on
after, but here’s my guess:

People got drunk, really drunk. Shinangins ensued and
amazing decisions were made.

Stay Tuned for Moon Trash!!

On – Hashing all Week – On


the website/calendar for details!

Speaking of the Caldener, we have open haring dates in May,
June, July, August, September and October, so e-mail (or
butler or i) and we’ll put you in!

Sunday, April 7, 2013

We Don’t Want to Snare You

Hash Trash for Boston Trail On Sunday April 7th, 2013
Hare: Friar Fuck*
Bag Car: Brokeback Baby, Vagatarian, 

A transplant for San Degio whose name I forget, Bent Over, Sap Sucker, Necropheliack Jack, Condom Search and Rescue, Just Margarie***, Virgin Alex, Wikipedophila, THE 2nd Cuming, Goat Throat, Willy Wanka and the Back Door Factory, Blow bot, Plecenta the Fresh Maker, Twat My Mom, Swedish Eagle, The Butler Hit It, maybe others.

Pre lube: Eliot T-Stop on the Green line.
It was a beautiful day, and there were high hopes that a pack of fairly substantial would show up to terrorize the 1%. However, it was only 1% of the Hash that showed up. I arrived at the start, and didn’t see anyone. Suddenly, a man walked out of the wait-for-the-T-inside-bubble and handed me a flask of some vile and disgusting liquid. It turned out to be Necrophilack Jack, who, apparently, along with dozens of other half-minds had gotten very drunk the night before and probably wouldn’t be at trail. Did they forget our charter? “To cure weekend hangovers”?!?! BOSS got out of his car and we were shortly joined by the aforementioned transplant, plus another transplant and a very agreeable looking virgin. Pack filtered in slowly, getting out the trains as they came through and we were beginning to wonder if the hare would ever show up since none of us brought our own libations. That probably a bad idea because when the hare did show up, all he had was some God-awful beer that made the High Life look like the Best Beer Ever Made. 

The Hare stumbled off, and so, unfortunately, did one of the visitors and the agreeable virgin. Pack was introduced to 3D chalk, did 3D chalk talk, then, after giving the hare a start worthy of his long and distinguished hashing career, left the T Stop.

Trail, Phase 1:

After running around a few checks looking for “marks” or “falses” we decided that the hare wasn’t laying any so on one was basically on-on. We got nice a lost by a fire station before we figured this out, then ran through
a shopping district, past some abandoned rail road tracks and a good amount of graffiti. One slogan bears repeating “Make Underage Drinking Legal!!” This confused us since if it isn’t illegal, it wouldn’t be underage. We ran on past a giant mansion guarded not by lions, bears, elephants, or other noble beasts worthy of such a dwelling but two gaint tropical fish. It was most peculiar.  The pack was confused by a BN marking into a
park, but no beer, and no further trail.

The beer was hidden, with the hare, in a valley filled with thorns.

Beer check: We drank beer and talked about Disney.

Trail, Act II:

After running back out threw said valley of throns, for no good reason, we found trail following the river and out to some road. After briefly lemming across the street, we turned to follow trail across the bridge when we saw, in the distance, our venerable hare. We stopped. We waited. While we were waiting, Swedish Eagle appeared. He had followed trail, but didn’t find any beer. Poor hasher. He’d been scouting the Marathon Monday Ball Buster Trail, so we didn’t feel bad for him. Why do Ball Busters when you can get all the beer with drastically less running? Eventually, we got bored and ran after the hare.

We saw him again, stumbling along the river bank. We stopped again. No one caught up to us this time, but we started running again and crossed back through the shopping plaza we had tranversed a few beers ealier. Trail forked down along a river again, and again, we were lied to about the proximity of the beer to the Beer Near mark. Eventually we found it. Goat decided to fall down a step embankment to get the beer instead of running along the level path. Whatever. He’s a goat. As the beer check was ending a car pulled up across the river and someone started yelling at us. Apparently, Google Maps didn’t realize that she wasn’t driving an amphibious vehical. 

Trail, Part C:

After crossing an abandoned rail bridge, trail wound along 128 to Echo Bridge where we stopped, again, because we saw the hare. We also saw some very confused looking Chinese tourists who seemed to take pictures of us as if we were part of the natural landscape. Odd. I hope they remember to keep them on hashscpace. On the other side of the bridge there was true trail and  BN. This time the beer was near, as the On In was Friar’s house.


2nd RAed and called the hair into the circle. We told the hare that we had been f*cked again, and he sang some song I don’t remember. We brought in Virgin Alex, who was good a math, but didn’t know the square root of 69. His favourite barn-yard animal is a snake (apparently there are snake farms in France) and says yell “Mon Deux” when the com. Strange, but he’s French. We then heard someone running up the stairs and it was Little Sister Fister, alive, on trail, and beerless. We sang to him, and gave him his longer desired beer. We then called Friar back in for not having anywhere near enough tags for his long hashing career and learned that he was not always Friar Fuck! His original name was “Floppy Dick” or something because he brought a 3.5” floppy with him on his first trail. That name was quickly replaced by  this…

The Boston Hash, in the mid 90s, went up toe Acadia National Park for a weekend of high class debauchery. This debauchery included some long bike ride on a dirt road. The young hasher then known as “Floppy” didn’t know that bike seats are not built for padding, and therefore did not have proper padding in the seated area. After a day of riding, then walking in pain, then riding, with the hash long out of sight, he eventually found the end and an elated pack since they wouldn’t have to go look for him. Asked what took him so long, he explained as named “Numb Nuts” since his nuts were, at that point, Numb.

We drank to Numb nuts.

Blow Bot then alerted the pack that someone was at the door. A police man? Maybe? Who knows. Eventually calls went out that it wasn’t the police, it was Goes Down on Bouys. The pack was therefore quiet startled when Yanke Pay $5 More walked up the stairs! We called him in for also being DFL, and Blow Bot for confusing Bouys and Yankee.

Other things happened. There was cold pasta.

That’s it.


Also, we need hares for May. Look at the calendar, chose a date then e-mail Butler or I.
OnOn, -Wikipedophila.
(Yes, I am officaly the scribe)
*Really, you thought I’d annotate this?
** Spell check is for wossies.