Hash Trash for Boston Trail On Sunday April 7th, 2013
Hare: Friar Fuck*
Bag Car: Brokeback Baby, Vagatarian,
Pack**:
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.
Circle:
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.
Anouncments:
None.
GO TO MARATHON THIS WEEK! TRAIL TONIGHT! TRAIL TOMORROW! TRAIL THRUSDAY! PUB CRAWL (AND TRAIL) FRIDAY! MAIN EVENT SATURDAY!!!! HANG OVER SUNDAY! BEERK CHECK AT MILE 20 MONDAY!!!
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.
Hare: Friar Fuck*
Bag Car: Brokeback Baby, Vagatarian,
Pack**:
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.
Circle:
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.
Anouncments:
None.
GO TO MARATHON THIS WEEK! TRAIL TONIGHT! TRAIL TOMORROW! TRAIL THRUSDAY! PUB CRAWL (AND TRAIL) FRIDAY! MAIN EVENT SATURDAY!!!! HANG OVER SUNDAY! BEERK CHECK AT MILE 20 MONDAY!!!
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.
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