Puffy Memorial Hash

What: Puffy Memorial Hash

Where: Grease My Monkey’s Nuts house, Worcester MA

Hare: Grease My Monkey’s Nuts, Wiki’s hangover

Who:

Hare Club For Queers, Ass for Gas, Wikipedophilia, The Butler Hit It, Frair Fuck, Hoover McSuck and Fuck, Twat My Mom, Nice Tits, Jimmy Crack Whore, I Eat Cum, Reverend Blowhole

Start:

People started to trickle in at some point in time before the scribe, since when I got there, everyone else was already there and apparently I had been expected to help lay (dead) trail that morning (note, I did tell Grease I was going to do this). I blame the Krusty Goat. It’s the truth. I was provided a Bloody Mary and we all stood around on the deck in the spitting rain and sipped our Bloodys and beer until we decided that we probably should go find trail before all the marks had been washed away. All we knew were that there would be marks, falses – though no marked false, all one-n-done or two-and-outs, and that on three was on on. There would be beer, somewhere, maybe. The first mark was, of course, up a hill.

First Leg:

Trail ran up hill from Grease’s house vaguely towards Tantnuk. Please excuse all references to neighborhoods or areas of Worcester, but otherwise this whole trail can be sumerized as “we ran up a hill; there was a beer check” three times. So that’s the TR:DL version nicely embedded in the first paragraph. Back to trail, it ran up a hill with Ass for Gas and I Eat Cum doing most of the scouting, cresting the hill and coming back down we turned left towards Chandler street. Crossing Chandler and down a hill, we came to a double song check (Puffy loved singing) in front of his old house. Since pack had spread out a bit, we decided to wait for everyone to catch up (except for Hoover, who had disappeared), and sang all the verses we could remember to Friggin the the Riggin and Follow the Hares. As we were standing in the rain, between songs, a car full of “old” people pulled up and asked what we were going standing around in kilts. We said that we were runners and that we were singing in front of one of our other friend’s house. The old lady then said “That’s fascinating; I used to live there for 40 years!” From there we on outed again in a vaguely up-hill direction, with the sounds of football games drowning out on-on calls and confusing whistle blows. Eventually we noticed that near most checks were strange piles of garbage arranged in vague arrow shapes. I Eat Cum had disappeared from the song check, apparently, and had gone off scouting and marking trail all the way to the beer check which was on top of Newton Hill.

Beer check #1:

We were standing around enjoying Worcester’s finest beer (that’s a lie, it was PBR), when Grease got a call from his wife saying that a hasher – Ryan – had just showed up to the house and wondered where everyone was. It took us a while to figure out who “Ryan” was – it was Twat – and eventually we auto-hashed to the beer check at which point we left and ran down the hill.

Second Leg

Well, by “we” I mean everyone but Hare Club, because he caught a root and went cranium-over-heels down the hill. I guess that’s a more efficient way of running down hill? Maybe? Anyway, we all ran down the hill from the BC and from there trail ran through Elm Park, around the Price Chooper and into WPI, a campus completely devoid of people on 3pm on a rainy Saturday afternoon. We stopped in the middle of the quad and introduced ourselves as “Hasher, Meet the Hashers” before running under a giant tree and down some stairs, then out from behind the art museum and into Institute Park. From the entrance to the park, there was a very visible line of flour-marked trees leading to the left – towards Park St(ish), but I could see the FRBs running back from the other direction. There was no check, so I’m not sure what they were doing. Anyway, running along the end of the pond we passed some college kids doing their best Puffy impressions (trail heading), though I think we spooked them since the shuffled away when Butler peeled off to join them. Rage can be scary. The rage wasn’t needed, since standing under a gazebo at the far end of the park were Grease, Twat, and beer.

Second Beer Check:

Was uneventful. We tried to convince some runners to join us – promising them beer and tits – but they all ran away. Weird. Apparently some sh*t went down with back country skiing in Utah, or something. Ass for Gas was bemoaning its demise, but he doesn’t like Walls of the Cave, so his taste is questionable. At the end of the second BC, Grease said that the there was a 3^rd BC and that we had to cross over park and Salisbury in front the antiquarian society to find trail.

Third Leg:

IEC and Tits crossed park first, then Salisbury, “North” of that other little road that comes in right before the intersection, and up which trail went. Trail zig-zaged pretty quickly up Bancroft hill, and when I saw the bag car turn up the road to the top of hill, I remembered a path through the woods that would short cut there – teenager memories – and called out “Zenning through shiggy” and charged up the hill to find Grease and Twat standing under the tower to get out of the rain. I was rewarded with a beer and waited for pack.

Third BC:

We waited a while, eventually Butler and Revered showed up on the far side of hill and came to the beer. No one else appeared, but we each and a beer and some wax and waited. Grease told us how to get to the OnIn from there:

“Straight, right, right, left down the hill, right, straight, bear middle, straight, then right and right.” That’s exactly what he said.

Fourth Leg:

Those directions were, um, lacking. The marks were also seriously fading, once we got onto Pleasant street, I yelled back to Butler and Reverend that I was Zenning the rest the way. Grease and twat passed us, so we couldn’t be completely on the wrong trail. The zenned trail was straight down pleasant, through the rotarty, up the hill at the split (where there’s the dinner with weird chef statue outside, east side bbq, and that clay-painting place), then left onto some “parkway” and left again (all up hill) back to the start. We over ran marks twice, but never saw more than one or two.

ONIN:

Was right back where we started. Everyone had already arrived, so somehow the group that ran trail were actually all DFL. We stood around drinking trying to figure out who was going to RA the circle, though that quickly descended into reminiscents about how Puffy was pretty much the best RA anyone had ever seen. However, eventually Hare Club volunteered and the Hare(s) were called into account for their shitty trail. We sang to him, and he sang to us, then I was called in for not-co-haring, and I sang too. FRB/DFL/FBI were called in, as were autowankers and people who skipped beer checks, then hash crashes and alcohol abuse were called in, the rasicts were called in and I'm sure there were more accusations which I forget.. We drank a toast to Puffy – Not Dead, Lost on Trail – and then swang low. There were delicious wings, but I left before the food was served.

On – To All Those Forever Lost on Trail with G – On

-Wikipedophilia