What: Rage
Where: Land O’ Rage N’ Snow
Who: Wine Riot, Anal Disco, Cocksmith, and a cast of thousands…maybe hundreds, okay 50, no, really more like 30 or less.
Moon Away 2015: A Trail of Rage and Snow
As always when trashing for away events, the question of when to start the record is open, and I will now chose to start this when Conass and I pulled into a liquor store on the way North with a sign “Liquidation Sale: All inventory must go!” I turned to my southern friend and said “If this store is closing, I’m going to cry – it’s the only good beer store around.” As we were admiring their selection, a friendly lady told us that they were closing for remodeling and that all beer was 20% off, wine and liquor were 10%. This was great news and we loaded up heavily on beer to last us until the kegs were going to be tapped some 28 hours hence. Fortified for our drive, we headed north with no complaints, and only a few slowdowns because of snow, arriving to make first tracks at the Land O Rage and Snow (LORS for short). Udder had suggested the we bring shovels, and we did, so we shoveled a path to the door, then most of the driveway while Gimp arrived and searched for the keys. Eventually we were joined by Teabags, Burning bush, and Butler and BBAGs, with Douche, and finally the GMs (plus Peepers) showing up last. We stalked the house with food, the fireplace with wood, and our bellies with beer and pizza before turning in slightly before midnight.
Friday-ski-day happened while Disco nursed her hangover/10 deadly plagues and sheparded the flock of ragacents north, by the time the skirage returned, the house was filling with ragers, and people were milling around the kegs wondering if it was 8 o’clock yet. People offered sexual favors to Disco to get the kegs tapped earlier but in a strange show of responsibility and self restraint she turned them down at first and we were unable to convince her to tap the kegs before 7. Upon tapping the kegs we quickly started playing Thumper to celebrate the joyous flow of beer. Thumper devolved into awkward groping and switched to the much more tame 3 man as the hours ticked by, cookies were had by all (or most) and those who forswore cookies turned to dabs (basically pure THC) because that was a good idea…as our lunges and minds recovered from the 2 pronged assault, hashers/ragers/whatever continued to trickle in, reaching a critical mass of over 30 as the playlist looped through for the first time and dancing was attempted.
After the requisite first sing a longs to Bohemian Rhapsody and Bright Eyes, Swedish grabbed a bag of orange food, stripped naked and ran away. This was generally interpreted as an the beginning of the UGH, so after giving him time to lay trail, we chased after him around the house, upstairs, then downstairs into the not-sketchy at all basement for circle. Pitchers were brought down and our vessels were filled. UGH virgins and annalversies were called in, and I’m sure other people were too, though, to be honest, my memory of Friday night goes something like: thumper -> ugh -> sleep, so I’m not the most reliable narrator.
Luckily no one gave Friar a 5 hour energy, so he didn’t run around the house yelling “It’s 5am, I’m awake and so are you!” Instead, most people slept in to the relatively reasonable hour of 9, there were rumors of coffee, but these rumors were greatly exaggerated. The troops were rallied and we rolled out to The Bradford Junction for what was technically breakfast but what was in actuality a gigantic pile of food for less than $2.50 per pound. They don’t price by pound, but they very easily could. We decided to go in waves, as to not overwhelm the kitchen, but the first car left around 9:30, and the last car didn’t return until almost 1, so I’m not sure our plans worked out. After returning to the LORS, there were mumblings about naps and trail. In a brilliant move the couch was moved to directly in front of the fireplace to insure maximum hasher warmth and cuddle puddle. Perhaps we made the living room to comfortable because instead of promoting “never leave camp” the alternative “never leave couch” was suggested.
[LORS Trail]
[Part 1 – In which we attempt to sled in a field]
At some time far after trail was originally planned we were told that we had 10 minutes to grab a vessel and snow gear as trail, such as it was, would be A to A. (The “Double Eagle” trail up to Lake Solitude being postponed due to snow). We there then told to fill up pitchers and vessels to “bring on trail.” There was no chalk talk or opening circle, instead we all filed out of the Ragehouse and walked across the road, where we were told trail had devolved into sleeding. Sleding then devolved into “pushing people on sleds down the hill.” Despite the cold, snow and horrible conditions, pack soldiered through and made what was becoming and “not that bad” tabogin run; yes the Ragehouse does come with actual wooden tabogins. The basic set up was that one, or two, or sometimes three brave soles would pack themselves onto the tabogins and then a fourth person would give them a running push and we’d see how far they got. However, each unsuccessful attempt (that is every attempt) ended with the sled pitching over and creating an obstacle for the next group to brave. After a while, we’d cleared a run almost all the way to the trees, but pack decided that we’d probably have better luck if we tried to sled down “Marsha’s drive way” (by pack I mean Gimp), so the hare (Butler) grabbed the pitchers of now mostly frozen beer and head down the road to “Marsha’s Driveway”
[Part 2 – Marsha’s Trail]
Trail was laid in nothing; there were no marks on trail except for a tit check that the hare definitely drew himself, at the bottom of the hill up Marsha’s driveway. With the hare standing at the top yelling “Beer Near” the FRBing male hashers waited for someone to free them, with the full expectation that the harriets would arrive and we’d all have a nice laugh before continuing on. Imagine our surprise when Orgasm Falmon arrived and freed us! We immediately ran up the hill to refill our beer slushies and start sleding down.
Not all of pack rushed up the hill, the wiser ones stayed at the bottom and judged as we came flying, or rolling, or bouncing down. Teabags tried the sled on rails which failed, and butler pulled off a few 720s in the snow tube. The wooden tabogins were the mode of highest result; the trick was to lean in through the turn, then clip the base of the snow plow drift of a bit of air, stick the landing with enough speed to cross the road, clip the next snow plow drift for more air, then stop before you hit the next snow bank. I think that Luvalamp completed the course correctly. Tandems, which were almost required on the first snow slopes, were generally “bad idea mobiles” and rarely made it to the bottom without spilling their cargo. After a few runs of bouncing off the plow drifts, one of the tabogins broke, but was brought back up to the top for confirmation that it was broken. It was. Gimp, ever nimble, took this as an opportunity to show off his surfing skills by riding the broken (and actively falling apart) collection of wood down the driveway until it deposited him quiet forcefully into the stonewall that was hidden under the snow. Gimp claims that it was that crash that was the cause for the bruises on his ass. The pack started to get cold, and there were mumblings that people would go back to the house to make hot chocolate, and so the slow walk back into the LORS commenced.
[Between trail and circle]
Upon our return to the cabin the level of rage dimmed for a time. Tired and cold hashers huddled by the fire, napped, the weak succumbed to a plague, and the strong spiked their hot chocolate or coffee to prepare to rage. Our honorable leaders declared there would be a re-grouping time before dinner and circle and then they started trying to push us to eat
sandwiches. Eventually sandwiches were replaced by ravioli and texas toast and the house got almost quiet as we fueled up for the rage to come.
Circle (at 7) then RAGE.
During the snap/nap/dinner one of YHS(s) [that’s right, there are two of us writing this!] was actively being victimized by one of the ten deadly plauges, however with the ever helpful chemical of Dayquil, I was able to banish my inner weakness and rage through circle.
[CIRCLE]
RA’d by the illustrious T-BAGS, we started by drinking a little bit, fucking a little bit and following the hares. I’m not sure what song we sung them, but I’m pretty sure they sang us “Glorious Victorious” and YHS (you can guess which one) fucked up one of the versus’ and was brought in with them with the warning that they’d have to drink for every time they fuck up a verse. “Do you know me?” was the retort. Teabags, looking to set the mood for the circle, told us that since we were in a farm house, he wanted to sing YHS a song about living on a farm. Quickly realizing what was coming, YHS stripped (a trick learned from GAP), and awaited everyone’s favourite land-based whale. After that Moon Away virgins might have been called in, and we told them they were stupid? YHS then messed up “I don’t want to join the army” and brought Mudslut in too since all she did was scream that she loved that song, but didn’t help in getting the words right. Moon GMs (past and present) were called in, and I’ll just say that we sang them S&M man (I’m pretty sure we didn’t, but we sang it at some point and Swamp Wine’s reaction to the verses was priceless…). Extra Terrestical then took over circle for a bit to do moon traditions of border jumpers, so everyone who wasn’t from a “Boston area kennel” was called in, and we told them in the most melodious terms that ours cocks would choke them, and all of financial and person ills that would come as a consequence of choking on our cocks. Moon burn was also called in. Then everyone was told to stand, and all the moon away virgins sat down; then all the two timers, then all the 3 timers, then the 4 timers, 5 timers until only the 6 timers – Extra Terrestical, I Eat Teabags, Bring out the Gimp (I forget his moon name), The Cocksmith and Amielia Airfart were standing. They really need to get a life! We then sang about our favourite girl in a park, and our rather long nercophiliatic relationship with her. We had a solemn toast to G, Puffy, Giggles, and all those forever lost on trail before being given the command to “RAGE, RAGE, UNTIL THE DYING OF THE NIGHT!”
[Post-Circle Rage]
The main event in post circle rage, for at least the first two hours, was a game that Wine Riot and Beepers had learned from, I think, Beepers sister at an NYE party, called “Chesty.” One of YHSs ran the table, while the other self-medicated with dabs dabs dabs! Chesty is a brilliant partner game where one stands across the table from their partner and bounces a ping-pong ball off their partners chest and hopefully into a red cup. If that maneuver is successful the other team has the drink the cup and flip it (flip-cup style) before they can resume their own chest bouncing. As you can imagine there are a number of techniques for this depending on chest flatness and size. Mudslut and Udder chose to create flatter backboards by wearing sports bra’s while Famine went for guiding cleavage. As you can imagine hilarity ensued, ref’s were necessary to call the legality of shots, and many a team challenged the supremacy of Mudslut and YHS’s reign of terror.
Around 10, or maybe 11, it doesn’t really matter; it was about 90 minutes before the ugh, a call came out from the kitchen that one of the kegs was almost kicked, and that if we just did keg stands, we’d be able to get through it. So…keg stands started. And continued; records were made – 10 seconds, 15, 20, then 30 seconds stool for a while – until Pappy Van Tinckle came around and said “Bitches get out of the way” and pulled off a 50 second keg stand while doing one-handed pushups. At this point, heads were swimming so people began to rage the dance party. After the dance party had taken over, chants of kegs stands were still coming from the kitchen, and who can deny that sirens call? As the minutes to UGH were being counted down, Disco decided to say fucking it to the 6th loop dance-play list and personally DJed a Disney sing along for about 15 minutes as we all got naked.
[UGH]
CEP and Falmon grabbed a bag of Valentines Day hearts and ran off – after yelling at everyone to put on shoes or boots, though they did not take their own advice (remember that it was blizzarding outside). Grumbling about hares lying, we gave them a bit of a cranium start before chasing after them. Luvalamp scouted up the stairs as I stared forebodingly at the door, which I eventually opened and found candy hearts and footprints on the other side. Running around the house I found the hares shivering at the front door, but with no checks to stop me, I chased them through the house yelling “Hare Snare” as pack grudgingly followed us up the stairs, through the sleeping quarters, back down the previously scouted stairs, through the gentle rage room, and down into the there-are-no-bodies-down-here-basement. Except that pack was a bunch of lazy bitches and it wasn’t until YHS stole all the beer pitches and brought them down stairs, and Famine went and nakedly informed pack to get their miserable lazy asses down into the basement, that pack complied. YHS was actually surprised that worked. Wine Riot RA’d a circle of little passing remembrance – hares, FRBs, hare snares, lazy bitches – were all called into circle. At one point someone gave Peepers a banana flavoured heart which she spat out (I’m 98% sure this didn’t happen, but I like this version better), and, as she was in circle for spitting out love, she took the opportunity to through candy hearts at everyone in circle, then, deciding that wasn’t quiet punishment enough, started throwing them in our beers! Pack had had just about enough of this foolishness and we returned up stairs caring wood [for the fire (in the fire place {not our loins})].
[Post-UGH]
KEG STANDS and PANTS OFF DANCE OFF!!!!
Eventually it was Butler and I sitting on a couch huffing Nitrous while Disco DJed for us, and we all silently agreed it was time to go to bed.
… the next morning …
Most of pack had vague ideas of sleeping in, since we had all been up until after 2, when some Brighton-based assfaces actively tried to be as loud as possible while packing and basically woke everyone else up. Since the roads around the LORS were questionable at best, most of us decided to wait and stay until at least 12, and most of us were overcome by a profound sense of responsibility (don’t you hate productive hangovers) we spent a good hour or two attempting to clean and back as best we could. YHS has never seen a more pathetic group of hungover hashers clean better. We picked up trash, recovered discarded clothing, replaced rugs, moved furniture, and picked up dozens of uhg candy hearts. Having returned the house to some semblance of normalcy, we were quiet depressed to see that it was only 9:30, and that despite all the keg stands the kegs weren’t kicked, so after a short round of morning keg stands actually kicked one of the PBR kegs, we retreated back to the living to toast our achievements with ChamwowJs, graciously prepared by Uddder, from the newly tapped keg and the champagne that Pappy is still trying to get rid of from NYE. This left us morning drunk and warm by the fire, so Disco resumed her DJing with a Disney sing along. The idea of this sing along was to belt out the songs so loud that no one would be left sleeping. After ruining our throats, and another round of ChamwowJ, we were inspired to write what may very well be the best event-based song of Moon Away weekend [See Appendicks 69].
The time now approaching noon, the first Brighton bound car left, and Wonka inspired us to take a walk and see that the rest of the world was up to. We all decided that we should probably sober up a bit before driving home in the storm, so we put back on our now 3-days-sweaty snow-clothes and trudged out into the great white unknown.
[Fatboy – ie a longer trail than the main event]
Extra Terrestical led us down hill across the already snowed-over sleeding trails from Saturday down towards the lake. We had the good fortune of following some snow shoe tracks through the field, but those weak willed (though properly equipped) souls turned around about half way into the woods, force ET and I to high-knee it through the drifts until after about a minute or two of this I decided “Fuck it, I’m waiting for pack” and collapsed to the left. Falmon came bounding out of the woods, unexpectedly after scouting to see if there was an easier path (there wasn’t) and the three of us waited for everyone else to join, and once we had visual confirmation that they had not given up on our venture we resumed our trek through thigh-deep snow. Upon reaching the boat house, YHS had the brilliant idea of jumping off the dock into a snow drift. I would like to say, unequviocoally, that it was, is, a great idea – I just jumped off the wrong side and instead of landing in a snow drift, I landed in about 10 inches of snow ontop of pavement. Shaking it off, I, we, explored around the house and found another much more safe, and comfortable, drifts to jump into before heading down to the lake. We were all standing around deciding if it was safe to venture onto the lake when Gimp declared that it was safe and jumped (it was an actual drop) in and was quickly buried in snow. Dry Hose followed, and similarly buried, and soon all of us were leaping into the snow. As we were frolocking (“just let your heart go and your body will follow”) in the snow, Pappy and CEP showed up with pitchers of the last of the IPA keg (finally kicked!) and the boat house became the beer check. Deciding that this trail needed some real marks, Swampy stomped out a pair of giant tits, while Falmon ran around to create a giant penis with extremely lopsided balls. While that was happening, ET found a way into the boat house and started singing “I’m on a boat!” As we were leaving Falmon ran back out to add some ejaculate to the dick, before beginning the long walk (up hill) back to Ragehouse. On our way back up that endless hill a group of muggles came down from the road and introduced themselves asked if we were “Rob’s friend.” We looked at each other dumb struck ‘Who the fuck is Rob’ we were thinking; they then identified themselves as “Rob’s cousins” and that’s when they realized that “The Butler Hit It” is not ‘Rob Hagopians’ Christian name. It should be.
[Waiting and eating lunch]
Upon arriving back that the Ragehouse we were immiediately intoxicated by the smell of fresh cookies, prepared for us by the beautiful Anal Disco who decided that “0.0 never leave camp” really means “0.0 never go outside!” Honestly, I can’t really blame her. We were told to eat more bagel sandwiches, and that meatballs would be warmed for parting sandwiches. The sad reality that the weekend was over and that we’d all have to return to snow-bound Boston was setting in. We packed our stuff and in a mood of quiet, hungover and increasingly sickly depression left the Land of Rage and Snow behind and headed south to the Land of Non Functioning Public Transit.
On – Hash Plauge – On
-Luarance my Laibia with some contributions from Orgasm Famine
Announcments:
2/27-3/1: Burlington Mardi Gras – More cold, less snow. Probably some glitter.
3/7: Ivy League inter-hash in Boston, details to cum
3/15: Last day to sign up for marathon to be garunteed an amazing give-away
4/14-4/20: BH3 Marathon Week.
4/18: BH3 Marathon Main event – sign up bostonhash.com … There are still scholarships available!
5/15-17: NURD NURD NURD NURD NURD. You know it, you love it. Sign up for that shit.
Sometime in July: Invihash
Sometime in August: GAP
Sometime in Novemember: Sadie
Sometime in Decemeber: Anti Buffet
Sometime next Winter: MOON AWAY 2016!!!
[Appendicks 69]
On the twelth day of moon away my GMs gave to me:
12 rounds of chesty
11 something else
10 deadly plauges
9 mysterious bruises
8 things I forget
7 still don’t remembers
6 missing syllables
5 bags of trash
4 cheese ravioli
3 ... … … man
2 cream cheese bagels
And a Wiki doing a keg stand
[Note: we really did come up with 11, 9, 8 and 7, but I forget them]
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