Monday, February 23, 2015

Teenage Mutant Power Hash!

Teenage Mutant Power Hash!
Hares: Sex the Final Frontier, Dry Hose
Prelube: Washington Square Tavern
On-in: The Last Drop
Pack: Wiki, Bend Over Mommy, Po Po Peep Show, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, Easy to Please, Easy as 123, Black C*ck Down, Vaginacologist, Orgasm Famine, 5 inch penalty, Vagibond, Cum Ear, Just Jeff, Just Dave? Virgin from Switzerland? Port Hole, everyone else I forget.
Bag Car: The lovely Anal Disco

As tends to happen when the hash comes to Brookline hashers entered Washington Square Tavern, took one look around, and said “huh, am I in the right place? This looks a bit too nice for us”. That was especially true this time because roughly half of pack made some level of effort to look like 90’s super heroes. Good job everyone who put in more effort than I did. (zero) I now feel that I have fulfilled my quota of seeing men running around with underwear over running rights for the month. There was a pre-trail brunch contingent who prepared for trail with Boody Mary’s and beermosas while the hares went out to “scout”. Eventually the rest of pack joined us, the hares left for real, and we milled about blocking the door to the bar until Bend Over Mommy and Disco encouraged us to find bag car.

We deposited our bags in disco wagon. Gotta love a car that can be topless. Chalk talk took place in front of Athens Bakery to the disgruntled confusion of my fellow Brookline residents. We introduced ourselves and told each other our favorite 90’s cartoon and who we would bang from it. Marks we might see on trail were drawn out in chalk even though roughly half of trail was marked in flour. Then in an uncommon burst of energy, fueled by the fact that we could actually see the sun for the first time in weeks, we ran off. Trail immediately led across 4 lanes of traffic and 2 train tracks. Good thing Butler was not with us. There was an odd mark that was maybe supposed to be an arrow that had us a bit confused and worried about what was in store for us. (these worries were valid) As we milled around the intersection Sailor Moon appeared! At least think that is who Easy to Please was dressed as? It was a great costume. That leg of trail can be characterized by the old hashing mantra: When in doubt go uphill. We followed trail up the back / side of summit hill, found a hatorade shot check on a snowy path, asked various Brookline residents who were out shoveling if they had seen 2 young men dressed like superhero’s running by, got very lost when 4 marks led down about 40 stairs with no YBF in sight, and eventually found our way up to the first beer check in Summit Ave Park. We admired the view, enjoyed the beer, which included Magic Hat and trader joe’s brand canned offerings, ate the orange food, and played on the playground. Port Hole blew us plenty of bubbles with her superhero bubble gun and then the first snowball fight of the day broke out. Eventually, I ran off fleeing further snow missals in search of marks.

The second part of trail was marked almost entirely in rust colored chalk so it’s a good thing we told the visitors and virgin to just follow the rest of us drunken wankers. We ran down Summit Ave towards Comm Ave, apparently I missed a dick check laid in the street as I tried to navigate a sidewalk. That was about the last time I chose the sidewalk over the street for the day. We ran through a parking lot and down Comm Ave to the intersection by Harry’s where we crossed 6 lanes of traffic and 2 train tracks. As we ran the next stretch of trail we found an SC and dutifully searched for shots before realizing the hares mixed up shot check and Song check so we sang about our girl the vegetable and ran off to get briefly lost around Brighton high school before we found a path up to a park and hares sitting with beer! BC #2 was really just one giant snowball fight where I tried in vain to peacefully build a mini snowman and balance it on my cranium but got pelted with snow instead. Thank you Blackie. Eventually I downed my beer and fled the scene of the snowball fight to search for trail once more.

The third leg of trail was punctuated by frequent hatorade checks, (yes for real this time) but they didn’t really taste like there was actual booze in them. Pack felt very well hydrated as we navigated the neighborhood streets of Brighton and ran past a house where 5 inch proclaimed he had lost his virginity. There was a park where we followed a narrow track of packed down snow and attempts to deviate from said path led to falling down (Bouy’s) I think there was a song check and a tit check in there somewhere. There must have been a dick check as well because I do remember seeing a dick. Somewhere in there I figured out we were likely ending at the Last Drop in Oak Square so I began disregarding marks and running straight down Washington Street to the bar. I was right! When I got there Disco handed me her keys (bold move), I gathered pack on their way in, found her car, climbed over/through a snow bank to get to it, and we were rewarded for bringing in our possessions with pitchers of beer!

Warning: I may have been a bit drunk for circle. Someone evil bought me a fireball shot and I decided to beer bitch so I kept drinking the beer as I passed out it out to everyone else. Don't trust my account. (if you ever do)

We sang in our hares, yelled at them for all the shit they did on trail, they drank away their sins, and we began accusing people of things including: wearing costumes, not wearing costumes, FRB, FBI, DFL, backsliders, there must have been more but I forget. The virgin was called into circle and Bend Over Mommy acted as dementress. Someone asked what kind of ski slope he was but he didn’t seem to understand so pack declared him back woods. I am not sure how he felt about all you can eat for under a dollar. 5 inch asked him if he would press his sisters button to get her to stop flirting with her brother. He definitely would. His sponsor, Just Dave?, demonstrated a down-down, which he remembered how to do even though the only hashes he attended were last summer. The Virgin performed his own down-down and pack grudgingly accepted him. There might have been more that happened in circle. I don’t remember any of it so it must not have been that important. We swang low. I messed up all the hand motions. We ate pizza!

On-Sunshine and slush puddles-On

-Orgasm Famine

Announcements shamelessly stolen from the moon trash:
2/27-3/1: Burlington Mardi Gras – More cold, less snow. Probably some glitter.
3/1: BH3 Trail
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 … There are still scholarships available!
5/15-17: NURD NURD NURD NURD NURD. You know it, you love it. Sign up for that shit.

Saturday, February 21, 2015

Moon Away 2015 - Land of Rage and Snow

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.


                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.


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})].



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


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 … 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]

Monday, February 9, 2015

Mary Queen of Scots Hash Trash

Hash Trash
Trail: The Mary Queen of Scotts Trail
Hare: Yankee
Prelube and surprise(!) On-in: Rice Post
Bag Car/pizza and beer unicorn: Wiki
Pack: Foreskin abortion, Dry hose, Sex the final frontier, Goat Throat, Orgasm Famine, Butler, Gator 
BH3 I am disappointed in you. This trail happened in balmy 69 degree weather with nary a cloud in the sky, on a football-less Sunday the night after a wine party. Why pack consisted of such a pathetic handful of us continues to confound me. All I can say is everyone who didn’t make it to Dorchester are a bunch of wankers. 
The somewhat snow infested red line did not make too many troublesome noises as I rode our illustrious transport system to JFK. When I got to Rice Post, our distinguished destination for the day, I was thankful to Yankee for arrows to help me overcome my hesitation to enter an establishment where the doors are locked and a buzzer must be rung to get in. Since I was running fashionably late I was greeted by pack who informed me that I had brought up our collective vagina quotient by 1069 percent. Yes this hash trash is written by the sole, lonely, and sober harriette for the day. 
We stuck around for a bit, befriended the bartender, and most everybody drank enough beer to fend off the cold, slush, and snow we knew lurked in our future. Yankee departed with a bag of yellow flour at some point and we bid our friendly bartender farewell not too long after. Bags were deposited in Wiki’s car and Goat led a quick abbreviated chalk talk where we introduced ourselves, but due to a lack of flour pack was left to figure out marks on their own. Upon our departure we lost trail almost immediately due to the hazards of yellow chalk. The list of things that can be mistaken for yellow marks in the snow includes yellow sidewalk crossings, dog pee, and human pee. This issue remained salient throughout trail.  Pack ran through the snow at speeds sure to instill fear in the heart of any hare. A few blocks in experienced hashers began to notice some similarities between this trail and past Yankee trails, which meant we knew to look forward to a quick off-road trek that, at this time of year meant snow up to our knees. Not long after that we found our esteemed hare standing next to a familiar looking park, clutching a bottle of whisky. He informed us this was the beer check but the beer had yet to arrive so we should drink the whiskey he happened to have on him to fend off hare snares. After everyone else had time for a few sips, a pink unicorn appeared with a box of Sam Adams Cold Snap. I thought this was a remarkably fitting and decent beer for the setting, but Butler seemed rather disgusted with the pink unicorn’s offering. Despite the grumbling pack drank, the hare departed in a flurry of yellow flour, Wiki gathered the bottles, and we ran on. Roughly two blocks later we found the hare yet again and he informed us that he was giving us the bottle of whisky to finish, he was low on flour, and the on-in was Rice-Post. (surprise!) We passed around the bottle for a decent amount of time, men took the opportunity to decorate the snow with more yellow marks, and around the time everyone started getting cold we ran off. It was at this point we slowly realized that Yankee had not been lying (as hares are wont to do) when he said he was out of flour and on-in was Rice-Post. We searched in vain for marks, came up empty handed, and followed our pink unicorn into a pizza place where we waited for our pizza in warmth and passed around bottles of Cold Snap craftily hidden in glove cozies. We were about as good at hiding our beer as you would expect drunken hashers hiding out from the cold in a pizza place in Dorchester to be. When the laughing pizza proprietors handed over the goods we trudged the few blocks back to Rice Post, left what remained of the whisky in the snow bank outside, (did anyone pick that up on the way out or should we return for it in spring?) and joyously returned to our bartender friend. 
After we produced beer we sang Yankee into circle, commented on our short, drunken, yellow trail and Yankee led us in a rousing round of friggen in the riggen. Goat RA’ed because apparently he and Krusty rub off on each other? There were some accusations. Even though I was sober I don’t remember what they were, but I do know that Dry Hose and Sex the Final frontier ended up in circle for various offenses and were instructed to stand ass to ass, reach one hand through their legs, clasp hands and perform their down downs in this position. It took them 2 down down songs before they got it right and I now have a whole new image in my brain for the term ass to ass. Circle wrapped up rather quickly with hash religion and we inhaled pizza, drank more beer, and hung out with the 1 or 2 locals who had braved the storm. When I departed Billy told me to keep the boys out of trouble and I expressed my doubts about my ability to do so but promised to try my best.

On- Why did you make me hash all alone?-On

-Orgasm Famine


2/13-3/15 Moon Away
2/15, 2:30HST -  BH3 Herding Cats Hash, Prelube Baracuda Tavern
2/18: Marathon Plan meeting! Open to all Hashers! Come if you want to help with marathon (or if you want to drink and watch us plan for the BEST BH3 MARATHON MAIN EVENT of 2015)
Sometime in March: Ivy League Interhash in Boston
3/15: Last day to register for marathon to be garunteed an amazing giveaway!
4/18 Have you chosen your Disney Princess for Marathon?

Monday, February 2, 2015

256th Annual Robbie Burns Day Trail - Sunday January 25, 2015

Hares: +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare)
Bag Car (aka: haggis car): Sex, The Final Frontier
Start:  Stoddard's, 48 Temple PlBoston
Whiskey Check: by the Robbie Burns statue in downtown Boston, of course
Beer Check: crazy as it seems, in the new North End apartment of 2 hares
On-in (this was reportedly a last minute substitution): Biddy Early’s Pub, Boston
Time:  2:30 p.m. HST (pack away around 3:30-ish)
Total Distance:  about 3 miles walking … the rest of the pack ran around a bit more (they beat the walkers to the checks and on-in, so trail was relatively short)
Scribe: Cums Alone
Weather: cold … maybe in the 20s, cloudy

Promises from the hares: some [very] good scotch whiskey, some okay-ish scotch whiskey, scotch eggs, scotch tape, scotch guard, scotch haggis, scotch pizza, scotch H3 markings, and AN ALL NEW NEVER-BEFORE-USED ON-IN!

Hashers Present (if this is off, blame Wiki, he gave me the list): +2 coonass (hare), Dribbles (hare), yellow dick gnome (hare), Sex, The Final Frontier (bag car),Wikipedophilia, ski bobbit, jello wrecked 'em, popo peep show,fellowship of the cock ring, orgasmn falmon, 5 inch penalty, blowbot, twat my mom, willy wonka and the backdoor factory, necropheliac jack, bum fucking vagabond, friar fuck, goes down on buoys, grease my monkey’s nuts, no man on the moon, mudslut, luvalamp, E=Iamdouche, cums alone, krusty the meat miser, easy to please, stuff that reich now (he has a new name Wiki doesn’t remember  … maybe One Dry Hose,  since I have that name written in my notes??), bloody slip inside, velvet pelvis, just bryan (later named foreskin abortion), blondie mc fucksalot, he's gone gaywol, queer and foaming in my anus … and others

Virgin:  Joe or John?? (I have “John”, Wiki has “Joe”, so I’ll alternate)

Late Cummers: none (at least I don’t think so)

The Start and the Run:
The pack prelubed at Stoddard's and eventually gathered outside.  Krusty and Bloody Slip explained the trail and marks. They said trail was in honor of a wonderful man they know nothing about.  Marks were pretty standard, except for the flying dick check (I have no idea what that was!). There was to be a shot check and a beer check.  I was with the walkers. It was a relatively short distance to the shot check; we arrived after the pack, so their trail must have been pretty reasonable, as well. There were 2 choices of scotch: Johnny Walker Red and some real scotch from (where else?) Scotland.

After the shot check, trail led toward Faneuil Hall.  The hares entrusted the remaining scotch to Virgin John, since he looked to be the most trustworthy (Necropheliac Jack relieved Virgin Joe of the responsibility, and the bottles were passed around among the walkers). We trudged on toward the North End, with the pack passing us once or twice on the way.

The Beer Check was on a side street in the North End, at Yellow Dick Gnome’s and +2 Coonass’ brand new abode … a 4th floor walk up, that they’d moved into less than a week ago (but you couldn’t tell by looking around).  The pack drank most of the remaining scotch, along with the beer that was provided.

From the beer check in the North End, it was a direct trail to the on-in at Biddy Early’s Pub in the Financial District.

The on in:

Bloody Slip Inside and mudslut?? were co-RAs, with some additional help from Krusty – again needed due to the boisterous pack. Note: Wiki blocked my view of the circle so all of this is sketchy.  The hares were ushered into the circle for the usual abuse.

Comments included: Not enough bananas (there were dozens smashed on the sidewalk around the Robbie Burns statue), Not enough tourists said Wiki had a p*nis on his head, not enough black ice, not enough top floor parties, is the flesh colored chalk made of people?, BS that this is a never before on-in, etc.

The hares recited a Robbie Burns poem of some sort, which no one could understand due to the brogue. They did their down down and were banished from the circle.


Yellow Dick Gnome and Bum F-ing Vagabond demented Virgin John. 
Ski Bobbitt made virgin John come, and Virgin Joe can’t wait to go down on Ski. If Virgin J was a ski slope he’d be a double black diamond. And Virgin John let the pack know that Ski’s is only 2.5 centimeters when it’s not inflated.

Just Brian was overdue for a name. He had been holding back on any good stories to provide fodder for a hash name, but that didn’t stop the pack.  There was some rumbling about his circumcision gone wrong.  Names that were proposed included:  Back off My foreskin, Baby Fighting Cock, Steel Clap Trap, Failed Cock, Left Dick Fighter.  The name that was chosen by popular acclaim:  Foreskin Abortion (proposed by Friar F)

Accusations, etc.:
*birthdays - several, didn’t get the names (the bar was small and, again, my view was blocked)
* All kilt wearers were given a down down
* backsliders
* sweat test failure – Luva Lamp
* Same Shirts
* FRB, FBI, DFL etc.

We did hash religion. And then we had lots of pizza, and plenty of haggis to put on top.

--- Cums Alone, scribe

Upcumming Events:

St. Patrick’s Day Hash
Nor’easter/blizzard hash on Tuesday
February 21 – 25th annual X-C ski hash in Rumney NH
April 19th 2015 Marathon