Monday, October 29, 2018

A very spoopy Halloweekend hash

What: A very spoopy Halloweekend hash
Hares: Buttler and ghost
Bag car: Also ghost
Pack: Sex: The Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, O'Boner, Just Django, Cuntcussion, Fellowship of the Cock Ring, PoPo Peepshow, Bottom Wrangler, Testicular Mechanics, Waxxx Off, Whores Box, Friar Fuck, Just Joshua, and a surprise appearance by Not Dead Yet

I got to Davis late and immediately crossed paths with Buttler, who was gimping around the street with his cane, laying marks. I believe this to be a new record for the earliest Buttler has been gay at one of his own trails. All I'm saying is, the fact that he has to use a cane isn't all bad.

When I got to Sligo, I was immediately greeted by the sight of STFF in full r*cist regalia from the race he'd run that morning, including a bib and finisher's medal. He told me that Whore's Box -- who had also run the race that morning -- had suggested that they wear their hardware to the hash; however, it turned out to be a long con, as she showed up in normal non-r*cist attire.

Before long, we finished our beers and headed to chalk talk in a parking lot near Sligo -- a location that was about to become intimately familiar to us. We shared our names and our ideas for the spookiest hash (answers I remember: being on a Wiki trail, being on a trail with Bottom Wrangler, a trail that doesn't cure your hangover, being put on the spot in chalk talk and not having an answer ready). Shits also told us that Buttler had warmed him that there would be an unusual mark, but Shits couldn't remember what the mark actually was or how it worked. Awesome! Well prepared as always, we began trail.

We did the monster mash
Trail looped through Davis and back around the block, ending up with us almost exactly where we had started, but with the addition of a big bag of wine right across the street from the Discodome. We yelled in the general direction of Disco's window until she came out to join us, carrying a mug of tea. I swear I don't even know who she is any more.

Given the small size of pack and the large size of the baggo, our progress was very slow. Eventually the parents in the playground immediately next to us started giving us side-eye, so we thought it best to move on. We stashed the rest of the baggo in bag car -- which hadn't moved -- and then followed the true trail mark across the street. 

We ran through the side streets around Davis, admiring the houses that had actually put effort into their Halloween decorations, when we happened upon a slightly drunk Not Dead Yet taking clean laundry out of her car! She was wearing flats and had been planning on getting food to offset her drunkenness, but we were able to talk her out of that practical decision almost immediately, and she joined us on trail.

We continued meandering through the streets, stopping for a view check in front of what used to be the house Easy had lived in, though now it's just a big hole in the ground. There was a smart/stupid that directed us underground through the Davis station or aboveground through the square; after a quick journey on to the bikeway, we took a couple rights and suddenly found ourselves back in the parking lot where we had started for the first beer check.

It was a graveyard smash
We again yelled for Disco and, again, she came out and joined us. We drank cold beer and speculated about whether all of the beer checks on trail would be in the same parking lot. Buttler hobbled off again, and we speculated on whether we would be doing him a favor if we snared him and then took over laying trail for him.

After we did damage to the beer and the giant baggo, we craniumed out on a scenic tour through Somerville, including a view check for the largest tree in Somerville ("big wood," as someone so cleverly quipped).

Trail took us back to the Alewife bikeway, where we found the mark that Shits had forgotten to explain to us: an eagle/false split. The bikeway was fenced off for construction, and eagle trail continued over the fence and beyond, speculating wonder as to how our crippled hare was able to lay it. As a less-than-proficient fence jumper, I turned around and headed back to the nearest check. We soon met up with the eagles and then with the hare, for a second beer check next to the bikeway in a construction zone.

At the beer check, we proceeded to make the dumbest possible decisions; after several harriettes (YHS included) squeezed through a gap in the chained fence to find a corner to pee in, O'Boner marched up to the fence and showed us that the chain was not actually fastened to anything, and that the gate could be readily opened. Some other smartass pointed out that there was a port-a-potty just down the street. But as Wiki will tell you, I never pee in a port-a-potty when there's a dumpster nearby, so #noragrets.

It caught on in a flash
We were completely clueless and bewildered as to where trail could end. Just kidding; it went to the Buttler pad. 

We circled in Buttler's backyard/Django's bathroom, trying not to wonder too much about whether *all* of the brown stuff getting on our shoes was just mud. We fucked up several songs and changed some songs to other songs halfway through. We accused the r*cists in our midst of being r*cist, gave an honor down-down to NDY for joining us mid-trail, accused everyone who's ever had a boner (or a lady-boner) at trail (I am not sure why, but it made sense at the time), accused anyone who didn't wear a costume to a Halloweekend trail, and other stuff that I forget. We attempted to put the baggo out of its misery but, despite a lot of heavy lifting by Shits, were not successful.

Then, after failed attempts to cut hash religion short, we adjourned to go inside the house, where we watched pizza porn (why? I don't know!) and Buttler made us steak tips and potatoes. All in all, it was a successful hash.


Tuesday, October 23, 2018

*8 bit trail hash trash*

*8 bit trail hash trash*

Prelube was at Versus bar,  ostensibly an arcade-bar operation. I wouldn't know for sure as I plopped myself down at the "bar" part which presented itself immediately upon entrance, and never saw any arcade games. I had some beer and ate some fried Mac and cheese bites while I waited for trail to start.
We circled up and did chalk talk.
Hares: Quarter mile Queer, Bottom Wrangler. Bagcar: The Buttler Hit It. Pack: 
Shits & Ladders, Body in Lotion, Popo Peepshow, Stick it to the Brothers, Mr Bean, Just Wes, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory, Testicular Mechanics, Dry Hoes, Just John, Just Josh, Sex The Final Frontier, Fellowship of the Cockring, Virgin Caroline, 2 other virgins who would ultimately not complete trail (RIP), others maybe

Leg 1:To start, trail cut across the Boston Common to Beacon Street.. We hit a checkback at Beacon and Charles Street before heading up into the Beacon Hill area. Trail eventually came out to the river and we ran North til we got to the first beer check at Lederman Park.

BC1: One of the virgins, let's call her virgin Caroline because that's her name, informed us that barnacles have the greatest penis to body size ratio in the animal kingdom. Er smallest ratio? I'm not a math scientist. The one that means they have huge dicks for their body size anyway (Cum-Ear - can you confirm if true?). Sex the Final Frontier quipped that it was not the barnacle, but in fact himself that had the best ratio. It was postulated that on in would be Courtside, but the cagey hares would neither confirm nor deny this. It was cold and windy by the river. The hares eventually left.

Leg 2:
We crossed the river by the Museum of Science, and soon there was a turkey-eagle split, which lasted for a while. The larger group (eagles) began wondering if trail had rejoined itself yet. We finally found a rejoining mark and saw the turkeys in front of us. Shortly therafter, Sex the Final Frontier snared the hares, details as follows: "I followed turkey trail, saw the hares kitty-cornered, yelled "ON HARES".  QMQ took off and Wrangler attempted to eevade[sic] me wiht[sic] a hastily drawn tit check that looked more like a Venn diagram showing 2 boobs intersecting." Wow. A thrilling account. Incredible. We stopped and sang for a while while we waited for the hares to put some distance between themselves and pack. We all apparently used to work in retail in a city in the Midwest. (actually I didn't, but I wanted to fit in so I pretended like I did for the song. like 98% sure the rest of these people know each other from someplace they used to work before all getting fired for various reasons though, most of them lewd). We started running and before long were at 

Beer check 2, Donnelly field in East Cambridge. We watched Buttler drive up and down the street for a bit, then he parked and we drank the PBR from his car.
Dry Hose encouraged pack to put on their beer jackets by drinking more, since he had learned somehow that on-in would be outside. There was much disappointment at not going to Courtside. Some of us briefly considering mutinee-ing and going there anyway, but cooler heads prevailed. We talked about how alcohol makes you feel warmer while actually bringing your core temperature down, but how it probably wasn't cold enough for anyone to actually get hypothermia. It was decided that drinking more was indeed the safest/best course of action.

Leg 3:
The next leg of trail was fairly uneventful, or not, I don't know I was in the back walking and drinking a beer I had tucked into my sleeve. Pack stayed comfortably within range while Dry Hose and I walked and drank and saw silly front runners get fish hooked back to the back of pack. We headed South past Mass Ave.

On in
was Fort Point park. We hung around for a little waiting for bagcar, or something. I attempted to mount one of the cannons in the park to sit on it and overlook the park, but fell off the side. Luckily no one saw. I then re-mounted it better. Pizza got there and we began a long pizza and beer filled circle. Comments included that it was the ok-est trail of the year, and that the hares had achieved a rare 5 out of 7 trail.  We called in FRB (STFF), FBI (Popo), backsliders (Stick it to the Brothers). Accusations included the hares for getting snared, and Wonka for moving back to Boston. We accused those who didn't wear enough clothes to the cold trail. We honor down-downed Virgin Caroline for not dying or leaving during trail, like the other 2 virgins we had started with. We accused Stick it to the Brothers of not hashing since the Nixon administration. We accused Testicular Mechanics of actually dressing properly for trail, both in terms of warmth and theme, which are both very out of character for him. Other accusations were made. At some point we were done with both the normal and ridiculous accusations, so we moved on to the preposterous accusations. QMQ was re-j'accused of stupid stuff he did many trails ago, because why not. Buttler was honored for giving up with much grace on a song that he unsuccessfully attempted. We all agreed that a Wiki attempt to stumble through it would have gone more poorly. We eventually got to hash religion and did the "ah fuck it" version. 

We then took a road soda-ey walk over to another arcade bar around Central, where we drank more and fed the broken Mario Kart clone too many tokens that it never registered.



Thursday, October 11, 2018

10/10 Trash

What: The 10/10 trail
When: see above
Hares: Blondie McFucksalot and Cuntcussion
Bag car: Marbleous Asshole
Pack: Bottom Wrangler, Gnome, STFF, Shits, Five Inch, Easy as 123, Vaginacologist, Sketchy, Gimp, Shits, Dribbles, Dry Hose, Topless Barbie, Testicular Mechanics, Knuckles Deep, Tinder Dick, Bodies in Lotion, Spank Me, Cummysticks, Luva Lamp, Sweagle, Chunderellie, Falmon, Goat, a visitor (who will be here for AGM too!), Just Ruth, Just Jimmy**, a couple virgins

Trail got off to a promising start when it was found that the announced start location was, in fact, closed. (Blondie swears she called the venue earlier in the week and they said they'd be open -- like that stops us from blaming the hares.) Instead, we crammed our loud, strangely dressed selves into Hopsters, where we continued the longstanding tradition of getting in the way of waitstaff and annoying other patrons.

Leg 1: A seal of approval

Eventually, we decided to GTFO and look for more beer. Trail got off to a strong start, with a long checkback toward South Station; after we ran back, we found that trail went over the bridge toward the Financial District. 

We ran along the Greenway and the Harborwalk for a while; the hares seemed to have a loose understanding of arrows and/or directions, but fortunately there are only so many directions trail could plausibly go when the ocean is on one side of you. 

There was a song check next to the seals -- we tried and failed to think of a seal-related song or a song that was even tangentially related (ocean creatures, penguins, tuxedos??). We kept going and eventually found the first beer check, which was on a pier, with the smell of Buttler (who had hobbled to to the BC) wafting through the air...

Leg 2: Who let the dogs out?!

Trail turned and went in to the North End, where we proceeded to piss off the locals in about every way imaginable. An older woman yelled at us because she was walking on the sidewalk and we kept running around her, I guess...? Seems like she was confused about the function of sidewalks.

Trail went uphill, obviously, until we found a check at the very top of the hill. We checked every direction -- or so we thought -- and finally realized that trail actually went down some stairs and through (dun dun dun) a DOG PARK.

I was not a frontrunner at this point, but from what I understand, hashers going through the dog park messed up the double-gate system somehow, and someone's dog made a run for it. Apparently STFF ultimately caught the dog before it managed to run into any intersections. By the time I arrived at the dog park, there were just a lot of angry dog owners yelling about how totally inappropriate our behavior was. (And I mean, in this case, they probably weren't wrong...)

I didn't feel like getting yelled at, so I ran around the dog park and rejoined pack. There was a shot check next to the skating rink (something with cranberry juice, I think?) and then another long checkback, this time across the bridge. Trail actually went across the locks and to a beer check at a playground in North Point Park, where thankfully there were no children for us to accidentally set loose.

Leg 3: You're the only 10 I see

We felt pretty confident about where trail was ending, and craniumed in the general direction of Courtside, where -- gasp! -- we saw familiar chalk marks outside.


We were provided with the finest of beers and began circle. Buttler, who is impressively dedicated to being Beer Bitch, limped around with pitchers to ensure no one went thirsty. We did the usual circle shit, got some visitors to sing us songs, called in backsliders, yadda yadda.

**Finally, after much deliberation, the RAs brought Just Jimmy into circle. It turns out that he's been c*ming to Boston hashes for a year and we haven't made it official yet. This makes since, given our collective fear of commitment, but we decided it was time to right that wrong. 

We asked for his most embarrassing sexual moment -- he told a story involving coitus-temporarily-interruptus in the backseat -- and somehow, we also found that he had gone to some weird sex event in New York with his girlfriend and her friend, and both the ladies had brought dildos, but not to use on themselves or each other...

We pondered several names, but when someone suggested Strap On, Strap Off, it was a clear winner. And thus, Just Jimmy is no more, and we have our newest named hasher.


10/13 -- AGM! Show up to tell Marbles and Falmon what a shitty job they've done all year.
10/14 -- AGM Fat Boy. Put your life in the hands of the new idiots who agreed to run this thing.
10/27 -- E4B in Beverly
December -- Antibuffet! Sign up! It's a fun time.


Another Hash Crash (10/10 trash version 2)

Shart and I independently trashed it up.  Here's my account since you don't have to work or anything today. Some overlap, some differences, Flyby video showing Shits' bad zenning, and dog park shenanigans to be posted to the Book of Visages soon.

Oct 10, 2018 The Perfect 10 Trail (OMG, I just got this!)
Hares: Blondie McFucksalot and Cuntcussion
Bag car: Marbelous Asshole
Pack: RAs Yellow Dick Gnome, Bottom Wrangler/Ass Cowboy, Sex: The Final Frontier, Dribbles, Knuckles Deep, Testicular Mechanics, Shits ‘N Ladders, Shart of Darkness, Dry Hoes, Dribbles, Just Ruth, Just Jimmy*, Just Sarah-Claire, TindrDick, Spank Me May I Have My Mother, Twat My Mother, Swedish Eagle, Vaginacolagist now from Sacramento, Visitor from DC, Topless Barbie, 5 Inch Penalty, Cummy Sticks, Virgin Chris, Virgin (James?), Orgasm Falmon, Body in Lotion, Bring Out Your Gimp, Easy as 123, Chunderelli Chunderelli, Angry Crotch, Luva Lamp, Goat Throat, Angry Dog Owners, STF: Clit Notes.  (Like 3 others I can’t name).
Prelube and Leg 1: The Harborwalk
We started at Cisco Brewery, Hopsters because Cisco was a brewery with no beer because our hare is evidently such a millennial that she tweets @a bar rather than calling them.  Gnome and Wrangler gave chalk talk to the 2 virgins and we were off.  No marks to be found after check, but 5 Inch arrived late and reported seeing marks over the Seaport Blvd bridge via accidentally scouting on his way to prelube. Down the gracious Greenway we ran until finding a mark pointing across the street.  We were about to follow it when we spotted a Song Check that would only make sense if the mark was ignored.  Pack (and especially Gimp) looked further down the Greenway, but 5 Inch followed his nose to a Hash Sitapede hidden on the far side of construction with nary a mark to it.  From here, trail when along the Harborwalk before needing to sing a song to the fishes, which Falmon cut to Why Were They Born So Beautiful? .  BN led to BC1 in Pilot House Park.
Leg 2: We Let the Dogs Out
Trail immediately went uphill and into the dense narrow streets of the North End, where trail kept getting solved at record pace.  A check at the top of Copps Hill seemed unsolvable because no one would venture downhill toward the way we came, but when someone finally did, we found ourselves dashing through a dog park and basically freeing all the enslaved dogs from the fenced yard.  One dog in particular made the most spirited dash for freedom since Mel Gibson’s run across Bannockburn.  I put myself in an all-out sprint ahead of the owner and caught the jailbird.  I apologized profusely.  The muggles’ only exasperated cry was, “Use common fucking sense.”  I replied that such was a faculty we did not have and sprinted off to catch up with pack.  Through the Charlestown locks we went, waiting for a tit check (though trail was arguably solved).  We emerged at Paul Revere Park and has a song check under the Zakim, before BC2 at North Point Park.
Leg 3: On-In probably begins with “C” and rhymes with “Shortside”
With strong inclinations towards an ON-IN, we headed down Cambridge St.  Those of us following trail had a minor detour via Otis while Gimp and Gnome zenned to Courtside.  Shits also attempted to zen, but promptly went the wrong way by a mile.

Visitors were called in.  Crimes against caninity were called in, to be met with multiple rounds of Bestiality’s Best (Boys!).  Virgins were demented.  We asked the conditions of their ski slopes.  Wrangler gave a Faulknerian level of backstory to asking a Virgin about his Uncle Jacking off a Horse (he would!).  The virgins couldn’t find the dollar menu or do math.  We rejected them for being unacceptable, but we took them anyway.  Just Jimmy, who had been c*ming for a year but with the consistency of Bob Dole’s pre-viagra erections, had not been named.  His most embarrassing sexual story involved keeping a cop away from his automotive tryst through a Titanic-like hand print on the window fog (“My C*m Will Go On”, I screamed.) allowed him to finish.  Another story revealed that Just Jimmy had gone to a kink convention in some unlikely place like (C)Rochester and was doubly penetrated by his 2 girlfriends with strap-ons.  He was thusly christened Strap-On Strap-Off and we never heard from him again.  Clit Notes was called in for a sweat test failure.  We swung low and Courtside pizza was served.

-Sex: TFF