Sunday Slutty Sunday

Hash Trash 11/13/22: Sunday Slutty Sunday

Hare: Mudslut
Bag Car: Spunk in the Trunk
Pack: Blue Balls Matter, C*ntcussion, Fellowship of the Cockring, Frosty the F*ckman, Full Frontal Fireball, Just Enzo, NAMBLA (Normal American Making Beer and Loving Ass), Oral Instructor, Orgasm famine, Popo Peepshow, Shits and Ladders, Slothy Seconds, Strap On Strap Off, Swedish Eagle, Triceratopped

There were several factors conspiring against this trail. Originally scheduled as the divorce trail, those hares didn’t follow through on their commitment (which probably should not have been a surprise). 

Then, Spunk in the Trunk, our bag car, got a flat tire 2 hours before trail. Thanks to the miracles of AAA and Mudslut drunkenly agreeing to hare, trail came together.

Mudslut wrote lots of cute little notes to the pack. Everyone thought this was a huge flex that she is fast enough to have the spare time to write these, a notion which was only somewhat undercut by the fact that she got snared twice. For her part, Mudslut was disappointed not to be pantsed. She also fed us Jell-O shots that were almost certainly congealed cough syrup.

Goat Throat kept finding large appliances and giving me rides on them. Any lawn mower is a riding lawn mower if you’re brave enough! The vacuum made a horrible scraping sound on the sidewalk and the mower was kind of scary, but how good of a ride should I have expected from Goat?

NAMBLA (officially a transplant) stopped mid-trail to get donuts, the only kind of nut he’ll be sharing with anyone else. Fellowship was also in a sharing mood, flashing muggles twice on trail. Shits and Ladders accused people of not dressing in the slutty theme with him, believing himself to be in theme because he was wearing shorts, which were not even the shortest shorts he owns.

In the “what does that mean?” category, Sweagle taught us what a Zoidberg is via live demo. If you don’t know, I recommend not attempting it with two people with a heigh difference of >1 foot between them. Asked to provide a one-word reason for backsliding, Frosty the F*ckman said, “porcupine,” which is the new “rosebud.”

On - more stuff might have happened but my fingers got cold and I stopped taking notes - On,
Slothy Seconds

Spooky ShIt Trail

Hash Trash: 10/30/22 Spooky Shit Trail

Hares: Taco on a Tacos, Shits and Ladders*
Bagcar: The Buttler is a Patriot
Pack: Angry Crotch*, Beeeestiality B4 Skeletons, Cookies for NoCostume*, Devil Sissy Hands, Devilgasm Famine, Father Rodgers, Fellowship of the Gladiator, Golden Snitches Matter, Mudcorset, NAMBLA (Naughty Aroused Mouse Briskly Looking for Alcohol), O’Bone’Ren Faire, Popo Baconshow, Princess Luva Lamp, Slothy Mike Wizowski, Testicular Slothcanics, Wikibunnyphilia

The hares took the well-costumed pack (*shame on the non-costume wearers) on a tour of Halloween décor around the city. This tour is also known as the Freedom Trail. It was very well-marked in red brick. Shits and Ladders left his phone at the start (by my count, this is the second time this year he’s lost his phone while haring), both hares left nearly full beers at the first beer stop, and several of their drink stops stank in the olfactory sense.

There was an orange jelloshot check that just absolutely did not look right to me, although everyone said it was good. The hares later revealed that the shots had been layered like candy corn before they ran with them and I just want to say I freaking KNEW the essence of evil was with those shots.

Blue Balls Matter shared her location to various groups so that latecomers could find the pack, and then promptly ditched the pack to spend like 20 minutes in pursuit of Starbucks. Somehow both Cookies for Nookie and Mudslut found us late, regardless, both with questionable sartorial choices. Mudslut was wearing a corset she found on the ground, and Cookies for Nookie required us to make a human wall so she could change her pants without exposing herself to children.

Some evangelical dude with a microphone in Boston Common had words of praise for Mr. Rodgers, who was dressed a little too convincingly as a priest. But he admonished Edward Sissy Hands to “take off your horns, man.” More supportive of us was the security guard at the first beer check, who was easily bought off by us sharing our snacks with him.

The trail description said to come dressed as “your deepest fear or your heart’s desire,” and Testicular Mechanics came dressed as a sloth (which is it???). Angry Crotch showed up in a pantsuit which was her actual conference attire, and everyone thought it looked like a costume, which feels like some kind of sad commentary on how we view professional women in 2022.

At the end circle there was a concrete wall spraypainted with “Wiki Leaks,” which Wiki described as “my own private urinal.” On this note, the pack migrated to our own private karaoke bar, where Shits and Ladders tested the hypothesis that the instrumental break in Total Eclipse of the Heart is long enough to leave the stage to get a beer (it isn’t).

On – your deepest fear AND heart’s desire – On,
Slothy Seconds

C*ntcussion’s Bday Trail

Hash Trash 10/12/22 C*ntcussion’s Bday Trail

Hare: C*ntcussion
Bag Car: Tacos on a Bridge
Virgins: Kevin and Yang
Visitor: Backdoor Steward
Pack: Beeeestiality Before Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Bodies in Lotion, Bring Out the Gimp, Cookies for Nookie, Chunderellie Chunderellie, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Extra Terresticle, Fellowship of the Cockring, Full Frontal Fireball, Goat Throat, Holy Dumpster Fire, Luva Lamp, Mudslut, No Man on the Moon, Mr. Rogers, O’bone’R, Oral Instructor, Orgasm Famine, Popo Peepshow, Puker Blooper, Sex: The Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, Sketchy Ho, Slothy Seconds, Spunk in the Trunk, Strap On Strap Off, Swedish Eagle, The Buttler Hit It, The Testicular Mechanics, Topless Barbie, Triceratopped, Wikipedophilia

C*ntcussion used her birthday trail to prove she can make a lot of people cum - at least 38, by my count. She truly fucked us with a YBF and led us on a bit of a death march at the end but rewarded the people who made it to circle* with an apple tart. There was a lot of stretching at the beer checks; apparently bag car is providing eye candy in addition to orange food these days. As bag car, Tacos on a Bridge was slapping people’s hands away from the Oreos at the beer checks, only to later be heard begging people to eat them “for the love of God” at end circle.

*Not everyone made it to the end - RIP to Cookies for Nookie who left during the first beer check and missed out on the many calls to accuse her of r*cist behavior for running her first half last weekend. Mudslut ran her first full, and a bunch of clowns either just ran or were about to run ultras (and at time of press they have done that. Clowns, the lot of them).

Topless Barbie accused Extra Terresticle of knocking her up! He counter-accused her of pulling the goalie. I can’t wait to welcome little Topless Terresticle!

Luva Lamp falsely accused Oral Instructor of being a massive backslider, even though she’d been out 2 weeks ago. But before THAT it had been 10 years! What she really should be called out for wasn’t revealed until after circle: this trail was her very first time ever drinking Bud Light. And on Wednesday BH3 said, “Let there be (Bud) light!”

Lots of folks were accused (accurately) of backsliding because they’d been away at Oktoberfest. Shits and Ladders introduced a well-received, relevant song that started with yelling “Hitler,” and I just gotta give props cause that’s a hard thing to pull off.

We had two well-prepped virgins. Virgin Kevin said the alcohol he no longer drinks currently is Vodka. Why? “Because I ran out!” Virgin Yang (pronounced “young” and yes, there were young virgin jokes) no longer drinks Jack Daniel’s because she got hospitalized on it at 17, though she didn’t even get a stomach pump out of it (Bring Out the Gimp wanted to name her Too Drunk To Pump on the spot). She claimed that her favorite animal, fish, do not cum, but really proved her mettle with her demo that what doesn’t go in you goes on you by dumping a lot of beer on herself. In a break from tradition, the virgins were deemed acceptable!

There were a lot of announcements and no one knew the dates of their own events. So I guess just go out and drink whenever you like.

Hotter Than Hell Trail 2022

Hash Trash: 8/24/22 Hotter Than Hell Trail

Hare: Swedish Eagle
Bag Car: C*ntcussion
Visitors: Jizzy Gillespie and Johnny Dildonics
Pack: Angry Crotch, Blondie McF*cksalot, Beeeestiality Before Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Clit Notes, Cookies for Nookie, C*ms Like Clockwork, DJ GagZZ, Fellowship of the Cockring, Fischstick, Goat Throat, Frosty the F*ckman, Just Colin->All Purpose Chicken Hole, Mudslut, Marbellous *sshole, No Man on the Moon, O’bone’R, Popo Peepshow, Sex: The Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, Slothy Seconds, Tacos on a Bridge, The Testicular Mechanics, Wikipedophilia

On a notably temperate evening following some record-breaking heat waves, Boston H3 got together for the Hotter Than Hell Trail. The official weather report suggests it was a mere 69 degrees. What it lacked in Fahrenheit, it more than made up for on the Scoville scale. Specifically, the shot check was a chili infused tequila. It was hot. Like, really hot. Everyone stood around talking about how hot it was. I “tripped” and “spilled” some of mine. Fellowship of the Cockring scolded me for doing that because other people would want it, drank some of his own, then said, “What happened to yours might happen to mine.” Fischstick said of the shot, “My body is like, ‘OMG why do you hate me so much?’” Fellowship (apparently in a spicy mood) responded, “You should say, ‘Body, I wouldn’t hate you so much if you sweat less and ran faster.’”

The back half of trail might have been a little recycled from the Trail of Two Titties (but at least no one had to jump any fences this time). Or from Shortest Night Dumbest Trail. But that’s ok, because at least it was well-marked. Although Do Me Decimal and Tacos on a Bridge would beg to differ. They were somehow so late getting to circle they had already missed the DFLs getting called in.

Sweagle continued his assault on our tongues in circle with ramen of varying degrees of spiciness. The heat was clearly getting to folks – I don’t think a group of people has sniffled that much since Rose let Jack go in theaters. Also, the strippers (read: cops) showed up! Marbellous *sshole sweet-talked them into letting us stay, as long as they couldn’t hear anything, which gave everyone a chance to practice their dynamics in circle. During this time, I overheard Blue Balls Matter comment, “It’s not good to drink the tears of children,” which, while true, feels like something one shouldn’t need to say.

Lots of identity crises in circle. Sex: The Final Frontier reported that he had to impersonate Fellowship at Hong Kong to get his ID back for him. Blue Balls likes to toy with her prey, and engaged the circle in a rousing variant of 20 questions to determine whose license she had picked up. Though there are a surprising number of 5’5” hazel-eyed brunettes in this kennel, only Blondie McF*cksalot could claim the title of Biggest (ID) Loser.

The spiciest part of the evening was a NAMING! Just Colin is a Freemason who enjoys Southern Comfort and the classic Mary-Kate and Ashley film “When in Rome.” There were many strong name contenders, including Fold Never Roll Bulge In The Back Dangles In The Front, Hamster I Hardly Know Her, Canadian 10, Cum Vinci Code, Chicken Sexer, and Pavlov’s Puddingshotter. But one name prevailed above the others, and so henceforth and forever more, throughout the world of hashing, except Great Falls (f*ck them), Just Colin shall be known as All Purpose Chicken Hole!

On – my sinuses are still clear from that shot – On,
Slothy Seconds

A Trail of Two T*tties

August 10, 2022 Trail
A Trail of Two T*tties

Hares: Orgasm Famine, Shits N Ladders
Bag car: Mourning Wood
Pack: Beeeestiality B4 Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Cookies For Nookie, Crawdaddy Cooter Esq., Cumboy Wonder, Cums Like Clockwork, Cumstache, C*ntcussion, Disappearing Hairline, Edward Sissyhands, Extra Terresticle, Fischstick, Frosty the F*ckman, Full Frontal Fireball, Goat Throat, Hickey My Dicky, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Caleb, Just Chris, Just Colin, Just Jan, No Man on the Moon, North American Massive Butt Licking Ambassador, Quarter Mile Queer, Slothy Seconds, Strap On Strap Off, Tacos on a Bridge, Testicular Mechanics, The Buttler Hit It, Triceratopped, Virgin Cam, Wax Off

Pre-lube: The Tip Tap Room
Beer check 1: Lederman Park
Beer check 2: Train tracks under the Picower Institute
On-in: Fort Washington Park

I was pretty sure that a trail theme parodying A Tale of Two Cities meant we were going to spend time running in both Boston and Cambridge, but that wasn't all the hares had planned for us. Each leg of trail consisted almost entirely of a turkey-eagle split. I chose turkey each time and probably ran 5 miles, while those who did all of the eagle trails were reporting something in the vicinity of 7.7 miles.

The eagles easily beat the turkeys to the first beer check. Sure they ran longer, but turkeys had to climb Beacon Hill at least three times. Turkeys finished before the eagles at the second beer check. In fact we got there before eagles had even started crossing the Mass Ave Bridge into Cambridge. Then turkeys bested eagles again by arriving at the on-in first, but that was because the eagles supposedly took a trip around the MIT track on the last leg.

In circle, trail comments included too short, turkey was overcooked, turkey was a little dry, more titties, enough titties, more train tracks, worth missing a flight for, boobs, two titties is a basic amount of hotties (huh?), not enough dicks, not enough Dickens, and tricked into doing an eagle and they're not mad. Hares sang a song about Bud Light, and circle continued.

No Man and myself were the FBI and FRB. DFL was, you guessed it, Buttler. Just Caleb drank for his August birthday, then visitors were welcomed. We had Crawdaddy and Cumboy who were both in from Ithaca (to see the Alicia Keys concert), Cumstache from Greece (chasing after sweaty tramp stamped boys), Just Caleb from Happy Valley (who's here for the summer so that makes him either a temporary transplant or a recurring visitor), and Nambla who got lost on the Appalachian Trail (and is either North American Massive Butt Licking Ambassador or North American Massive Booty Lovers Association--he went by both). Oh, and Beeees stunt livered for Disappearing Hairline who left early to catch his flight.

Transplants were Hickey My Dicky who's originally from Little Rock, and Tacos on a Bridge whose origin I didn't catch. No Man demented Virgin Cam, who doesn't have an uncle Jack, considers Charizard to be his favorite animated character, had a quick comeback to a pirate joke, and was brought to the hash by Jimmy (who dafuq is Jimmy???). Not acceptable. Taken anyway.

Accusations started with Just Minnesota (Chris, I think) tackling a person using a walker, which basically makes him the anti-Necrophiliac Jack. Cumstache was accused of throwing up while running toward the beer nears (wut?). Something like 10 people pissed on trail, so they all did their environmental down down. Shits accused everyone who didn't say something brilliant, which was basically a social, except for Slothy who said that everything that comes out of her mouth is brilliant.

Um, C*ntcussion and Cookies got bit by a dog on trail, so that happened. Beeees did multiple laps on the track which was absolutely accusation worthy. I have "something something jumping fences something something," in my notes. Angry Crotch had some lost property, but she wasn't there so Shits drank. There was some confusion about the train tracks opening being closed during the construction that led to Testicular and No Man drinking.

Clockwork was concerned about circle being in the lit corner of the park, but it really wasn't an issue as the MIT police station that used to be just 100 feet away was torn down a few months ago (no they didn't defund their police, they just moved to a new building). RA drank for the weather as it was the first time in a week where the temp was not in the 90s. Then Blue Balls sang a new jellyfish song that required dancing. And finally, Just Colin drank for being stuck with a pink tutu for another week after failing to find its owner.

With accusations wrapped up, we moved onto announcements, and there were many. Pay Fireball your hash cash. Pick up your beer cans. Fishnets and Fishhooks on August 31 (starting in the South End perhaps). Talk to C*ntcussion or Do Me if you want to be on 22-23 Misman. Anything But Clothes next Wednesday. Romance Awareness Day trail this Sunday. August Moon ideally next weekend.

-ET

Pickles and a Pikachu

Hash Trash: 8/3/22 Pickles and a Pikachu

Hares: Do Me Decimal
Bag Car: Wikipedophilia
Virgin: Chris
Visitors: Just Caleb, Nurse Rainblow, Serial Lubist
Pack: Angry Crotch, Beeeestiality Before Boys, Clit Notes, Cummie Sticks, Dribbles, Edward Sissy Hands, Goat Throat, Frosty the F*ckman, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Andrew, Luva Lamp, Mudslut, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Puker Blooper, Shits and Ladders, Sketchy Ho, Slothy Seconds, Strap On Strap Off, Tacos on a Bridge, The Buttler Hit It, Testicular Mechanics, Yellow Dick Gnome

Salt and Pepper. Peanut Butter and Chocolate. Netflix and Chill. Pickles and Pikachu. There are some things that are just meant to go together in this world, and BH3 got together to prove it.

Some folks brought Destihl’s Dill Pickle Sour Beer to the start, which I think might have just been canned pickle brine. The first shot check bucked the trend of deconstructed foods with a reconstructed Pickle Back: mixed pickle juice and whiskey. Do Me Decimal shared that this should, in fact, be called a Pickle During. Normal Pickle Backs were available later on trail. There were no Pickle Fronts. There were also no gluten-free options at the beer check, which led Luva Lamp on a journey to Whole Foods for his own supply. He came back with White Claw Surges, unaware that they are more alcoholic than normal WC’s (it’s okay, you’ll learn to read someday).

End circle was at the baseball field on Magazine Beach, where the pack shared their own pickled offerings. Somehow hashers still couldn’t make it to third base, even when they were standing right on it. There was a lot of discussion about the brown area at the base of Do Me’s Pikachu tail. Is it anatomically accurate to the real Pikachu? Is it a cloaca? (Editor’s note: I think Pikachu is mammalian and this is not a cloaca).

Hares were accused of recycling trail from Moon. Wiki used a wagon for beer transport which was honestly smart. Sketchy Ho reallllly wanted to be asked when she started hashing. The circle had such a bad tempo tear during one song that Holy Dumpster Fire said people were singing it as a round. The visitors got lost on trail. Nurse Rainblow is also wanted to be on record saying, “Fuck Pokémon Go. For sex trophy reasons.”

Virgin Chris stated that “F*cking Caleb” made him cum. Virgin Chris fully looked the part of a math teacher with his thick-rimmed glasses and acted the part by guessing the square root of 69 as 8.35 (it’s 8.3066, if anyone wanted to know how close he was). But the man was a quick study and subsequently knew the square root of negative 69 was “I ate something.” Or perhaps he wasn’t really a quick study after all: when he got called back into circle as FRB, he exclaimed, “Oh my god, again?” Buckle up, friend, drinking in circle is what we are here for.

Hasher-generated Pokémon pickup lines:

• (dressed as a Pokéball) Are you a Pokémon? Because I intend to throw myself at you in an attempt to get you inside me.
• You’ve been saying your own name a lot. I think it’s time I make you say my name.
• I’ll jiggle your puffs.
• If you were a Pokémon, you’d be a Pikachu, cause I want to peek at you.
• “something something I choose you”
• Do you want to mew with me too?
• Right now I’m a Pokémon, but later I hope Imma poke a man.
• Want to join Team Rocket? I can blast you off again.
• Want to suck Meowth?
• What’s your move set? Mine’s Horn Drill, Hydro Pump, Harden, and Bone Club.

On – only one way to find out if I’m a Squirtle – on,
Slothy Seconds

July-us Caesar Trail

7/27/2022 BH3 Trail: July-us Caesar Trail

Tales from a Front Running Bastard

I arrived at the prelube, Worden Hall, to find Wiki at the bar. I sat down and got a fried chicken sandwich and a coke. A few others showed up. There was confusion from some regarding the start location. The start had changed in the days leading up to the hash, and the details had not fully propagated across all communication channels. Wiki insisted that there was no confusion (“There is no confusion.” -Wiki 7/27/2022). But my flawless logic, pointing out both the confused people on the messaging apps, and the people showing up at the bar saying they were confused (“Wait I’m confused” -Tacos On a Bridge, 7/27/2022, “I am also confused”- Just Caleb, 7/27/2022) prevailed, and Wiki went out and laid clarifying marks from the old start to the new start. Pack continued to filter in. The hares, Frosty the Fuckman and Wikipedophelia, left at a reasonable hour, followed soon by pack heading out to put their bags in Spunk’s trunk, and to do chalk talk. Some of us donned togas for the Julius Caesar themed trail.

At chalk talk, Fireball explained the day’s special marks - “Backstabs” in place of checkbacks, and “you’ve been backstabbeds” in place of YBFs. We introduced ourselves. Pack consisted of Blue Balls Matter, Holy Dumpster Fire, Sex the Final Frontier, Beeestiality B4 Boys, Full Frontal Fireball, [Transplant] Tacos on a Bridge, Wax on/Wax off, Visitor Wrong-Thong, Visitor Pink Penalty, Visitor Hickey, Just Caleb, Just Virgin Andrew, Triceratopped, Orgasm Famine, Just Grace, Visitor Sweetheart, Edward Sissyhands, DJ Gags Easy, Strap on/Strap off, Sketchy Ho, Just Jan, No Man on the Moon, Qatar Mile Queer, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor Factory (latecomer), Fischdick, Mr. Bean, Zanbon-me (latecomer), and myself Shits & Ladders.

We started trail looking for marks that would lead us either deeper into South Boston, or towards the rest of Boston. I checked the "rest of Boston" way, and found a one-and-out. Others found the correct trail into Southie. I eventually found myself near the front of pack, taking turns with Blue Balls and Famine as one or the other of us guessed the correct direction from checks. We meandered in a southeasterly direction through the grid network of roads in Southie.

At one point, pack found a telltale mark indicating that the hares were lost on their own trail. We stalled for a bit at this point, unable to find additional marks. Some detective work was required to uncover a mark hidden under a trashcan, before we proceeded.

Blue Balls and I again got to work finding the trail, but then I noticed some people playing basketball in a park, and needed to stop and tell them to crash the boards and play D. They were not hustling and everyone knows you can’t win a basketball game with that garbage. This set me back into the midst of pack considerably. The front runners found some marks, and ran more of what would soon make itself apparent as a long checkback (er backstab).

We eventually ended up circling half of the Dorchester Heights hill. There was a beer-near, then marks going steeply downhill, which I was 98% sure would be a checkback, but checked out anyway. It was of course a checkback, and the beer check was of course on top of the hill. Duh. Never give up the high ground.

From the beercheck, hashers were able to watch a beautiful sunset. The hares had provided an "Orange Julyus" drink which was deemed to be pretty tasty, along with the beer. I think we picked up a Wonka here.

The hares left and the pack followed. I don't remember a lot about the next leg. It was short. There was another checkback/backstab, or two, one of them might have involved another steep hill. Who is truly to say what happened out there? Anywhom, we soon arrived to...

Beercheck 2, at Joe Moakley Park. Joe Moakley was some dude. I dunno, look it up, maybe he's on Wikipedia. More beer and Orange Julyus for the pack. There was some impromptu singing and general merrimaking. ZanBone-Me joined us at beercheck 2 to imbibe. Again the hares left and again the pack followed.

We came through a playground (many went around), and skirted a baseball field and amphitheater before exiting Joe Schmo Park southeastwards towards the beach. I front-ran again, this time with Sex The Final Frontier. The general location of the on-in was apparent, but the exact route was TBD, so we watched the ground closely for marks. There were many true trail marks in close succession, zig-zagging us this way and that, and encouraging us to “send it” at full throttle. We finally saw the hares awaiting pack. Sex tried to race me, but he is weak from skipping track workouts, and lost. Go run some 400s bud.

For circle, we went down to the waterfront, with the waves lapping up and down [at] our... feet. We had comments on trail, a song from the hares, a collective song from the multiple visitors, a de-virginzing of a virgin who didn't know he was a virgin (courtesy of dementress Spunk). He made a goat-gasm noise, which we were unable to confirm the accuracy of, without the presence of Goat-Throat, and with Famine inexplicably missing from circle. FRB, FBI, DFL, yada, yada, yada... Accusations happened, We learned that one of the visitors had backslid for 12 years. Pack tried to shame him, but I encouraged kindness to someone who must surely be, like, super-old. Non-togas were accused. The few brave enough to swim in Boston Harbor attempted to accuse the rest of us, but we counter-accused them of being radioactive. Gags Easy commented that we'd all be jealous of the additional appendages they would be gaining due to the toxic exposure. There were honor down-downs for bag car, and for the RA bringing us nice weather. We also wished Mr. Bean well, as he is soon to return to his home planet.
Announcements included a Moon trail this Friday (Start at Cambridge Brewing Company @ 6:30), and the fact that Beantown trails exist and will continue to happen at their normal scheduled times (Sunday afternoons weekly). Further useful details on the Beantown trails were sparse.

We then sang religion.

Afterwards, some hashers went to the Hong Kong to get a piece, of scorpion bowls, presumably. Hopefully visitor Wrong-Thong went to the right-Kong.

Ok, I think I'm done here.
-Shits

Monty Python and the Lost on Trail

July 13, 2022 Trail
Monty Python and the Lost on Trail

Hares: Do Me Decimal, Wikipedophilia
Bag car: Triceratopped
Pack: Beeeestiality B4 Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Bottom Wrangler, Bum F*cking Vagabond, Clit Notes, Cookies for Nookie, Cummy Sticks, Cums Like Clockwork, DJ Gags Easy, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Extra Terresticle, Far Blow, Glutenless Maximus, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Bird, Just Jeff, Kneels for Ginger Jizz, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Shits N Ladders, Sketchy Ho, Slothy Seconds, Spunk in the Trunk, Strap On Strap Off, Testicular Mechanics, The Buttler Hit It, Virgin Janine, Virgin Sharon, Wax Off, Whorevette, Zamboneme

Pre-lube: Democracy Brewing
Beer check 1: Gardens at Greenwich Park in the South End
Beer check 2: Symphony Community Park
On-in: Charlesgate East Park

One of the marathon events lost to the pandemic was supposed to be Monty Python themed, so this trail offered up a chance for hashers to finally don their costumes. We had the lumberjack, the Black Knight, some chain mail wearers, and coconut shell knockers. That was mostly it though because in reality it was too hot for costumes.

There were virgins, there were visitors, there were virgins brought by visitors. There were justs--one not real and one that was "totally definitely absolutely not a virgin." Trail was a two-beer check trail that sliced through the South End, through Berkeley, and toward the Back Bay.

Comments on trail included: too many horses, hot enough coconuts, too many tit checks, serious lack of penguins, not enough Spam, too much Spam, and not enough dark alleys. Hares sang the Mobile song and circle continued. We had two virgins: Virgin Janine (Whorevette) and Virgin Sharon (Strap On Strap Off). Sharon would help her uncle Jack off, Janine prefers groomed trails, neither are good at math, and one identified Mickey Mouse as her favorite cartoon character. They were not worthy, but we took them anyway.

Visitors included Bottom Wrangler, Glutenless, and Whorevette. During circle, we were also visited by the local neighborhood watch--Spank Me May I Have My Mother. There was also an I Eat T-bags appearance. Goat Throat was spotted on trail, but not seen at circle. Celebrating birthdays and analversaries were Wrangler, Do Me, Triceratopped, Wiki, and Spunk. Our FRB was Testicular, our FBI was Vagabond, and our DFL was Buttler.

Circle continued with accusations. I have "Beeees honor down down f*cking tourists," and I don't know if she was complaining about the f*cking tourists, or if she was f*cking the tourists. Whichever one it was though, she drank for it. Wrangler accused Strap On for assuming that we are all experts in strap ons. Apparently, there's a dildo called the Bad Dragon and only 1-2 hashers knew what that was.
Everyone who didn't eat Spam did a down-down (basically a social). There was some debate over whether the brown spots on the ground at the on-in were dirt turds or human feces. Beeees had an accusation about wanting to do more verses to the Mobile song. Then DJ was accused of thinking incest took place in Mobile when we all know it takes place in Texas.

Blue Balls was accused of injuring herself after last week's circle, and she was joined by Buttler and Testicular who had blood on trail. I have something here about Strap On not knowing the shape of the state of Georgia. Then anyone who complained a bunch got brought into circle to be Old McDonalded.
As for announcements, Hash Sitapede Cajun Redux Part 2 Electric Boogawho's lap am I sitting on trail on Wednesday, then on August 3 is the Pickles and Pikachu trail. And that is all.

7/6 XXXth anal IndePanties Day!

Hash Trash: 7/6/22 XXXth anal IndePanties Day!

Hares: Sweagle and C*ntcussion
Bag Car: Do Me Decimal
Virgin: Bird
Transplant: Zam-bone-me
Pack: Beeeestiality Before Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Clit Notes, C*ms Like Clockwork, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Fellowship of the Cockring, Goat Throat, Frosty the F*ckman, Holy Dumpster Fire, Moaning Lisa, Mudslut, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Popo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Shits and Ladders, Slothy Seconds, Spunk in the Trunk, The Buttler Hit It, Testicular Mechanics, Triceratopped, Wikipedophilia

Word warning: the word panty or its derivative appears 11 times in this trash. If that word is like nails on a chalkboard to you, just be glad they aren’t moist.

A pack gathered on Canal St. to celebrate an important milestone in American history: IndePanties Day. 225 years ago, our founding fathers (particularly Ben Franklin) were really into the idea of people having the freedom to take their panties off and switch with someone else. They don’t teach it in school, but most of the American Revolution was actually about sex stuff. The Boston Tea Bagging Party? One if by man, two if by she? No taxation without consummation? The cumshot heard round the world? Ben Franklin? Anyway, old Tommy Jefferson wrote a strongly worded letter about Life, Liberty, and the Panties of Happiness, and now we gather every year to thank the guy.
Participation in the theme was high, with panties ranging from (in order from best to worst to end up with in a swap) a pair of taco-themed briefs that said “all you can eat” across the front, a pair with a goat making a horrified teeth-baring expression, a pair with “On On VT” where the V was a hash foot, some lacy boy-shorts, thongs (glittery and otherwise), and a 5-pack of granny panties from CVS. At one point Wiki bent over to tie his shoes while wearing the goat panties and I’m telling you, if you haven’t made eye contact with a horrified stretched out goat on Wiki’s ass, your life is better than mine.

The hares knew what they were doing, and strategically placed panty-swap checks in very crowded locations. The men of the hash did not know what they were doing, and looked like a bunch of actual virgins handling ladies underwear. Panties were put on upside down, inside out, and sideways. Yes, sideways. Fellowship of the Cockring probably made it about ¾ of a mile in a sideways thong covering one cheek without even noticing that something was off. I tried to teach the boys about gussets, but I couldn’t even feel it when Goat Throat inserted his finger into mine.
Mudslut got in on the do-you-know-how-to-wear-underwear action by somehow getting a brown stain on the white granny panties. We will optimistically assume this was mud. The other notable trail fail falls on the shoulders of the whole pack: the hares reported that they left 27 shots for a pack of 30, and 3 went unconsumed.

We had a virgin! Virgin Bird. He’s probably not real. Popo Peepshow was both his sponsor and his dementress, because why make it a threesome when two will do. Although the “all you can eat for under a dollar” question was enhanced by the model wearing panties that literally said "all you can eat" under the dollar, V-Bird’s answer was a still-laudable “moneyshot.” I hope he comes back if he’s not a drone.

After circle closed, Blue Balls Matter came through with an 11th hour hash crash while helping carry some trash to the bag car. Ya’ll, she broke her thumb! And got some horrible road rash on her shoulder that looks like a nipple if you squint just right. This is your reminder to never do nice things.

A townie spoke for everyone who witnessed this trail when he accosted Sweagle at the first beer check and said, “Stop doing that shit.” So, eventually, we did stop doing that shit, and went to Hong Kong.

On – Semper Ubi Sub Ubi – On,
Slothy Seconds

Boner Birthday Trail

June 29, 2022 Trail
Boner Birthday Trail

Hares: O'Boner, Quarter Mile Queer
Bag car: Fischstick
Pack: Beeeestiality B4 Boys, Blondie McF*cksalot, Bloody Nips Graveyard Chicks, Blue Balls Matter, Bum F*cking Vagabond, Chunderelli Chunderelli, Cookies for Nookie, Cums Like Clockwork, C*ntcussion, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Edward Sissyhands, Extra Terresticle, Fellowship of the Cockring, Full Frontal Fireball, Goat Throat, Just Jan, Luva Lamp, Mudslut, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Sex the Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, Slothy Seconds, Snatchchat, Spank Me May I Have My Mother, Spunk in the Trunk, Strap On Strap Off, Swedish Eagle, Testicular Mechanics, The Buttler Hit It, Topless Barbie, Triceratopped, Virgin Kat, Virgin Kendra, Wikipedophilia

Pre-lube: Beantown Pub
Drink check: Public Garden at Charles and Beacon
Beer check: Cardinal Cushing Memorial Park
On-in: Paul Revere Park

Happy redacted birthday O'Boner! Or I think it was her birthday. The trail announcement said she regretted signing up for this on her actual birthday, does that mean the day she signed up for the trail it was her birthday, or she signed up to hare a trail that was scheduled for her birthday? Who knows, we're half minds. But at least there was cake.

Trail was short. Aside from Beeees getting yelled at by the cocks locks operator, there wasn't much to note. Prior to circle, several sprinklers turned on while we were standing around on the grass, so a few hashers got wet. And O'Boner made a cake that was shaped like a corgi. And there were some readings from a sex rubric written back in 2019 that apparently uses the word seamlessly a lot. Otherwise not much more to note, so onto the circle!

As for trail comments, I have bag car got lost, we have lube, we got wet, not enough corgis, never too many corgis, I can't hear you, you're too loud, and cake cake cake. The FRB (Spank Me), FBIs (Vagabond and Blue Balls), and DFLs (Buttler and Chunderelli) all drank. O'Boner and Goat drank for their birthdays. Our visitor, Bloody Nips from Richmond H3 drank; he "came because she was good." We also had two virgins: Virgin Kat (Snatchchat) and Virgin Kendra (Blue Balls). Kat would have her boss lay her and neither knew the square root of 69. They were not worthy, but we took them anyway.

As for accusations, Snatchchat got accused of leaving behind a lamp, three pairs of shoes, and something else at NURD. Then Spunk emptied a bag of Quarter Mile's stuff all over the ground (it was kinda like watching a spurned lover toss her ex's clothes out an apartment window), so he drank too. Blue Balls accused Fellowship of getting hit by a squirrel, which she reenacted. Then she was accused of something that Vagabond made her do, which was not reenacted. Snatchchat accused everyone who got wet on trail, then clarified that getting hit by the sprinklers did not count as being "on trail."

Continuing on, Slothy accused C*ntcussion of having "a perfect female form." Barbie and Blondie were accused of arriving late/sweat test failure/racist attire. Cookies and Slothy were accused of going swimming before trail. Beeees was accused of attempting to cross the locks while they were open, and getting yelled at over the speaker for it. Mudslut and Blue Balls were accused of running into each other or something like that--don't remember if it was reenacted. Fischstick for being bag car. Fireball for not following the rule of singing the Canal St. song when at a song check on Canal St. (When did the hash start having rules?) And that just about covers it.

There were many announcements. Pay Fireball $5 hash cash, Harbor Islands campout this weekend, Prelube trail on Saturday, Beantown trail on Monday at 7 p.m. from the Hyatt on Memorial Drive, fireworks watching Monday night, Indepanties next Wednesday (hared by Sweagle and maybe 2nd?), Burlington H3 Invihash July 17ish, Pink Taco trail happening, and a Sweagle Ball Buster in August where "you'll get really really really wet."

That's all I got. Enjoy your holiday weekends.

-ET

Revere Beach: 80s Hawaiian Space Pirates on Drugs

June 22, 2022 Trail
Revere Beach: 80s Hawaiian Space Pirates on Drugs

Hares: Shits and Ladders, Testicular Mechanics
Bag car: Slothy Seconds
Pack: Beeeestiality B4 Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Edward Sissyhands, Extra Terresticle, Fellowship of the Cockring, Fischstick, Frosty the F*ckman, Full Frontal Fireball, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Jan, Luva Lamp, Mudslut, Po-po Peepshow, Sex the Final Frontier, Strap On Strap Off, The Buttler Hit It, Topless Barbie

Pre-lube: Bill Ash's Lounge
Beer check 1: Suffolk Downs Parking Lot
Beer check 2: Behind a CVS on Saratoga St.
On-in: Constitution Beach

Still don't know the origins of this trail theme. Maybe it's a portmanteau of phrases on some Cards Against Humanity cards? Either way, people came prepared. Lots of leis, lots of hula skirts, lots of pirate eye patches, lots of Millennials, and lots of small flour bags made to look like drugs. We were warned about a harrowing eagle trail option that we should definitely not have done, except when I read the description in the announcement, my reaction was something along the lines of "well now I HAVE to do the eagle trail." It was somewhat memorable, and you can read about it in the circle write up below.

Comments on trail included nice eagle trail, no horses at the racetrack, dead raccoon, where are we?, how did I get here?, good trail, and shitty trail. The FRB (Sex), FBI (Beeees), and DFL (Buttler) drank. Then Shits and Slothy drank for having birthdays earlier in the week on the same day. It was dark, but I think they were also the tallest hasher/shortest hasher, and if Buoys were there, he'd have made them do a special down-down for that. Frosty drank for playing with balls, bats, and little children (sweat test failure) and Fischstick drank for backsliding (he was at the Bar--Bar Harbor that is).

As for accusations, Shits was accused of laying a trail from where his own virgin trail started. Frosty was accused of getting engaged. And Dr. Blow drank for lost shit on SNDT. Next was Shits for losing his phone in the shiggy. As for that eagle trail, four of us attempted it, and partway through going down the hill of thorns, we encountered our hare looking everywhere for his phone. Sex made a few attempts to call it and eventually spotted the screen light up. Phone safe, phew. Hare snared, yay! Pack wins the hash!

Strap On was accused of pointing, the RA was accused of astronomy failure (past the solstice--days are getting shorter), Sex was accused of going on the Suffolk Downs racetrack (or what's left of it), and Buttler and Sissyhands for coming late to trail. Mudslut drank for looking like Popeye, then Blue Balls drank for "tearing herself a new asshole" (she split her pants). There also was a story of Blue Balls confusing a muggle who was carrying groceries and trying to board a bus, which we summed up to "accused for scouting like a fiend."

Not much by way of announcements, just Luva and his Harbor Islands campout. That is all.
-ET

Swedish Midsommar v6.0

June 15, 2022 Trail
Swedish Midsommar v6.0

Hare: Swedish Eagle
Bag Car: Blondie McF*cksalot
Pack: Beeeestiality B4 Boys, Blues Balls Matter, Bum F*cking Vagabond, Chunderelli Chunderelli, Clit Notes, C*ntcussion, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Edward Sissyhands, Extra Terresticle, Fellowship of the Cockring, Full Frontal Fireball, Glutenless Maximus, Holy Dumpster Fire, Jersey Lunchbox, Kneels for Ginger Jizz, Marbleous Asshole, Moaning Lisa, Mudslut, Necrophiliac Jack, No Man on the Moon, Orgasm Famine, Po-po Peepshow, Quarter Mile Queer, Sex the Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, Slothy Seconds, Snatchchat, Spunk in the Trunk, Testicular Mechanics, The Buttler Hit It, Virgin Mimi, Wikipedophilia

Pre-lube: Warren Tavern
Shot check: Little Mystic Boat Ramp
Beer check: Charlestown Naval Shipyard Park
Aquavit check: Nashua Street Park
On-in: Courtyard behind Whittier Place Condos

Another trip around the sun, another Midsommar trail brought to us by Sweagle. A large pack assembled for this annual trail featuring cinnamon buns, pickled herring, and aquavit. Some may have also come to see how Sweagle would follow up last year's spectacle that concluded with a circle around a metal flag pole in a lightning storm and a hare with a gash that would ultimately require 14 stitches.

Ultimately, this year's iteration had a lot less shiggy, a lot more Naval vessels, and about an equal level of inebriation. Comments on trail included more poles, fewer poles, more shiggy, too much shiggy, too long, too short, and bork bork bork. There was no pole at the on-in to do the traditional frog jump dance thing around, so someone stacked a few empty boxes on top of each other. It was good enough. Apparently there was a wine tasting going on at the intended on-in, so the hare pivoted to this random courtyard in Boston's West End neighborhood. It ended up working out quite well for us.

Circle started with the usual--FRB (Marbles), FBI (Blue Balls), and DFL (Spunk); then backsliders (many); and a devirginization. Virgin Mimi, brought to the hash by Snatchchat, hates questions, lives in Quincy, and likes her poles thick and tall. She wasn't worthy but we took her anyway.

Jersey Lunchbox and Glutenless Maximus drank for visiting from Northboro. Hashers who rode a bicycle to the Hong Kong earlier in the day and left it there so it was available to take home later in the night drank for being too smart. Hashers who went over or under a fence drank. Jersey Lunchbox was accused of throwing a stone, I guess, I don't really know. Quarter Mile drank for Butt Pug having sex in circle with another dog, and Po-po joined him.

At some point, a curious local came by to find out what we were up to. People were saying he was security, but from across the circle, I thought he looked like someone who calls into sports talk radio shows ("Joey from Bahhhston, you're on 98.5 the spohhts hub."). Have you ever seen a security person wearing a ballcap, oversized polo shirt, and shorts? Didn't think so. Spunk flirted with him, then he left. Then she drank for letting him leave without getting his number.

Circle started winding down, but not before Glutenless and Slothy Seconds drank for alcohol abuse, Quarter Mile drank for consuming a Gu packet before trail, and the RAs drank for their tag team act (I think all four took a turn leading circle). Testicular was accused of stretching in preparation for a hash sitapede, and he was joined in circle by Mudslut. The two did an interpretive dance (mating ritual?) that I think they were trying to turn into the next Tik Tok challenge. I don't think it's going to catch on though. Testicular then accused everyone who didn't wear a tutu (social!), and Blondie accused everyone who attended a recent SNDT.

As for the announcements, Shortest Night Dumbest Trail is Friday night, Moon is Saturday night, Hong Kong is every night, and KNURD is in one week. That's all, see you next year for Midsommar v6.9 (7.0).

-ET

CARRY YOUR SHIT TRAIL

Hash Recycling (a knock-off hash trash since I have no vested power to write that)
6/8/22 CARRY YOUR SHIT TRAIL

Hares: Blondie McF*cksALot and Chunderellie Chunderellie
Virgins: none*
Visitor: Salt Lick
Pack: Beeeestiality Before Boys, Blue Balls Matter, Cookies for Nookie, C*ntcussion, C*ms Like Clockwork, Dr. Blow, Dribbles, Fellowship of the Cockring, Frosty the F*ckman, Full Frontal Fireball, GagZZ, Holy Dumpster Fire, Just Colin, Just David, Marbellous Asshole, Mudslut, No Man on the Moon, O’Boner, Popo Peepshow, Quarter Mile Queer, Sex the Final Frontier, Shits and Ladders, Sketchy Ho, Slothy Seconds, Snatchchat, Strap On Strap Off, Testicular Mechanics, Wikipedophilia

This trail was a cluster from before it began. The trail announcement kicked off the mess: the theme of the trail was apparently “we can’t have a bag car because there might be a Celtics parade,” which almost made sense if you didn’t know that Wednesday was only game 3. The hot-messiness portended by the announcement was more than fulfilled by the trail start. The alleged start was Trillium in the Seaport, which was v crowded. Trail start got moved… somewhere? A group of people migrated to Cisco Brewers for prelube part 2, which had marks leading up to it but also a giant “nah” written in chalk. Did the hares mean for people to go there? Who knows. After the light mumblings about mutinying were quelled, the subpack hoofed it over to the (start? first beer check?), where a surprising number of hashers were waiting. How did all of these people know where to go?! A quick chalk talk and pack was on-out at like 7:45. Perhaps the hares were on Hash Daylight Time instead of Hash Standard Time.

Trail took us over what Edward Sissyhands referred to as “Birdshit Bridge,” leading to a wine check/checkback 69. Members of the pack provided the following definitions for “birding” (used in a sentence, “I birded this guy last weekend”):

• chewing food and spitting it into his mouth/transferring a drink from your mouth to his (AKA baby birding)
• giving him a blowjob and transferring his jizz to his mouth (no fewer than 3 people noted that this is called snowballing. Do you people sit around reading Urban Dictionary?)
• having sex and then flying away
• approaching him and flapping your arms aggressively
• shitting on his head (this is still making me laugh)
• watching him silently from a distance for a really long time (my personal favorite response)

If Marbellous Asshole’s counting is to be believed, the pack followed the 67 marks back to the (start? first beer check?) for a nice beer check by the water. The last leg of trail took us by the Gillette Shaving Headquarters (a good place to get rid of unwanted hares!) and ended at the top of the hill at Thomas Park.

Circle temporarily disbanded as distractible hashers tried to peep some fireworks, which were speculated to be a celebration for the Celtics winning (the game had barely started at this point but tracking the timing of the NBA finals is clearly not this group’s forte). Accusations revealed that the hares managed to lose a virgin before trail even started (RIP Snatchchat’s virgin). Shits and Ladders accused Wikipedophilia of marking a check in both directions. Wiki counter-accused Shits of thinking that Wiki was carrying chalk. Frosty the F*ckman recently got engaged (mazel)! Our visitor, Salt Lick, whose Long Island accent was so thicc that Kim Kardashian asked where it got its butt injections, abused alcohol. Just Colin revealed himself to be a Freemason, highlighting his experience in organizations that frequently deny being a cult.

On-after was at Whitey’s. The Celtics won! There was no parade.

On – never drinking margaritas during prelube again – on,
Slothy Seconds

Boston H3 Marathon: Hashing Through Heaven to Hell

Boston H3 Marathon: Hashing Through Heaven to Hell Hash Trash 

Saturday April 16, 2022

Pre-lube: Lily P’s Fried Chicken and Oysters 

Beer Check 1: Paul Revere Park 

Beer Check 2: Gold Star Mothers Park 

On-in: Dante Alighieri Society of Massachusetts 

Hares: Angry Crotch, Blue Balls Matter, No Man on the Moon, Sh*ts and Ladders, Swedish Eagle, Testicular Mechanics 

Co-chairs: Blondie McF*cksalot, O’bone’R 

Pack: Many (Go to the event website and view the Who’s Cumming list, if you can still find it…) 

For the first time in three years, the Boston Hash was able to host its annual Marathon hash event, this time themed Hashing Through Heaven to Hell. This theme was a nod to the on-in venue–the Dante Alighieri Society of Massachusetts–for it was the Italian poet who penned the Divina Commedia, or the Divine Comedy. The story consists of three parts: Inferno, Purgatorio, and Paradiso, and tells the tale of Dante’s travels through hell, then purgatory, followed by heaven. Not sure what circle of hell he’d have met the hashers in, but if I had to guess, it would probably have been somewhere between the 6.9th one and the circle formed by a hash sitapede. 

Pack arrived at the pre-lube, Lily P’s Fried Chicken and Oysters, dressed as angels and devils and lined up for their giveaways, highlighted by the reversible red and white jersey. (We now have something to wear at the next Capture the Beer hash that will help us tell the two teams apart.) We had some drinks before we were summoned across the street for chalk talk, where we were briefed on the three marked trails–a ballbuster, an eagle, and a turkey. Eagle trail craniumed over the Longfellow Bridge through Beacon Hill toward the Boston Garden and over the Charlestown Locks before arriving at the first beer check at Paul Revere Park. The other trails were not too far behind. Well, not the ballbusters, they were actually way far behind. We paused for a little bit, consumed beverages, then meandered through Charlestown, past Bunker Hill Community College, and to the Gold Star Mothers Park where the hares greeted the FRBs with still warm McDonald’s French Fries. After the second beer check, it was a quick jog to the on-in. 

After a quick dinner, the RAs started circle in the brightly lit function hall. Comments on trail included awesome, boring, too long, too short, not enough ball busters, too much ball busting, not enough turkey trail, too much turkey trail, and many other comments that I didn’t get around to writing down. FRBs and FBIs included sKooter, Roofie, Peepers, Udder, and some guy whose outfit looked like it had chicken feathers glued to it. Visitors were called in next, and they included international hashers, west coast, the south, and the midwest. (Notably neglected was the northeast, Philly, the non-Boston parts of Massachusetts, and New York’s diverse representation that included hashers from NYC, Albany, Syracuse, and Ithaca.) Then the GMs and co-chairs got their down-downs. 

At this point, Sex the Final Frontier drank for alcohol abuse committed when he tossed beer over his cranium in his excitement to photograph the previously accused. Mudsl*t drank for having a muggle accuse her of shoving apples up her *ss (they were pomegranates). Then the McDonald’s shoppers drank, Ate Ball drank for his trail treasure, Cum Test Dummy drank for marathoning on Monday, then all the volunteers drank. But you know who didn’t drink? The virgins! Not sure if that was on purpose or not, but the RAs failed to give Popo the opportunity to properly welcome the two newcomers. Ruh-roh. 

As for announcements, the fatboy on Sunday was announced, as was the beer check at mile 20 on Monday, but those are both in the past now. I’m sure our visitors have lots of events they want to tell you about, and they can add links to the rego pages in the comments. Hash religion was conducted (though I don’t actually think any of us made it to Dante’s Paradiso) then Goat Throat took over the DJing duties for the party that followed. The lights were dimmed, the alcohol flowed, a few ass cheeks were exposed, and a good time was had.