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