Hot Tub Redneck Hash

The Pack: around 40-45 - I dunno... the 2nd cumming has attendance, ask him.
Prelube: Banshee / Dorchester JFK T-Stop
Chalk-Talk & RA: Tw*t My Mom
Hares: Boston Strangler and Accidentally An*l.

So this is basically what happened if you were too lazy / hungover to cum last Wednesday: So we had about 6 Virgins, but I got 3 names I wrote down - Jason, Duong (The Duong-er), James and Paul. OK, so that's 4.
The Virgins were brought into chalk-talk and we sang "Hey, My Name is Joe" for warm-up and off we went.

Trail was actually pretty well marked, and I would say with the penmanship of a writing teacher. That was probably the high point of your trail, Strangler. Good penmanship with the chalk. Actually this trail rocked out with its c*ck out, so if you missed this one that's your loss. Wankers. We went through, around, over and below various spots in Dorchester to wind up at our first beer-check, Malibu Beach - around 2 miles or so 'til the first BC. We drank cheap beer and it was good.

Trail then went another mile or more and the Boston Strangler took us to a nice little playground where little Buoys / errr... boys like to play. We know how your mind works there, Strangler, lucky for all the little buoys out there we were able to chase you down pretty quickly. There was more beer, and life was good. I believe we were at Downer's Avenue playground, or so my sketchy writing says...

The On-In was at Boston Strangler's House in Dorchester, close to Savin Hill. The REAL On-In was his hot-tub where after circle about a dozen naked hashers sat in the tub, staring at their toes with their hands neatly folded. Yeah, right. Anyway, I digress.

Comments on trail included: "Get 'er Done" and "My Mustache is gonna get gray" as well as "I wasn't supposed to be within 15 feet of a playground"

The Hares sang "Hog Calling Time in Nebraska" - which nobody in the entire hash seems to know more than 3 or 4 verses to so it was a short song.
The Virgins were demented, now they are Just Paul, Just Jason, Just James and Just DUONG (still think the Duonger is a good name) and maybe I heard Just Sharma.

FRB was Stick it to the Bros, FBI was Pubic Service Announcement, DFL was Plus Two Coonass and 2nd Cumming.  Backsliders claimed to be F*cked by Job and Whiskey D*ck... well, that's what I wrote.  Implant from the New Orleans Voo-Doo Hash are Like a Virgin.

Tallest and Shortest Drank: 2nd cumming and Goes Down on Buoys. They held hands, the pack sang, it was cute. Apparently there was Ice Cream on trail by the Savin Hill T-Stop near Strangler's place, I thought the chalk mark was mocking us. Peppermint P*ssy and possibly Miami Sl*t Machine partook. Possibly not. Willie Wonka may have partook of said cream. Vagitarian too.

Oh, DRIPPY SPIGOT was on trail! He had lots of iced cream. We miss you Drippy, you big backslider.

Best Redneck was easily Oink, Oink, OOoooohhhh. Drippy, Tw*t My Mom, JC Whore and An*l were runners' up.

Naming O' The Evening: Just Kyle. One of the many brothers, who's been hashing for about a year and a half. Kyle, what the f*ck haven't you been doing?  Just Kyle pissed on his father one evening while drunk... but apparently stories having to do with this great feat didn't get him his proper name. He was not named Princess Choad, but will now forever be known as "Family Business". Go figure.

We Swang Low, made announcements about NURD and Pittsburgh. Then we ate pretty damn good redneck food, and somehow about 1/4 of the pack got into the hottub nekkid. Too bad you weren't there.

Goes Down on Buoys


Just Kyle was named accidental golden shower. Family business was rejected. There you have it. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story. Too bad this story wasn't good.

Mardi Parking Garage Hash

Hares: Goat Throat and Fire in the Hole
RA/Bag Car: Bend Over Mommy
Scribe: Jolly GREEN Vagina
Sweat Test Failure: Just Meg
Weather: Overcast and cool

Pack: HR Puffnstuff, High Anus, Sh*tty Meats, Grease My Monkey’s Nuts, Virgin Collins, Virgin Michelle, Just Kat, Just Kyle, Virgin Sean, Inconvenient Poop, Virgin Mike #1, Virgin Mike #2, Just Nicole, Just Matt, Time of the Munch, Rosetta Bone, Necrophiliac Jack, Yankee Pay Five Dollar More, Dribbles, Wikipedophelia, Spank Me May I Have My Mother, Friar F*ck, Stop the Flood Plug the Dyke, Boston Strangler, Peppermint P*ssy, Vagina Dentata, Just Brad

Last Sunday’s trail began at Cornerstone Pub at Broadway. I don’t recall ever going there before, and it seemed like a fairly unremarkable kind of place. Except for the GMILF convention going on in the banquet room. I’m not really sure what the occasion was, but hey ... GMILFs. Rawr.

The trail was ostensibly a Mardi Gras theme, although there was little evidence of this. Fire and Goat were both wearing some sort of white face paint, but on the other hand it could have been sunscreen because this is the time of year that UV levels start getting dangerous if you're a ginger. Friar showed up in some sort of blue leotard that made me thankful I’m colorblind; however, this is also fairly typical Friar attire more or less year round. Stop the Flood was wearing a green bikini over her r*nning clothes. When pressed to explain how this related to anything remotely Mardi Gras-like, she explained, “It’s the warmest day of the week, so why not?” So ... yeah.

Trail started out by going over that weird overpass over 93, and then immediately took us into what I have since realized was the real theme for the afternoon’s hash: parking lots. Lots and lots of parking lots, in all their infinite varieties. Wide open parking lots. Wide open parking lots covered with snow banks. Wide open parking lots covered with snow banks and surrounded by chain link fences. Wide open parking lots in hollowed out brick buildings patrolled by cranky janitors and surrounded by snow banks. And, of course, parking garages.

After our first song check in a parking lot in a hollowed out brick building patrolled by a cranky janitor, we climbed over a snow bank and blundered into a playground full of Tit Check. Let me explain: there were some sort of hopscotch-looking circles painted on a walkway that went halfway around the area. Each one had been thoughtfully tagged with a nipple, so that even that chick with the three hooters from Total Recall would have had to spend like a full minute flashing in order to pass all of them legit. Or I suppose she could have just run through and left the guys in the cold, like our harriettes did.

Then we ran through another parking lot. Then we ran under a parking garage. Then we ran half way around the BU Medical Center Parking Garage. Then we ran up into the BU Medical Center Parking Garage, where we had a beer check. Afterwards, we ran around the other half of the BU Medical Center Parking Garage and then sang “My Girl is a Vegetable” in front of the Emergency Room.

Trail then took us through a blissfully short stretch of non-parking lots before pulling up to a T/E split ... in the middle of a parking lot. Since almost everyone was Zenning around the edge of the parking lot, and the Eagle was clearly, “Climb this half-acre of grungy snow bank and then rejoin trail,” everyone opted for the Turkey.

Peppermint, however, realized that the hares had left a bottle of some quality whiskey (by which I mean it maybe cost upwards of six bucks a quart) on the snow bank. In an amazing display of hardcore alcoholism, she climbed a chain link fence, retrieved the whiskey, and returned to the pack with it, whereupon Sh*tty Meats and Grease My Monkey’s Nuts drank about half.

Beer check #2 was at Roxbury Community College. In a parking lot. However, it was a parking lot right next to a Roxbury Community College building, so that we could look through the windows and check out the students’ projects for their Shop Class while we drank. We were also directly across the street from the Boston Police Department, which made the pack a bit nervous, so that when some random guy drove up and parked next to the bag car, everyone panicked, chugged, and bolted.

The final leg of the trail was fairly short, mostly consisting of a circle jerk around the ugliest architecture that Northeastern University has to offer. As ugly architecture goes, Northeastern has some pretty impressive sh*t. Trail ended at Punter’s Pub.

Highlights of the circle included Goat going topless and then performing an impromptu (and unasked for) Dick Check, although it took him an uncomfortably long time to locate his junk. When Virgin Mike #2 was asked his favorite sexual position, he responded, “Pile driver,” which I had thought was more of a professional wrestling move than a sexual position, although apparently I was mistaken. He was then asked to demonstrate this position with Virgin Mike #1, which Virgin Mike #2 attempted with both great enthusiasm and a certain degree of confusion as to which parts plug into where. For his part, Virgin Mike #1 seemed very eager to bottom, leading Just Matt to remark, “No doubt about who’s the man in this one.”

Wikipedophilia was brought in for a down-down for having “gay-ass” shoes, which were slip-on leather penny-loafers or some kind of crap. There was a token protest, but when you’re wearing slip-on leather penny-loafers to a hash, you’re pretty much guaranteed to be drinking out of those motherf*ckers because they are clearly f*cking gay-ass. Circle ended with Swing Low, towers of beer, and some vaguely pizza-flavored grease.

Overheard on trail

• When one bald guy drinks, one bald guy drinks! –Yankee, explaining why he will soon be needing a liver transplant
• I’m kind of a whore. –Rosetta Bone
• Who *hasn’t* made out with Kosher in a bathroom? –Jack
• When you’ve just been talking and you see the scribe furiously writing stuff down, that’s not a good sign. -Jack