Monday, February 17, 2020

Love In An Elevator V

What: 5th An*l Love In An Evelator Trial
Who: E=IMaDouch, 5inch Penalty
Where: Sevens Ale House
Pack: Dribbles, Spank Me, Dry  Hose, Shart Of Darkness, Just Matt, For the Love of God Finish, The Butler Hit It, Shits and Ladders, Goat Throat, Oragasmn Falmon, Cuntcussion, Swedish Eagle, Just Benny, Just Faical Hair? Bottom Wrangler, Friar Fuck, 3Ring Service, +2 Coonass, Yellow Dick Gnome, Willy Wonka and the Backdoor factory, Wikipedophilia, others I probably am forgetting but will none the less insert into this naration.

Start: Having nothing else to do, I arrived at the start at the very not-hash standard time of 12:30. Sitting quietly and listening to podcasts while sipping a beer I decided not to alert the bartenders to what was to follow me. Around 1:30 I started trolling the Boston Hash instragram account, and shits showed up shorlty at 2, closely followed by Dry Hose. This introduction is entirely unnecessary other than it serves to set up the question which Dry Hose ask Shart, Shits and I: “Do you put mustard on your grilled cheese?” Dry Hose is a sociopath, but that’s besides the point. Eventually pack numbers swelled as did the proprietors annoyance with us. Our annoyance unace with ourselves increased as we didn’t end up leaving until almost 3:30 - waiting for the hare who claimed he had been sitting outside the bar in his car waiting for us to come out since at least 3...the hares lie. I also might be exaggerating put we are in a post-truth society, so it is incumbent on all of us to research the truth  for our own narratives. Back to trial...

Chalk Talk:
Cuntcussion went over all the marks we probably won’t see and asked people if they liked mustard on their grilled cheese or if they were sociopaths. There are surprisingly few sociopaths in the hash.

Trail shit-

Starting at the block across from the BHP - a very much open bar who very much doesn’t hate us - pack scouted up and down Charles street. I scouted up and down the hills because I hate myself. Trial was eventually found meandering the flat-of-the-hill streets between Charles and Storrow to back to the footbridge at the base of the longfellow. That isn’t a very descriptive sentence. Let’s try that again; trial ran around in a square shape to the longfellow/charles st/MGH intersection. Goat scouted the far side of the longfellow and eventually rejoined us at the wine check which you’ll read about in a few sentences. The rest of pack followed some FRBs over the footbridge to a check back which sent us back the stairs up the side of the longfellow. There was a song check in front of a pile of shit at one of the salt and pepper shacker lights. We sang about the French, though  I suppose a song about shitting bananas might have been better. Continuing the run along the longfellow we found a wine near/wine check on the abutment on the western cambridge side. Goat caught up from the otherside, but Falmon went off to find him.

Wine check-
There was a bag of wine and more shit. Baggo was started lightly, then the tosses got stronger and stronger until we were worried that we might knock Swegle off the edge and accidentally spark an international crisis. Luckily the walkers arrived to relieve us of the wine and we took off into Cambridge, looking for beer.

The leg of trial which I don’t have a cool name for:
Deciding that running back over the bridge was too much of a smart idea of 4pm on a Sunday some of pack decided to dart across Memorial drive to catch up with pack at the check near the Kendal cannals where the kykas launch from in warmer weather. Trail ran up the Kendal cannal to Kendal square where were briefly lost around open space and trial marked on non-road/sidewalks (which I think is technically “shiggy” for Boston). We found trial craniumiming towards the Friendly Toast, but my hash-dar was going off and I scouted up the Kendal Rooftop Garden, where I found Beer Check 1.

Beer Check Roof Top:
In which we drank beer* at the Kendel Roof Top Garden. Douche is moving (maybe) or Shits just did? - either way they decided that the best use for years worth of shitty beer left over from trails and international travels was to provide it to the hash. That’s right, we weren’t just drinking Genny, we were drinking aged Genny!! At that was the “good beer!” There was a global selection of shitty beer from which to sample. Thankfully the hares left and we followed them.

Trial “you can’t go there, but we did”:

From the bottom of the elevator - where we were told trail started, there was a two and out across the parking lot to some guard wires. After trying to get through them, but being surprised by their roughness, some people scouted other ways  to get down to the exit level, while others tried to slip their way between the wires. Other people - who will call themselves “the smart ones” or “the one who followed trial” ran out the other door, without impediments. Meeting up with  the “smart people” by Meadhall, trial crossed over onto the train tracks where we found shots. We found tequilla, limes, but no salt. Lacking a bar we lined up the limes and the tequilia on the technically active rails to do shots off the rails! We were off the rails! ... That was a funny joke and you should be laughing. There was also a bottle of spiced rum which will feature later in this tale. Trial eventually continued down the tracks and through MIT. There were alleys and campus cops, and trails which seemed to run in circles. Some people - YHS - decided that it trial would eventually come out to Mass Ave so they just zenned there to find trial. Being a “proper” - if zenning - hasher - YHS didn’t “call on” until a true trail was spotted on the far side of Mass Ave. This call was relayed back to the pack and must have been followed, as it came out in circle that very few people actually went through MIT.. True trial apparenly was marked in sticky notes and went through the MIT buildings. The people who followed my called were lost and trying to Zen. Spank Me led a group of maybe a dozen hashers on the true trial through the buildings. After crossing Mass Ave there were rumors of  Hyatt On-In, maybe preceeded by a beer mile, but marks, those whiley things, did not leed us in those directions. Instead they led us back to the Harvard Bridge and a Beer Check behind the Frat Houses.


This beer check featured #gramablemoments and a couple cars full of parents-of-undergrads who were not-so-trilled at seeing a group of people drinking behind the dorms/frats in which their offspring lived.

Trial of the Traffic Cone:

The sun was setting and we were getting cold - though it should be noted that the ODT of this trial was greater than the sum of the temperatures on the previous LiaETs - so we set off on the last leg, with dreams of 500count cotton and turn-down survice dancing through our craniums. After scouting the wrong direction from the beer check shits found a porta-potty, and, being ever a gentleman, decide to pee there instead of literally anywhere else. As I was running and passively paying attention to conversations I heard someone say “I wonder if there will be showers later?” and someone else say “Well if there’s a traffic cone there will be!” As fate may have it I was running by a traffic cone at that very moment, which I grabbed and ran with the rest of the way. I’m sure the tourists and day-shoppers on Newbury Street were puzzled by the group of runners followed by a man carrying a traffic cone, but no one said anything. As we crossed Boylston street, a passerby asked me what was going on and why I was carrying a traffic cone. I said “Well, it’s a scavenger hunt, and the cone is for safety.” After Which I saw “ONIN” marked on the ground so I stopped mid stride, turned, and yelled through the amplified cone my good news. The people we were talking to me briskly walked away, though Falmon noted that I should only be allowed to communicate by “Yelling through a traffic cone” from then on.

We waited nervously in the lobby of the hotel for Douche to let us up and praying that no one would look in our suitcases which were 100% not full of beer. On a large display easel in middle of the lobby was a sign saying that no outside alcohol was allowed on the premise, with a copy of the Boston liquor laws beneath it. Fuck Blue Laws. We split up into 3 parties and rode the elevators up to the rage room. After milling about for a few minutes Falmon started yelling about food so we all got quiet and meekly did as we were told. After improvising chips and hard-tacos as spoons, we feed ourselves with a technically sufficient amount of rage-base for the night. Once we were ready, Cuntcussion called the hares in circle and Swegal took a bottle of spiced rum and launched himself at the sun.

The hares were called in and I believe they sang a song about midwestern centers of commerce. I was drinking a “worcester river” - moxie and rum - so my memory fuzzes a bit during circle. After the hares the FRBs (Falmon, Spank Me) and DFL (Butler) were called in. Analveries (Knuckles Deep) and the first warning for private parties was given. An aquisation for anyone who had been to all (4) previous LitEts was called, and surprisingly, only YHS has been dumb enought to think “On-in in a hotel suit is a good idea; I want to do this every year!” At some point Swegal crashed back down from his attempted-icarus challenge (everyone fails) and passed out on For the Love of God Finish, who was called in for “having someone pass out on him.” Sex found half a bra pad and was wearing it around so we sang “great big swinging tits” during which I punch goat in the eye. After that we sang “Off we go into the hot wet pussy” and luckily I didn’t smash any liqour bottles into the ground. People who followed trial through MIT were called in, and people who didn’t take the elevators on trial. After calling in everyone who took the elevators, the people who “sabotaged” the elevators by hitting stop on every floor were called in. With people starting to move towards the “quiet/not circle” room and Cuntcussion splitting her time between RAing circle and Sweagle, we swang long and escorted Sweagle to the bed. Later Wranger would play bongugo drums on the asses of Sweagle and Cuntcussion, in a displayed of true musicanship. The first group of people who went to the pool had to come back twice to ask where it was. The second group found the pool on the first try, but the first group was already leaving. Rage happened into the wee hours of 10pm because we’re all old.

On - Elevator Hash - On

Saturday 2/22: Ballbuster
Sunday 2/23: FURRY HASH


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