Divorcee Hash 2.0

What: Divorcee Hash 2.0

How: Swedish Eagle, Yellow Dick Gnome, Chunderelli Chunderelli

Where: Whitey’s Harvard Sq

Who:

young just, old just, ass cowboy, quater mile quack quack queer, do me decimal, po po peep show, wikipedophilia, anal disco, peeping tom pussy, strap on strap off, kunckles deep, orgasmn falmon, necropheliciac jack, the butler hit in, oboner, dribbles, dry hose, luva lamp, full frontal fireball, vagabond, sketchy, testicular mechinaics, foreskin abortion, probably others i’m forgetting, no capital letters.

Start: Pack made up the entirety of the crowd at Whitneys and Vagabond did a much more friendly impression of “give me yo money” than I ever had. We discussed why we were here, and our sincere hopes that this trail would be better than the last divorce trail . The hares were eventually gay - if only, that might have helped their marriage - and we continued talking amoungst ourselves. Eventually two people showed up who looked like they were going to be the bouncer for the night, and we ignored each other. Pack away was called and we played another game of “cram bags into small cars” as we filled quater miles’ transport with our shit.

Chalk Talk:

Was relivitely calm; we said what we wanted to get in the divorce, and went over marks...some of which were used, some of which weren’t. We were told that there would be an abritraity number of “bad decision splits” - the hares would make them up as they go but we could expect things like “401k/vacation house.” Cool idea, we left to find marks.

Leg Honeymoon:

Well, this was no honeymoon. This marriage was off to a grey start as the first leg of trial [note: I -am- trying to spell trail but google (I’m writing in google docs) is -always- correcting it to trial.] was marked in grey and sidewalk color chalk. Combine that with us running through the never-thronged-with-tourists-and-summer-camps-harvard-square and you could just tell that pack was already harkening back to the early days of crushing and mid-day bangs. Eventually we found a mark which was a perfect metaphor for the divorcee trial; a true trail leading to a locked gate. On the other side of the gate was one of the best splits I’ve ever seen; a “Drinking Alone/Therapy” split; the drinking alone just looped you back to the locked gate true trail and the same split again. In order to continue on trail, you NEEDED TO TAKE THERAPY!!! On the other side of the therapy was a song check in the middle of Hahvahd Yahd, at which I thought it was appropriate to educate the denizens of The Yahd about how you can have a balanced diet - and stable marriage - if you eat hot viginia for breakfast, lunch and dinner! There was a kids/pets check on the other side of the Yahd, and then trail rejoined and we run through “lower Cambridge” towards Cambridgeport and a beer check in the park near the Western Ave Bridge.

Beer check:
Had Beer! Though, to be fair, it was divorcee-able beer, as it was, we hope, finally the last of the marathon beer check gennie cream and warm PBR (though bag car had placed it on ice to try and gas light us into thinking it was good beer). Speaking of gaslighting, some people talked about early 2000s German ciniema and no one had heard of The Edukators. Kool.

Pack away was called (or I thought it was)

Leg Working Through It:

The second leg of trail was one designed to remind pack of everything they hadn’t as we trampsed on various paths through Harvard Business School. There was a Mom/Dad/Runaway check. Your humble narrator took the “Mom” path which was a pleasant stroll passed some pavillions, gaint out-door chess and a “cool art” check. Nerco and Vagabond ran off to have sex, and I scouted trail alone across whatever extension Hahvavd is building into Lower Alston, and ran into the 401k/Vacation house check. The vacation house led quickly to a “B”N so I looped back and ran the 401k backwards hoping to find “shots” but none were to be found, so I caught up with the walkers and ran into the “B”C.

Not Almound Champaign Check:

The B was in quotes because the refreshments on offer were cosco-champaign and the champange of beers - High Life. Blessedly there was no Almond Champange and pack began to think “maybe the hares aren’t gunning for ‘Worst Trial Of the Year’”

Leg Run to the Courthouse

From the second beer check trial meandered again through LA to an obivous check-back on Hooker st, which I blew through and found true trial a block away pointing to a “CN/CC” where the hares had hidden the other six bottles of champange under a bridge. Second rolled up to the check with a posses coke-addicted doll which he used as a batton to pass around champange. I think her name was ... Sally? He found her in an Alley? I forget. Trial continued across the North Harvard Ave Bridge to the Most Obivous Checkback Ever (TM) back across the Mass Pike to a pretty much straight shot to where all marriages end; the backroom of the Shilloute.

ONIN:

Was the backroom of the Shilloute. Bags and pizzas were distributed and we stuffed our faces with pizza and free pop corn until Ass Cowboy called us into circle. The hares were called in for being hares and laying a shitty trial. They admitted to their crimes and sang that they were dumb. Visitors were called in - one whose name I forget from Everyday Is Wednesday - whose naminy story involved banging in the Hahvad Library, and a visitor from Boulder CO, #PossiblyTheBestBH3. They were welcomed and song “Dead Whore.” Then July birthdays were called in - second, popo, butler, maybe others - and we sang to the linear progression of time. I was called in any number of times for any number of crimes. Strap on Strap off was called in for following me and I massarced the “Like a Virgin” song. Dry Hose and Luva serinamed us with their weird song, though I forget which accusation drove it. Eventually the beer was running low and the more constrained passing of time which we were aware of was getting close to the end so ass cowboy called for announcements (see below) then we swamg low.

On - there are no such thing as mistakes just wrong decisions in the moment - On

-Wiki

Announcments:
TONIGHT TONIGHT TONIGHT: Choir practice at the Owl’s Nest Beer Garden on the Esplinade. Google maps:
I will mark trail from the Feedler and Dartmouth St footbridges.

Saturday: Zig-Zag Trail starting at the Shilloute, 8PM HST

Next Wedensday: Revere Trail, Bill Ashes’ Lounge

Saturday 7/20: Bullbuster

Saturday 7/27: Boston Moon H3 Present: Tour de Franzia 2.0

Wednesday 7/31: Mastor Gator is haring a trail which isn’t the Tropical Hash

Saturday September 7th: Green/Yellow Dress Run!!
REGO: https://forms.gle/wqEyyYreguC6qJPHA

hsarT hsaH sdrawkcaB

What: Hash Backwards Trash

Where: Zero Washington Dog Park

Who: Shits and Ladders

Pack: Right, a lot of justs, a just who was named Full Frontal Fireball, a virgin, Sex the Final Frontier, PoPo Peepshow, Shart of Darkness, Organsm Falmon, Dribbles, Bring Out the Gimp, Wikipedophilia, Testicular Mechanics, Foreskin Abortion, Bottom Wrangler, Quarter Mile Queer, Dry Hose, a just from holden (well, rutland, but I’ll take it), other’s I’m forgetting.

Chalk talk:

The marks being blue and well trodden were slightly hard to see, and since we were all eating pizza (suprisingly good?), we weren’t paying much attention. There were no flour marks, though the majority of trail would be laid in flour. We did introductions in a record amount of time, as a very drunk Wrangler spon around in the middle and told us to “Yell out our names” when he pointed to us. The virgin was very confused, but we ran off anyway.

Trail goes up, because of course it does:

Trail turned left out of the start, and we were immediately deprived of some of the best urban shiggy and abandoned train cars in boston. We ran around the back of a retire complex then crossed Washington street when we saw and sign which cruelly promised that a T station might be there soon.. We ran up a short road, crossed a green bridge, then got to a 5 way intersection and a song check. Unfortunately the motorists had their windows up so they couldn’t hear us saranade them with the gang bang song. We crossed the intersection almost directly and ran pretty much straight up the backside of whatever-hill-has-that-tower-on-it-in-Somerville to our first beer check. There was some pleasant musical accompanyment for the FRBs, but by the time pack got there the muscianians had dispersed.

Beer check sans music:

The beer was dropped off and the musicians left. We spent time enjoying the views of our fair city and wondering where trail would go from there. We were promised an indoor or outdoor onin, depending on weather. I had my suspicions, which were wrong, and caused some bad zenning in the future.

Trail goes down:

Apparently Somerville is fixing stairs and doesn’t want people running on grass? Anyway, we had to run around the tower to get back down to Union square, and a check that was actually solved relatively easily, given the roads in the area. We ran over the bridge past CEPs old place, and Testicular tried really hard to pull a Butler by darting out in front of a car. Everyone saw the car stop and then ran around it too. This very much confused the driver and he tried to yell at us, but we were running for beer! There was a group hug a bit down from CEPs and I am getting confused as to how we got there without cross a major street, but I’m assuming somehow we did?  We then had a nice jaunt through deep Cambridge and it’s warren of not-quiet logically connecting streets until we ended up at the backside of the Kendal area. There were no marks down the train tracks because apparently those tracks are becoming more and more active? Trail ran through the bio-tech building neighborhood to and we were finially rewarded with a beer near a dog park/playground thing off Binary street.

Beer check in the dark:

Despite the lengthening days, it was getting dark and we were getting kinda cold. I found out that one of our just was from Rutland and that sadly he was more well versed in the Holden bar scene than I am. In my defense I actively avoid the Holden bar scene like the bubaunic fucking plauge. Cool story.  With the darkness encrouching on our rage, we hastily finished our beers and took off in search of trail.

Trail smart or stupid? Everyone’s stupid.

Trail ran straight for a few blocks to a smart/stupid check. Gimp somehow found trail and ran almost straight to the end. I thought I knew better than to follow a Gimp sprinting off into the unknown, so instead I followed Sex. I have regrets in my life. We scouted a block and found trail and then verily happily ran trail, despite marks being slightly hard to find, for a few blocks. We heard On-On calls in the distance and were vauguely heading towards them. Then there was a check dozen people coming from one way and a dozen people coming from another and we kinda just looked at eachother all stupid like until I decided that maybe following Sex wasn’t a good idea, so I followed falmon and we eventually found our back to the joining arrows of the smart/stupid – but still no sign of Gimp. A few blocks later we were running past the court house and our beerdars were flashing red alart. A quick mob-run across Cambridge street greeted us with a Beer Near and OnIn at Courtside.

Circle:

Circle got started quickly with the Ras accusing the hare of an S-H-I-T-T-Y trail, and the hare singing a short dity about our sisters. We then brought in our virgin who was close to guessing what eight something squared was and had a very ineresting interpartation of a pig orgasming. She’s now a just, and I promise to be good a remember justs this summer! #scribegoals Sensing that pack was already drunk and that there was a story which just needed to be told, the RAs accused Just Lindsey of being a just. As she knelt before us we heard tale of her drinking too much fireball at marathon, going home, leaving her door open (who amoung us hasn’t done that?). Her roomate then came home, thought someone had broken in and called the cops who founded our earstwhile just contentenidtly passed out on her bed. At another trail, this time in Oregon, she went down on a fellow hasher after she though trail was over. When she came up for air, she discovered that they had not finished trail, and were in fact, in circle. Based partially off these relaltively true events, just Lidnsey will be known as Full Frontal Fireball from now on. That out of the way, we moved onto accusations. Backsliders were called in, I think, though somehow I missed out? There was an accusation of a group back massage and Testicular face planting running down a hill. Since we were at Courtside there were pitchers and shitty pizza flowing generously and the RAs, admiting that they could no longer control themselves or circle, swung low. Oh yeah, there were announcements – beaver trail in Billerica Sunday, in which we might burn down Gimps house? I’m unsure. Summer campout season is upon us, so you know, get your tent and rage?

On – Rage – On

-Wiki