August 13th, 2008 - Back to Basics Hash

Hares: I Eat C*m and Nice T*ts
Bag Car: Just Jo
RA: Wang Chunks
Scribe: Jolly Green V*gina
Boob Check All-Stars: Virgin Vanessa and Fire in the Hole
Sweat Test Failure: Shorn Scrotum and Virgin Lisa

Just Bill, Wet F*ck, Hare Club for Queers, Just Dani, Just Justin, C*m is Kosher, Headmaster, Stick It To The Bros, Spoonful of S*men, Ski Bobbit, Beat By A Girl, My Chemical Homance, Goes Down On Buoys, Taj My Hole, Bleeps Sweeps and Creeps, Nipples Erectus, Crucifux, Floppy Dick, Super Teflon Dong, Save A Tree Ride A Cowboy, Spunk In The Trunk, Velvet Pelvis, Dribbles, Krusty the Meat Miser, Catheter the Great, General Ass Pounder, Virgin Darryl, Dirty Latte Sanchez, Just Leeann, Just Michelle, Virgin Mimi, Virgin Angela, Virgin Coleen, Virgin Paul, Just Scott, Just Katelyn, Menopause Is Awesome, Magic Carpet Ride, Virgin Kyle, Virgin Greg, Just Alex, Just Jack, J*zz Mopper, Assume The Position, Just Liz, Virgin Nicole, Bend Over Mommy, Just Milton, and I think some virgin guy from Hawaii who we'll never see again.

The titles "Virgin" and "Just" were assigned indiscriminately to all unnamed hashers and are probably mostly incorrect.

Before I get down to the business of scribing, I’d like to begin this Hash Trash with a short invocation. Let us pray.

Sweet Jesus H. Christ On A Pogo Stick, Could We Have Had Some More Virgins And Justs On This Motherf*cking Trail. No, I Didn’t Think So Either. Christ, What Is The Hash Coming To These Days. In My Day We Wouldn’t Have Wasted The Beer On These Sorry Bags Of Cat Piss. For F*ck's Sake Who's Supposed To Be In Charge Of This Sh*t Anyway. Amen.

Moving on, the evening’s trail began at the Mt Vernon Restaurant, not too far from Sullivan Square — and shockingly, when the hares said they'd mark trail from the subway station, they actually meant it. Despite being an Orange Line Trail, almost one-third of the people who would have normally run a Harvard Square trail subjected themselves to the grueling fifteen minute subway ride off the Red Line and into the wilds of Charlestown. Those hashers with the intestinal fortitude to brave this perilous journey found themselves in a circle in the very same parking lot where G-String once set a world record for the most … let’s just say the smell reminded us of the many times G-String has been to Cleveland, if you get my drift.

From the Pre-Lube, the pack followed trail precisely two marks north. And then they got hopelessly lost. A good percentage of the pack managed to luck out and stumble on to trail, shortcutting about three blocks; however, a minority of actually tried to follow the marks the hares had laid for ten minutes or so before finally realizing they'd been left behind.

From there, the trail meandered around the crack-whore neighborhoods of Charlestown for a half mile or so before blatantly plagiarizing this spring's King Charles Spaniel Club of Greater St. Louis Fifth Anniversary Hash for about three blocks. (If you weren’t there, it was an epic trail laid by the greatest hare in the history of hares. Sorry you missed it. Well, not really, that was a joke, we played foursquare and you’re a bunch of sorry bitches. Ha ha ha.)

Following that, trail sadly diverged from the amazingly amazing awesomeness of the aforementioned hash to the greatly inferior awesomeness of the trail thought up by Nice T*ts and IEC. Trail marks brought the pack through a pair of narrow, blind tunnels which constituted the first and least dangerous of the deathtraps the hares had laid. From there, dirt-colored flour piles led us immediately to the second of the evening’s deathtraps: across some live train tracks with minimal line of sight in either direction. Luckily, the survivors found themselves not too far from a beer check, in a weedy parking lot somewhere in the wilds of Charlestown. Wang Chunks took the precaution of marking territory around the dumpster, probably in order to scare away any feral hoboes wandering nearby.

The second half of trail started off with an immediate YBF, which was to be a common theme throughout the remainder of the evening. In another common theme, the pack found it from the wrong direction and ended up shortcutting a block or so. There was apparently one more common theme which involved Fire In The Hole, Virgin Vanessa, and some Boob Checks, but unfortunately I missed all of that, so I will be crying myself to sleep for weeks to come.

For our final deathtrap of the evening, trail crossed a busy four lane street without the benefit of pedestrian crosswalks or traffic lights, resulting in some brave/idiotic hashers playing a live-action version of Frogger with some SUVs and a bus. Casualties were minimal, and not long afterward, trail ended at some bar whose name I forgot to write down.

I think circle started with calling the hares in, then the visitors, then the virgins. At least, that’s how it usually goes, but I was too busy taking a piss and getting some beer to pay attention. This turned out to be a good thing, because the evening's flock of virgins was f*cking ginormous. If I’d actually taken notes during the dementing, I doubt I'd have had any room in my notebook left for accusations.

Anyway, our first accusation was for Fire In The Hole, courtesy of Spunk, Schindler, and Just Alex. Fire had apparently invented a new pack mark for herself, which could pretty much be described as a capital F with a circle around it. Fire claimed that her mark was clearly different from a "False" because she drew flames or some kind of crap like that around it. Spunk & Co., having spent twenty minutes working on the contrary assumption, called bullsh*t. The pack agreed and Fire drank.

Next up was an accusation for some four-way action at the first beer check: a quadruple-decker sandwich involving Buoys, Krusty, Schindler’s and GAP (I think), and possibly the hood of the bag car. And then a new shoes violation for Homance, Virgin Vanessa, Wet F*ck, and Virgin Mimi. Because STD was Mimi’s sponsor, STD had to drink out of Mimi's shoe for her. And because STD was STD, he didn’t seem to care that the shoes were something like three years old.

After the accused finished their beers and the rest of us got finished throwing up a little our mouths, C*m Is Kosher was called into circle for (a) borrowing another hasher’s sweatshirt, (b) using the sweatshirt to wipe a completely different hasher’s ass, (c) returning the sweatshirt to the first hasher, and (d) avoiding any mention of a couple of suspiciously new skidmarks, even after other hasher put the sweatshirt back on. If there's a category for "Most Well-Deserved Down-Down" during this year's holiday party, I'm calling this one the winner right now.

At that point, Krusty briefly took over circle with his impression of the women’s Olympic beach volleyball team. I’m not going to describe it, on account of just thinking about it makes me want to wash my brain.

Last up was Ski Bobbit, after it was revealed that all these decades of being DFL have been a super secret strategy on his part, because the back of the pack is where all the hot chicks are. Ski spent a good five minutes in circle, mostly ranting at all the “alpha males” for being stupid and running really fast, interspersed with periods of yelling that everybody should get the hell off his lawn. J-Mo attempted to argue with Ski (about the FRB thing, not the lawn thing), but the pack cast its vote clearly and democratically by chanting, “Old guy wins! Old guy wins! Old guy wins!” until Ski finally remembered where he was and drank his beer.

Circle ended with “Swing Low” and several trays of KFC, which was finger-lickin’ good … assuming you didn’t care too much where your fingers had been.

Overheard on Trail

  1. I thought a Back to Basics Hash would just go across the Longfellow Bridge like twenty seven times or something. –Velvet
  2. You’re the ladies man, Ski! –Crucifux
  3. Wait, if I go in the circle, I get beer? -Virgin Kyle, having an “A-ha!” moment
  4. Shaft-errific! -Anonymous hasher, in regards to Stick It’s immaculately sculpted sideburns
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