Theme: One Step Closer to a Multiple of 69 Hash Trash
Hares: Ski Bobbit and Dribbles
Bag Car: Ski Bobbit
RA: Crucifux
Scribe: Jolly Green V*gina
Late Cummer: General Ass Pounder
Late Cummer with a Bicycle: Bend Over Mommy
Incapable of Following Trail: Mr Rogers
Weather: 55, clear & calm
The Pack: Hiscoxin, Goes Down On Buoys, Schindler’s Fist, Stick It To The Bros, Bleeps Sweeps and Creeps, Nipples Erectus, Immaculate Erection, Just Katy, Sucks Hard For The Money, Chocolate Starfish, Public Nuisance, Virgin Amanda, Merkin Muncher, Taj My Hole, Spank Me May I Have My Mother, Wet F*ck, Dude Where’s My Virginity, My Chemical Homance, C*ms Alone, Just Pywacket, Virgin Elizabeth, Virgin Laura, NAMBLA, Yoron Weed, Virgin Jon, Wooden Eye FHITA, Public Rectum, S*men in the Street, Floppy D*ck, Virgin Deeley, Just Ricki, Just Dave, Virgin Nicole, Just Doug, Spunk In The Trunk, G-String, Spoonful of S*men, Beat By A Girl, You Oughta Blow, Shorn Scrotum, Super Teflon Dong, Burning Bush, Velvet Pelvis, Just Trish, Just Iza, Headmaster, High Anus, Just Ward Sketchy Ho, Piss Stop, Mr Bean, Snatchsquatch, Harpoontang, C*m is Kosher, Sugar Plum Fairy
Hash Trash:
This week’s hash was a gift from Ski Bobbit to Ski Bobbit on the occasion of his birthday, and being one step closer to some multiple of 69 years old. Almost sixty hashers came out to celebrate that, in defiance of God’s will, Ski is alive and still even partially coherent after all this time. Quite an achievement considering Galapagos turtles generally throw in the towel long before they reach Ski’s age.
In any event, Pre-lube for the hash was at Clery’s near Back Bay station. Wait, it was at McFadden’s. No, on second thought, it was Clery’s. I think. It was a place where they serve that foamy drink … what’s it called? Where did I put my reading glasses? Ah, never mind. There was a circle, and then some yelling, and some bananas, and the pack was away.
Trail began with a circle jerk around the block. It’s unclear whether Ski was aimin’ to fix the wagon of us whippersnappers, or whether he forgot the chalk and needed to go back for it. Either way, we ended back at Clery’s. McFadden’s. Whatever.
From there, trail continued over and under every bridge in Boston that didn’t actually cross water. The pack was afforded several picturesque views of the underside of 93, the South Station trainyard, a police depot, and a couple of hobos eating Cheesy Poofs and drinking Mad Dog. As we passed the Pine St Inn, one hasher noted that it was like one of J-Mo’s trails, only without the hailstorm.
The pack then made it into the brownstone canyons of South End and picturesque views of open-air cafes, wherein pairs of well-groomed young men passed the time in deep meaningful conversation with each other. In fact, we ran into one of G-String’s co-workers, who apparently didn’t know about G-String’s other life (and perhaps didn’t recognize him without his rollerblades). They surely had lots to “discuss” at “work” the following day.
At this point, we briefly picked up a new hasher on trail. She only stayed with us for a half block, because although she was the right age for NAMBLA, she was unfortunately the wrong gender. Also, her mother was yelling at her to get away from the crazy people.
Not long afterwards, Ski Bobbit’s trail led us through a beautiful, scenic park where several species of trees were in blossom. Benches lined the gravel walkways, and the grass was immaculately tailored. If I may say so, it was one of the better parks I’ve been in, and it was the perfect place to relax after a good run with a cold can of brew. Naturally, the Beer Check was a block away, around the corner in the middle of a one-way street surrounded by angry and suspicious residents.
From the Beer Check, it was a relatively short jaunt across a bridge over some train tracks, through the picturesque quad at Northeastern (and some more pairs of nice young men in deep meaningful conversation with each other), and to the On-In at Punter’s Pub.
After some beer and a round of “And the Hares,” Crucifux introduced herself as our “wonderful RA for the evening," and then smiled so that the virgins couldn’t see her fangs. Ski Bobbit was called into the circle with a round of comments on trail, which included: “I showed up at McFadden’s but no one was there,” “It was dangerous making G-String run through Southie,” and “What are all you kids doing in my living room?!?” Ski Bobbit sang for us his favorite song of all time, “When It’s Hog Calling Time in Nebraska,” although he had trouble remembering how the second verse went. Following that, Burning Bush was called in as a visitor and sang us a wonderful ditty about beer and oral sex, which hopefully we’ll get to hear again (and we're still waiting for a repeat of Wet F*ck's 'For Curiosity').
Next up were the virgins, demented by Bend Over Mommy, who was mostly sober enough to speak in the to the virgins’ direction some of the time. In what may be a hash first, all six virgins arrived at circle with their bananas. When asked what they thought they should do with their bananas, Virgin Deeley answered “Throw them at Floppy!” This idea was received with great enthusiasm by the circle, and the virgins went at it with gusto. (It should be noted that Virgin Deeley also ran the entire trail with the moral support of Dr Love Monkey. While in pajama bottoms.) The virgins had to eat their bananas remainders in pairs, Lady and the Tramp-style. On a scale of 1 to 6.9 … well, let’s just say I’ve downloaded better.
Notable accusations included C*m is Kosher, for obsessively cleaning the floor, Bros for being FRB, Crucifux for being FBI, and Schindler’s Fist and Patriot Missiles for being smaht kids. There was some grumbling to the effect that hashing the night before your thesis defense disqualified you from being a smaht kid, but Schindler’s drank the beer before anyone could stop her. The final accusation was a massive same-shirt down-down for wearing blue marath*n weekend shirt to the hash, which is almost as classy as showing up at a concert wearing the T-shirt of the band that’s playing.
As circle wound down, Velvet Pelvis did his best to hijack “Swing Low.” Crucifux re-established dominance by punching him in the forehead. Circle officially ended with a brief but still excellent all-female topless mosh pit. The reasons for this remain unclear, but the consensus among male hashers could basically be summarized as “We’re not looking a gift horse in the mouth.”
Overheard on trail (sort of):
- When one Stick It To The Bros drinks, all GAPs drink! -Nips. Wait, what?
- Tastes like burning! –Velvet Pelvis
- Oh, God! Why aren’t you my daddy? –Virgin Deeley, when asked to fake an orgasm
- You remind me of one of my former swimmers. She was Macedonian. –Buoys, working his mojo on the ladies
- He’s got a cute ass. –C*m is Kosher, regarding a male hasher
- Yeah, he does. –Velvet Pelvis
- Sugarplum, leave them alone! -Floppy, defending his harem
- I just found some chalk in my pants. Here you go, Ski! Happy Birthday! -Crucifux
On-on
JGV
Just Liz, the newest hash flash, posted some pics for us.