Day 8: Hash trash counts, right?

Looking for a good time? Google Hash House Harriers and a big city near you. Guaranteed you'll find a bunch of half-minds who follow a bunch of silly traditions and run for beer. All you need is a coupla bucks, some old shoes and a really good sense of humor.

Here's the deets from last night...

In spite of many hashers having heavy hearts, about two dozen frozen and shivering half minds circled to celebrate friendship, exercise, Dos Hixxies virgin lay *ahem* and of course, beer. While latecomer Halley's Comet got naked in Deavers parking lot, a toilet paper-waving Duzzy gave the chalk talk for our lone virgin who patiently waited until Duzzy used up ALL his flour to say he would not be running trail. Wanker! DMB…there’s your missing nomination!



At some point the hares vanished into thin air and left dazed and confused hashers stumbling around the parking lot looking for dots. In fact, several hashers were certain the hares were probably just sitting at the bar. But Pornogenic, with her keen eye, found the Biggest True Trail mark ever, so huge we could have tripped over it, and we were on our way. It was an okay trail, I suppose, with lots of light, not a single check, no TP, no hills and absolutely no sawdust shiggy. Definitely, just another shitty trail.

Our fearless leader, thick-skinned Meta turned the circle into a “Do It Yourself” exercise in Religious Advising. No one had a November birthday. No one could remember significant runs. No one zenned or got lost. No one is traveling to a foreign country next week. We sang several songs more than once. Pornogenic sang all her favorite songs.




There were several hashshit nominations, however they were all for DMB. There were at least four…the two I remember were for Mistaking Nurse Hashshit for Meta on trail (or the other way around) and for DMB trying to nominate someone else but, for once, not being able to come up with another nomination! They were voted on and since there was a four-way tie it was suggested that it be decided by trial by down-down. Since there was no plunger, nor other hashshit, DMB resorted to filling her own vessel and in the end, the hashshit went to ….DMB. And in true “Do It Yourself” fashion, the tune was, “Do My Butt” (do my butt, do my butt, butt, butt) And in true DMB fashion, she forgot her cranium gear and had to drink…AGAIN. We swang ‘ro and the few that weren’t frozen solid, commenced to the on-after for more beer and a chance to relieve Deavers of most of their salt and pepper shakers. Which more than likely ended up in Just Mindy’s purse, since PMS was not in attendance.



In a rare moment of seriousness we remembered a fellow hasher, R U Shittin Me, who was loved by many and will undoubtedly be long remembered for the warm hospitality he showed the Big-Humpers for their annual campout. We sang a few tunes, raised our vessels and hoped that when it was all said and done, that he finished his beer.

On-[to not getting arrested Sat.] -On,

ICHY