Post date: Sep 2, 2012 8:16:25 PM
If you missed the Hash Olympics, you missed a hell of a good time. I can’t remember, nor do I probably want to remember all of the debaucherous events of the weekend, so bear with me Yogi as I do my best to assemble the events in my mind. I can’t honestly tell you what happened before June Bug and I arrived just after midnight Friday evening, but according to the itinerary for the weekend there was a trail set by Lazer of which I know nothing. Yeah, I know - hash trash is off to a great start.
It did rain, and I know that we killed a pony keg on Friday night. The dozen or so hashers did not let the rain dampen their spirits. Type-A dropped some great dance beats and Jersey A$hole insisted a plastic cover for the barbecue grill was actually a porch umbrella cover. True story, bro.
A drizzle persisted in patches through much of the night, but the dawn chased off the rain, and it would not return. Lazer woke up at 6:30 to make breakfast. Most hashers awoke to the smell of endless trays of bacon frying in the oven. Crispy, delicious bacon. Joaquin Penis and Second Cumming took the early train out of town, as others were arriving.
As Type-A was preparing for the blessing of the hare, he fitted himself some leg gaiters. If your hare is putting on leg gaiters before the hash, you’re gonna have a bad time. After the blessing of the hare and a 15-minute head start, the pack ventured off in the back of the property. Almost immediately we encountered thorns. Lots and lot of thorns. It was slow moving until we got to the shoe-sucking mud. Then it halted to a crawl. We think we saw the hare ahead of us, but he still managed to evade us because to stray from the path carved by the hare meant that one battled with Jumanji-esque thorns.
After crossing through the bog, which vaguely resembled the fire swamp from Princess Bride, we exited to a hill. At the top of the hill was the first of four beer checks for the trail. Inconceivable! The hash paused briefly to take what was easily the most tame picture of the campout, despite the fact that Muff Pirate mooned the camera.
We departed with the beer check for more woods, although less dense than before. The hash separated into two packs, as we made our way through more brambles and windy trails. What a Cunt was stung by a flying insect and Jersey slipped on a log. The second pack was confronted by an agitated landowner in a golf cart. It ended without incident. Pretty normal.
Second beer check was on some large boulders protruding from the forest floor. Tree-hugging Hard Licker and Just Heather were carrying the empties so as not to litter. We’re also fairly certain there was some PDA on trail. Muff Pirate and Just Reana were also part of the shenanigans. Acceptable hash behavior.
Pack departed and eventually came upon a lake. This leg of the trail was perhaps the shortest and more peaceful. A lone boardwalk skimmed the surface of the lake and the hash thoroughly enjoyed the natural beauty of the scene.
The third beer check was dominated by a cute herding dog who 98 percent of the hash insisted on petting and now probably have fleas as a result. After the cutest beer check of the day, hash followed the powerlines back to the main road and then tempted fate on a ~1.5 mile death march along the road. Trail backed over itself briefly before leading back to the Branch Davidian compound.
We scarfed down a delicious lunch of tacos and rolled into circle. The hare drank for not enough shiggy, too little road racing and for the gaiters. Hard Licker and Just Heather; Bam Bam Thank You Mam and Pimpy Longstocking; and Muff Pirate and Just Reana drank for PDA on trail.
Ow, My Balls was serenaded with David Bowie’s Space Oddity for getting his melon dome stuck in the spaceman helmet. Cum Test Dummy returned with a nice trail treasure - a hubcap from a ‘96 Toyota. The Flava’ Fav wannabee drank for her albatross. CPA drank for his racist attire. Wallflowers drank for their quiet demeanor. That led to a spirited singing of Swing Low and a brief break before the start of the 2nd anal Hash Olympics.
It began with Father Abraham jumping jacks. Pedometers were attached at the waist, hands and shoes, and the competitor had the length of time equivalent to one verse of Father Abraham to gyrate. After the time, the numbers on the pedometers are totaled to give the final score. Hard Licker, last year’s defending gold medalist, was unable to maintain her position atop the podium. Cranker Sore handily won with a score of 180. Hard Licker and Teacher’s Pet finished in second and third, respectively, with scores of 132 and 104.
The next event was broomhandle sharpening, or as I like to call it - Circle Jerk. Competitors started out with a wooden dowel with the end painted red and proceeded to buff the end of the paint using pieces of sandpaper. So it’s about as enjoyable as a hand job. Gold medal went to Solar Eclits, who was assisted in part by What a Cunt provider her with fresh sheets of sandpaper. But it’s also about technique. June Bug took silver and Pimpy bronze. But seeing as how nobody made the wood cum, it was pretty much pointless.
Competition resumed with everyone's favorite spectator sport: dizzy bat races. Drinking and running? No problem. Drinking and running with a case of the spins? Challenge accepted. Participants took five spins around a wiffle ball bat and then had to weave around cones before running back to the starting line. The 50-meter race was punctuated by What a Cunt’s commentary, which if you haven’t seen the video of the final is amazing. But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Nearly everyone competed in the preliminaries. Notable moments include Bam Bam’s face plant, to which Pimpy, being the gentleman hasher that he is rushed to her side. But rather than check to see if she’s ok, he picks her up and puts her back in the race. Now there’s the spirit! Jersey A$hole beat me with style points by leaping over the chicken coop and diving headfirst at the finish line. And then the final - Pimpy, Lazer and Teacher’s Pet placed in that order. In the video, WAC was giving up some “boom goes the dynamite” worthy commentary, which was eventually drowned out by chants of “BACON!! BACON!!” Pretty much captured the spirit and the drunkenness of the entire weekend in one clip.
The final event of the day was the slip n’ slide competition, which was split into men and women. Ow My Ball, who lived up to his name, was a force to be reckoned with. Literally. Momentum, to be exact. That’s mass x velocity for all you scientific-types. There wasn’t a long enough landing strip for him. Pimpy and myself finished second and third.
The women’s competition was arguably more punishing for the competitors. Try smashing your tits into the ground and see how you like it. Er, I imagine it’s something like that. Bam Bam took gold. Laser and Cum Test Dummy finished in order.
We finally broke for dinner, with CPA manning the grill and supplying the hash with burgers aplenty. Oh, and did we mention there was bacon, too? Drinking continued into the evening, which was pleasantly cool. So much so that a campfire was lit. We made marshmallows and some people exposed their genitalia. Good times.
Some damn hipster set up a railroad-style tent, with only a doggy door one side. One unfortunate drunk fool vomited out the doggy door in the middle of the night.
The next morning was greeted with more coffee and bacon. Breakfast gave way to the fat-boy trail set by HumMeR which was a glorified lap around the inside of the fence line. But hidden in some dollops of flour were tiny whistles shaped like a penis. Lips together, blow. A few did not make it too circle, having partied too hard the night before.
Johnny-come-lately to the circle - Gilden Sack was presented with a Flabongo down-down. At the request of Muff Pirate, a naming committee was convened and Just Reana was asked various embarrassing questions. Turns out she is a kitchen and bathroom designer. I’m also fairly certain she designs kitchens and bathrooms. Reana was then sent off while we discussed names like Morning Glory, Counter Intelligence and 19th Hole. Eventually the hash settled on Anal Cock’ll Do. The hash chanted “BACON!!” a few more times, which scared our unnamed hasher into thinking she would forever be named Bacon.
Then there was the final event of the Hash Olympics - the beer mile. But unlike the traditional beer mile, dice were rolled to determine how many laps the participants would have to make around the inside of the property. Each lap was finished with a beer. On the men’s side Type-A led the pack with Pimpy finishing second. There was no bronze medal. Type-A almost blew his impressive lead as he struggled with his final beer. But he managed to hold off Pimpy who almost pulled the upset.
On the women’s side, Cum Test Dummy took gold with Cranker Sore and June Bug finishing second and third. I think the only one who took advantage of the puking trash can was Just Heather.
As the morning faded into the afternoon, hasher packed their tents and trickled out of the compound. We attempted to help clean up as much as possible for our gracious hosts. Eventually Type-A busted out more of his homebrew, which was quite delicious even though it was warm.
Stat of the event: the hash consumed 21 pounds of bacon. Accounting for the people who were vegetarians, the average hasher consumed about a pound of bacon during the weekend. But don’t worry - that bacon is filled with legitimate cholesterol, which as we all know, our bodies are capable of shutting down.
Final Thought:
I’d like to take this opportunity to thank Lazer Labia and F’Orgy for letting us run amok in their house for the weekend. Props also to Type-A for showing up Thursday to scout the wonderful trail. Without their efforts and those of other misman, the weekend would not nearly have been as enjoyable. Cheers and on-on to the next trail.