Post date: Oct 19, 2011 2:02:42 PM
(This may be the quickest trash turnaround ever, but don't get used to it,
you have my 5 day bender to thank for it. I'm currently laying in bed
prostrated by what WebMD.com describes as "All Disease")
Good news everyone! The numbers from this hash can -literally- hardly be
believed! First off, so popular have we become that curious thrill seekers
from far and near flocked to see what this CUNTHHH thing is all about.
That's right, visitors actually outnumbered CUNTHHH hashers by a margin of
about 50%! Also, virgins were in abundance, making up almost 30% of the
hash! Furthermore, there was a seemingly inexhaustible supply of alcoholic
treats that try as they might, they hash couldn't put a dent in! I'm not
sure we've seen a hash like this since the early days!
Anyway, as anyone FROM the early days has figured out by this point,
attendance could charitably be called sparse. We had hares Sir Shaves A Lot
and his co-hare Just Brianna, who lays on the first time out (very
promising...) Yours truly, visitors Dirty Udders from *Old* Amsterdam,
Makes His Own Gravy from Wasatch H3, and Ow My Balls!, from NYC, and two
virgins, the aforementioned Just Brianna, and Ow My Balls!' friend Chris
who didn't run, but showed enough of that ol' hash spirit with the
jelloshots to more than make up for it. More on that later.
Pack gathered at Texas Arizona outside the train station just in time for
the sky to open up. Or maybe it was a rogue wave out of the harbor or
something. At anyrate, about two inches a minute seemed to be falling for,
about.... a minute? Anyway that was plenty to make sure that the trail was
essentially kaput, so arming ourselves with mapquest printouts (A first for
me, but damn fine thinking ahead on the part of the hare) Gravy, Udders and
I struck out. Boy did we strike out.
We found a surprising number of leftover marks, the flour tended to stand up
to the rain well, and the marks Just Brianna laid, holy shit.
Archaeologists will be debating their meaning when they dig up Hoboken
thousands of years hence. It seemed like they'd have been less permanent if
she'd taken hammer and chisel and etched them into the concrete. Anyway,
the lie has successfully been given to the old "Flour is better than chalk
in the rain" argument. Just need some elbow grease is all. But we were
relying pretty heavily on the map for all that. But not heavily enough.
Shaves had actually laid a trail the day earlier, which had mostly been
washed out, then laid another the morning of, which was also mostly washed
out. But only mostly enough to not keep us out of trouble. We arrived at a
big "B Check, Look For Nelly" graven into the living rock of Hoboken, and
asumed that we must be there, or if not close. Checking the map, we saw
that the trail continued on to the left, and we ran about a mile downhill
looking for the suds. Until another look at the map showed that the beer
check, the location of which we had been *told* before we left, was actually
off map a few blocks to the right. With a mile of uphill suddenly before
us, we began trudging up, the thought of cold beer the only thing keeping us
on our feet.
Turns out "Nelly" is what Shaves calls his truck. Why anyone would know the
Christian name of someone's car, I don't have a clue. Maybe it talks, and
they fight crime every Thursday from 3-3:30am on a syndicated show for USA?
Anyway, we didn't end up meeting at the agreed upon out-of-the-way parking
lot, as Shaves hopped out to water the flowers, but was not busted for
public urination as you might expect. No Jersey decided to go over the top
on us, called our public excretion and raised us a pervy Peeping Tom. Not
comfortable with his schlong getting ogled, or maybe Brianna didn't want the
competition, we ended up just pulling up against the sidewalk, all pretense
abandoned. Fortunately West Hoboken seems to have a lot more on its plate
than a bunch of jokers tailgating on the street. For all the sirens and
emergency vehicles running up and down the street, I'm not sure we got a
second look. Or a first even. Good thing, because The hares had made Jello
shots for a MUCH larger pack, and we were expected to eat them all.
Feeling excessively bloated, the pack decided to take the elevator rather
than tackling the hill for a third time, and ambled our way back through
Hoboken. Saw the sights, tried to buy a sewing machine from what we thought
was an antique shop but now seems more and more like a mob fronted tax
dodge. Far as I can tell Udders still has not gotten through to anyone
actually interested in actually selling her anything.
The pack showed up back at the on-in, where my RA-ing cherry was busted, and
like all losses of virginity, it was a disappointment to all involved.
Hares drank for a shitty trail, and assuming familiarity with the
world-renowned Nelly, Udders and Brianna shared a down down for the offense
of being from New Jersey, I think I had one for shitty RAing, Balls had
one for excessive flaunting (apparently he's skipper of the NYC hash
sailboat, which is a thing and everything) Gravy and Udders and Balls
shared one for being visitors, although at two appearances, Gravy is less a
visitor, and is practically setting himself up for a Misman position. God
knows we need an RA.
Anyway, that was June, July is still up for grabs (Definitely gonna need to
elect a hare raiser next chance we get) and August has just been solidified
at the 20th-21st. Clear the calendar, then throw it in the trash and burn
it so you can't schedule anything else that weekend! This should be
amazing. Details to come.
On-On to July,
Type A