"CUNTHHH r*n #8 hash trash" *actually #7*

So let me begin by saying that I've just about worn out my rotator cuff patting myself on the back over the turnout for last month's hash, (-Sonofagoddamn bitch. I KNEW I used that line before! -ed.)

and I hope you all have too. We broke the big one-oh, and before even our

one-oh-th! We certainly have susceeded beyond our widlest drams!

Virgins Just Hilary and Just Lucy, as well as visitors Just Roarke, Lunch,

and Second Cumming were on hand to give our pack(age) a nice satisfying bulge.

Rounding out the pack of idiots was June Bug, I Am Cumstain, Second Cumming

(First Removed), our hares Lazer Labia and I Feel Tower, and that dashing

young gent-stupendous, lover of women and scolder of children, friend to

animals and prompt repayer of debts, scribe extraordinaire Type-A hole. The

pack convened at the usual hash spot at the usual hash time, and after some

quick chalk talk and a polite wait for yours truly to get his keys he locked

in his lab, we were off.

The hares led us through some shiggy in Morningside park, which led to the

urban shiggy of Harlem where we found the first of many tit-checks.

Unfortunately, the duplicitous succubi that call have the nerve to call

themselves CUNTHHH's left us hanging, and not for the last time. Eventually

trail led into the North woods of Central Park, and after some creative

shortcutting and looping around, we arrived, sigh... predictably, at the

blockhouse. Lazer dug out some expertly hidden tallboys of Buds both light

and heavy, and the pack began quenching the powerful thirst that only comes

from a grueling mile or so of aimless j*gging around. Jun Bug got an

impromptu Father Abraham going in order to keep the pack warm, but after a

bit it was decided that jumping around like fools on the edge of a 25 foot

crag might not have been the best idea.

From there we headed west, completely ignoring yet another tit-check, and

ended up stumped. After treating myself to a brief scamper with a

stranger's terrier puppy, I zenned down to street level and wouldn't you

know it... a few blocks and housing projects later, the pack had broken up

a bit, and at the next check the men went down true trail, the ladies down

false, and I blew right over true trail without realizing it, tried to

shortcut and ended up tacking a good half mile on. Eventually the pack was

reunited on Broadway, just in time to get stumped at another tit-check.

Most likely divine retribution from vengeful boob-deities.

Anyway, as the pack was stumped, night was falling, and Stain knew where the

On-in was anyway, we decided to Zen it right up to O'Connel's bar. The

hares were there, and more importantly, so was the beer! Once we got

settled in, Stain convened the circle, and the downdowns flowed like a sudsy

river. The ladies drank for not sharing the wealth. Truants drank for

missing Stain's Shiggyfest. Most of the pack drank for shortcutting. The

hares drank because of course they did. I can't remember if Just Lucy

busted out her nutsack and baby clementines (seriously, BABY clementines)

before or after circle, but if it was before, it's a sure bet that a down

down was cooked up. Stain broke out a new longsong, Lunch gave us savages a

bit of the true religion with a pre-meal benediction, and I busted out a new

one I learned when I went native with the Chicago Hash the week before (4

hashes in 8 days, those guys are the truth). We're getting a pretty solid

songbook, and not just by the standards of NYC. Anyway, the hash was

blessed and more or less dispersed.

Some Post Circle highlights:

Lazer taking advantage of the bar's liberal dog policy and bringing her two

dogs, whose names escape me, so let's say "snoopy" and "prickly pete", which

completely lost their shit barking every time the dog they befriended right

after coming in left the room and came back.

Lazer and S.C.(F.R.) talking extremely loud shit across the bar as those

unpatriotic Hanoi Janes of Notre Dame gave Army a rodgering they'll never

forget.

Me practically knocking this one lady's table into her lap every time I went

to the bathroom.

Bug getting so smashed the C.U.Po set up a dragnet to catch us in order that

the Sergeant could interrogate her with a quick "You OK?" before letting us

go on our way. Dynamite detective work fellas.

Other News!

Jun bug will be leading the 9th CUNTHHH hash this coming Saturday, the 11th,

starting at the Alma Mater, at 3pm. A Christmas fatty is in the offing,

which means short mileage, slow pace and multiple drink checks. What better

way to prepare for hastily making and then breaking New Years resolutions

than to really put your body through the wringer with us this weekend?

The hash has been running now for over a year, and our Illustrious RA I Am

Cumstain may not be long for the hash, moving on to greener pastures. As

such the Founding Fuckwits are looking to pass down or at least shuffle

around the responsibilities. You know what that means, erection season,

with all the character assassination, red meat for the base, and partisan

politics before principle that entails! So come on and see who leads the

proles to victory, and who ends up against the wall, at the

Revolution... #9<http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HQal-lJrSLI> ?

This Hash Trash has been approved by the committee for timely hash trashes,

and maybe getting A-Hole a less deadline intensive job.