Predictably late Hash Trash

Post date: Oct 19, 2011 3:15:01 AM

"Spring is here, trees are budding, birds are tweeting, bees are

buzzing, daylight is saving, Jesus is back from the grave to walk the

earth and feast on the brains of sinners, Jews are doing something I

don't fully understand that involves lamb's blood, stale bread and

dead Egyptians, and chocolate rabbits are laying marshmallow eggs all

OVER the damn place. It's like a goddamn fertility/rebirth symbolism

jamboree out here!

And if there's one thing hashes respond well to it's sexual innuendo.

Like a mighty Kodiak, the CUH3 has bestirred itself from it's long

winter torpor. The simile was to extend to being lean, and hungry,

and ready for action, with pop culture references to Timothy

Treadwell, but I think we all know where I'm going with this mixed

metaphor, so I'll cut to the chase.

- The weather is awesome

- We haven't done this since November

- Your schedule will only get shittier

- We need to have a hash, and you need to come."

Though bad weather was in the report, the hash started under blue skies, as

our RA I Am Cumstain prevailed upon Zeus the All-Father to stay his

thund'rous bolt, most likely through sexual favors most deviant. (Those

Greeks, I'll tell ya...).

The hash was lightly attended, but the die hard usual gang of idiots showed

up, ready for trail, shiggy and beer. The co-hare aspect got scrapped in

order to have a sizeable enough pack to run with, and Stain set off.

Preeeeeeeee-dictably. (Sigh)

Yes, our hash has a new catchphrase, and a new named hasher. Congrats and

welcome to Pre-Dick-table, nee Just Rick. Rick earned his Nom d'Hash from

from his more or less constant repetition of that word during the hash,

which would have been insufferable, if he hadn't been calling every twist

and turn of the first two miles or so like he was Nick Cage in that bad

Phillip K Dick movie no one saw. Maybe you and Stain should take a little

time off, until your minds unmeld. Anyway, aside from being his new

trademark, his name also calls out his Prefontaine like levels of Race-ism,

and dickish complaining during the hash.

Of course that trick only lasted him so long, as the pack got turned around

and fragmented at 110th and Madison. Having already mapped out the trail

with Stain, your correspondent felt obliged to act as though he didn't know

where the hash was going, obligingly running down dead trails at checks.

After jogging off towards Marcus Garvey, and deciding the pack wasn't taking

my bait, I swung around to head them off and... that's it, until the on in.

Apparently they figured I went off on true trail after losing sight of me,

and circled the roundabout like so many turds in a bowl, looking for a

nonexistent trail.

I on the other hand, giving our pack a completely undue amount of credit,

figured they'd got out ahead of me, and it wasn't until sprinting to "catch

up" for about 10 blocks that I remembered who I was dealing with, and rather

than run back and find them, started leaving a pack trail of my own in case

they ever made it that far. I have a name to uphold here.

Anyway, Harlem has a saying: One skinny honky running down the block and

throwing shit all over the streets, shame on you, two skinny honkies running

down the block throwing shit all over the place, what the fuck? Sure

enough, after the shock of seeing Stain bolt through, the locals were full

of questions which they passed on to me. Questions like "Why the flour?"

"Why the flour?" "Yea but why the flour?" I should add that these

questions were usually posed in rapid succession before I had a chance to

say much more than, "Well, we're a club and..." One guy asked if I was that

was Yayo I was tossing around like Rip Taylor at a confetti festival. I

offered him a snoot, but he turned me down. Clean living I guess.

Eventually the whole pack gathered at Bruckner's bar in the South Bronx,

pretty much as far south as it gets, but a really cool place. Stain was

called out for a predictable trail, I was called out for abandoning the pack

for beer (As though that's even a slightly questionable decision). After

necking my beer, and a few others besides, I was off leading the pack on the

second leg.

That leg was a pretty straightahead one, heading back to campus through

Harlem, and arriving at the second On-in, Stain's friend Nooshin's

apartment. We had a virgin show up post hash, Just Yeppi, who recorded the

circle for posterity and potential blackmail in case any of us ever go into

politics (start working on that slush fund now, Bug). Stain decided to add

Non-Traditional to our hash name to give us the much more satisfying CUNTH

for an acronym. We may not be the first hash NYC's ever seen, and we

definitely won't be the last but, by God, we're the CUNTH. After a few

embarrassing brain farts on songs caused by not having hashed in months, the

circle was concluded to everyone's satisfaction. Except perhaps

Pre-Dick-table, who was covered in suds and flour after the initiation.

Then we waited about an hour for some fat bastard from Koronet to show up

with our pizza. We tipped heavily.

In future news, the hash is going to have its next, and probably last for a

little while, hash on Saturday, May 22nd. Details are still being worked

out, but expect a pickup hash, with the hare chosen by drawn straws,

starting somewhere around campus. Most of the hashers are heading out Real

World-ward, at least for the summer, so come down for one last hurrah!

Yours in (predictable) Tardiness

Type A-hole