Saturday, September the 28th, at Back-up Ranger’s residence at 6:00 pm. You know what to do.
Although many of our regular hashers were elsewhere engaged, wearing shinguards & sporting euro-mullets &, worst of all, NOT drinking Colt .45 on the soccer field, an intrepid handful gathered at the state gravel pit for a good old fashioned summertime hash. I ended up being fairly fond of the public meeting spot in spite of any reservations. Took the pressure off of everyone, & there weren’t any dishwashers for people to topple over on top of & break.
I hared it solo, adjusting my grandiose notions of tree-climbing & ravine crossings & all around awfulness to incorporate the plain fact of not really having a plan. Turns out I found some good shin-splicing willows, some fine mud puddles, a good deal of shiggy & not much else. It never really picked up, speedwise. I was assisted greatly by the joint efforts of Hoss & Wangus, who sampled each bit of flour to ensure quality.
Hounds had the pleasure of imbibing Essence of Selleck (Malibu, Bacardi Limon & orange cream soda) dropped into a Solo cup of Colt 45, & then, later along, taking down a cold cup of Billy Dee infused Tom Selleck (i.e. a shot of 45 in a rum & Coke). They all collectively decided to shortcut the trail, since I led them to the precipice of the pit, so, you know, I suppose it’s understandable. One notable exception was my wife, Poison (a name in sore need of revision), who had the grave misfortune of walking carefully around the cliff, only to sprain her ankle miserably on a rock not ten feet from the car. When I say miserably, I mean it was the size of a grapefruit, & remains swollen & sorely bruised unto this day.
In the circle, the following were determined:
NNDittmar became Millenium Crotch
a NN cannot be given a name unless he or she actually runs
Hounds present: Poison, Frog Fucker, Whisperstick, Ranchdick, Millenium Crotch, NNMaher, NNHistrand (who maybe got a name? I don’t remember), Pussyface Snowplow, Buckskin O’Connor
Hare: Serbian Jungle Chode
All in all, the mud & sweat & bugs made it clear that summer is upon us. Before these arid Saharan climate swings dry up all the nastiness of the trail, it would be good to launch another hash in the not too distant future. Any willing hares or hosts in the Village? On the ‘pede? Points in between not in the park?
We’ll figure it out. Until then, on on!
I have been remiss, good friends of the 3H kennel. It has been nearly two months since our last hash. Two months fraught with lingering snow, thigh-deep post-holing, transitions aplenty & possibly the shortest Spring I’ve ever witnessed. One day snow, one day summer.
But, more importantly, with that sudden surge of summer’s susurrus came great opportunity. I behold the landscape now with the eager eyes of a hash house harrier hell-bent on the analysis positively Dickinsonian Possibility. Which is to say, let’s go play in the mud.
We cordially invite you to the first-of-its-kind (I hope) Billy Dee Selleck Hash on Thursday, June the 13th. Let’s make up for that two month lapse by celebrating two of the great luminaries of our time, Billy Dee Williams & Tom Selleck. Some Colt 45 & some rum & Coke with a touch of Rose’s lime, anyone? Or are we talking the Selleck of cheap American lager? Time will tell, my friends. Time will tell.
I think we’ll have it on the Stampede somewhere, & at the usual time. Any Stampeders with houses not in utter disarray from moving & projects? I would very much like the honor of haring this one. It is a new year, a new season, & somewhere in that novelty there sings a song with a melody only previously intimated.
So break out your finest Lando costume, your finest P.I. Hawaiian shirt, whatever you’d like to wear to honor these two emblems of an age gone by.
On on, & let the summer hashing begin!
Good lord that hurt. I mean, why even do a hash themed around infectious disease if the effects of the night aren’t going to malinger for a day or two, right? Commit to it & all of that happy horseshit, right?
It was the first ski hash after discussing ski hashes for a long while, & the trail was surprisingly comparable to a running trail in terms of false leads, diversions, surprises & the like. The gracious Tundra Thumper did not lead we poor skiers up or down any considerable hills, but let us wend our way through the deep snow with a relative sense of equilibrium. Until the first of the two potions was unveilved, that is. I did not have a lighter handy, but if I had, I think I would have been able to offer conclusive evidence that one can indeed create a fireball merely by breathing after downing a sip of that potent concoction. With eight of us on skies, each of the two full thermos-loads of curative spirits translated roughly to way too much whiskey. In spite of that, or perhaps because of it, we all arrived safely back at Tundra Thumper’s in a gentle, mild-mannered cluster.
& then someone brought out the Canadian Hunter.
& what more fitting way to gather & send off two of our longstanding hares (& to say hello & goodbye again to another) than in a furious & seemingly ceaseless round of raised salutes involving cheap whiskey? Semen Sanchez & the newly minted Mrs. Push Pop will be sorely missed, as will Red Pony. We wish them the best along their hazy, blurry trails to come & leave them knowing that the hash will always welcome them back, even if its hounds & hares continue to shift.
Hare: Tundra Thumper
Hounds Who Actually Skied: Poison, Frog Fucker, Whisperstick, Serbian Jungle Chode, Double Pole/Pull, NN Johnson, NN Foster, Buckskin O’Connor
Hounds Who Kitchen-Bitched: Red Pony, Semen Sanchez, Mrs. Push Pop, Ranchdick McK, Glistening Shit Stick, Davy Cockit. NN Ditmar, Nutsack Landing Strip. Anyone else?
Trail: As mentioned, surprisingly good for having to use skis. People are good at skiing around those Village parts.
Down downs were various & exhaustive. I was for one waxing rhapsodic about shifting seasons. I may have been drooling while doing so.
Our next hash will commence planning immediately. Any interested hares or hosts please let me know. Let’s take full advantage of break-up & lay some shitty, muddy trail, yeah?
The new year has been upon us for some time, dear harriers, & it’s time to ring it in. In the spirit of all of us administering Ivermectin like madmen, we cordially invite you to the Infectious Disease themed hash. The details are these:
When: Tomorrow, Thursday, April 11th, meeting at 6:30 with prayer & run time of 7:00
Where: Abode of Tundra Thumper (nee Sphagnum Spanker) in the village
Special Caveat: Skis HIGHLY RECOMMENDED on account of the metric shit-ton of snow that has fallen down yonder way
Theme: Infectious Disease. Or zombies. Or that sort of thing.
Food & Beverage: Since this is the first of the year, let’s make it a potluck & bring in the hashing season with aplomb. So, bring your own beer, bring something to eat &/or share.
For anyone who needs directions to Tundra Thumper’s house, let us know.
Also, some cause for celebrating & some cause for lamentation: regarding the former, it is rumored that Red Pony will be returning for one night only. Regarding the latter, this will be the last hash as AK residents for Semen Sanchez & NN Lane (have I forgotten yet another hash name?), who are off for the verdant hinterlands soon. We will raise our cans of shitty beer to them in salute & in best wishes for their travels to come.
So, come one, come all. Here’s to hashing in 2013. On on!
I don’t know where, I don’t know the theme, & I can’t promise what the beer nears may be, but one thing is for goddamn sure– we’re having a hash on April 11th. Mark it, dude.
What better way to usher in the apocalypse than to hurry the oblivion a titch by partaking in the inaugural/ultimate DH3 Beer Mile? Yes, a calendar event as significant as this merits a special kind of hash. We are creatures of habit, to be sure, but faced with the precipitous implosion of the very ground upon which we stand, even we can be pushed to creative solutions. Circles past have heard whisper of the beer mile. Hounds have toed the line of its possibility with a tentative & anxious foot, but none present have yet gathered their courage & crossed that threshold into the great unknown. It lies before us, beckoning, beckoning. & so, if calamitous change is to come, let’s roll out the red carpet.
What: Beer Mile (google that shit)
When: Thursday, Dec. 20, 6:30 p.m.
Where: Whisperstick & Frogfucker will host
Rules (& these are official):
1. All participants must drink one full beer before starting, at the 1/4 mile mark, at the 1/2 mile mark & at the 3/4 mile mark.
2. All participants must imbibe said beer out of an aluminum can unadorned with such features as big gulp tops or the like.
3. All beer must be at least 5% ABV. PBR counts, just for reference.
4. All participants must provide their own beer. Bring a six-pack.
5. This will be a timed event. We have to get on the official books here.
6. If a participant vomits, he or she must run an extra 1/4 mile.
7. All beer must be consumed in full in a ten meter transition zone (5 meters on either side of the 1/4 mile marks). Participants can’t begin drinking until in the transition zone, nor can they begin running until they have finished their beer.
8. No shotgunning or other forms of can tampering.
9. Witnesses are welcome, but your names can’t be entered into the tomes for one night’s posterity.
This is the race we’ve all been training for all of our lives. To the victor will surely go considerable spoils, along with glory that would be everlasting were it not for the pending collapse of the world.
For reference material, visit http://www.beermile.com/