Hash Trash #1098 – Chest Deep in Goo

So there we were. Lost as all f&cking hell.
 
And that was just on the way to the start, because no body in their right mind, least of all some hashing wanker, can know where they are going in that crap-ass city Baltimore. But despite its gritty streets rep, B-more has some pretty bichen places to hash. or at least to dump bodies from crime dramas. Same thing I suppose. One such place was picked by Grand Mattress, which she thereupon commenced to dork it all to hell. Well not actually ALL to hell. Because she sure trickf#cked at least one doofus wanker into getting stuck in knee deep immobilizing atomic goose shit swamp mud making him have to do “mud angels” to extricate hisself while some other wanker assisted.. And that makes it all worth it. For her. Cuz for me there was no beer at the start, which is a downcheck., and no beer check despite a very long trail. so i may want my money back, Hash Cash.
 
Thus a crowd of wankers, inluding more than a half dozen visitors, virgins, and other impaired types besides the usual suspects, ez lipps, saintly suds, pimpocratic oaf, nugget and her partner for life gaelick, B4B, the Ponies, and other assorted losers showed up at the start, aptly located for our sketchy activities in some seedy back parking lot near a running store. Some of these wankers sported Himalyan Hash gear, possibly corroborating Grand Mattresses’ story about her formerly living in a cave in nepal with a Sherpa boytoy.
 
After an introduction circle ably handled by Electric Muff Chuckler and a rousing set of instructions by The Gland Mattress, including encouragements to yell ON On and warnings to NOT,whatever you do, go into the HashSnotacular swamp mud, the pack of wankers was off. The jaunt started down a series of rock strewn trails causing the geezers among us, like Lil Flour, to whine about twisting an ankle, while the rest of us secretly wished we brought along our Shiggy Sticks (canes) for extra stability and ward off the handsome stickers. Much up and down, and a tasty mixture between trails and not trails, rewarded us for our indiscretion at attending this debacle. Plus swamp and water crossings, and long enough on railroad tracks to make everybody wish there weren’t so many fricken RR tracks in the world. Long enough so that even that ridiculous toy of a train the light rail, rumbled by, moving not much faster than us.
 
Ah then in a draninage culvert we forgot our woes, enjoying the fruits of our labor, as they do in Nepal; at what is called a Himalyan Shot Check. This means you all just swig out of a 2-liter plastic jug soda bottle of home-made liquor mixed with fake Fresca and every wanker’s backwash. Now how desperate is that. Tell your co-workers what you did on sunday. jeezus are we easily amused or what. Then it was ON ON again, through a series of more endless hills and shiggy, among the civilian populace and their dogs who were amused by how desperate and slow many of us were. Or me anyway. The dogs were envious of the goof that got stuck in the swamp, his aroma of decomposing organic matter thrilling them and making them want to be BAH3 Hashers like Nugget. Then through the Warning Do Not Go Here sign and over a todally dangerous crossing where one had to climb round the locked gate of a bridge, clamboring through a chain link hole jutting perhaps 100 feet over a roaring waterfalls and an alligator filled river. Alas we ruined our chance to award a Safety Third violation to Grand Mattress since we all forgot about it in 5 minutes.
 
One of the many pleasures of this hash was watching comely brown fit visitorette pass me over and over with her 6 pals. The kind of woman that makes a lecher like Gaelick pant. Unfortunately Comely was all brawn and no brains as she and her mates all got lost somewhere along a trail that one has to admit was marked perhaps every 15 feet. Quite an accomplishment. They should fit right in if they ever return. I think Grand Mattress may be the Anti-Amazon in terms of pounds of flour per linear foot of trail trail marking, but nevertheless had to retrieve these wankers and a Clown Car act ensued as 7 of them unpiled from her hybrid at the circle to a round of cheers because we all like wankers dumber than us. Since i was DFL to that point i was thrilled to see them. Then Scooby acted like the hottest harriett in the place, by that i mean the Beer Bitch, the Hare was roundly violated for whatever, being the hare i suppose, and RA Instructor for Life Amelia Airhead counseled EMF on his RA duties, which, even when unassisted, he seemed to pull off OK. At least nobody lost any eyes or limbs. Any more than that and I think we may be setting the bar too high for this crowd.
 
It was announced there would be a naming, for Just Ted, and we got down to seriously knowing this wanker. After it was discovered nobody knew him and every question he answered was some version of “…uuhhh..” he ended up with the forever and ever name of Oral Constipation. He promptly got baptized with Flour and Beer, the secret ingredients that transform your average wanker into a true Hasher, and wore it to the on after. Now his beard and head are encased in beer/flour cement and he is wishing he washed it off or at least hadn’t been so interested in Fey Ley that he followed her into this idiotic activity from his seemy internet explorations. welcome aboard sucker, you fit the BAH3 profile alright. The Grand Mattress provided a couple of hash t-shirts that had been sitting for years on the 99 cent rack of earlier said running store, and proprietor of said store had a beer with us. he is a nice man so you should buy something from his store, wherever we were. dude must be desperate if he kept vintage BAH3 hash hab. i mean like desperately cheap. Mattress asked everybody to “think of a number” in order to earn these shirts, but didn’t give a range. So much for the Peace Corps ever figuring anything out. A couple of the clown car visitors finally won the shirts since they were closest to the 2 winning numbers of 11, and 4,988. i hope they know what they got. that wasn’t some crap Brand X Hash Hab, that was the BAH3. Collectors items. Then it was on to the On After, where perversions abounded, and that was even without Film at 11.
On On to 1099.
AnyCock’llDoMe