Baltimore Annapolis Hash House Harriers

They say a picture is worth a thousand words. Well, I don’t have any pictures, so you’re just gonna have to make do with my thousand-some words. Settle back, pilgrim; things are about to get hashy.

So again we had a trail. In Baltimore. Turns out there’s more shiggy in Baltimore than you can shake a beer at. (And why would you shake a beer anyway? Barbarian.) Also, there’s some invasive species. Which included us, at the start.

Perhaps the sight of a well-proportioned, very-short-skirt wearing, knee-high-boot sporting, attractive white woman (Pump-n-Dump) was of interest. Perhaps it looked like we were haggling over price and needed some help. Maybe we looked like the Secret Service, guarding precious cargo. Either way, there, on the corner of despair and loneliness, we hashers gathered and communed. And the neighbors did stare. Oh, how they stared.

One fine young gentleman rode up to us on his high-priced urban conveyance (bicycle) and asked that we not raise his property values as he’s already had trouble converting much of his finances to off-shore investment accounts. We took pity on the poor man and agreed that none of us would be buying property in this neighborhood. Shortly after that, some younger gentlemen accosted us on similarly built conveyances (Big Wheels). They, too, inquired as to our purpose. When we told them we’d be traveling overland via our feet they left, muttering things like “stupid-ass white people” to themselves. We wondered as to the quality of their educational opportunities.

Eventually, GAP and ATM introduced us to their idea of a trail. Had to do with a lot of reeds. A good bit of urban detritus. Beer. Reeds. Ups and downs. Pollenation. Reeds. Blood. Mud. E. Coli. And reeds.

See, the other invasive species is ‘Phragmites’. We spent a lot of time admiring it on trail. Admiring is a euphemism for: running through; breathing in; pushing it aside; having vision obscured by; wondering when it would end; wishing it a slow and painful death. I guess it’s better than broken asphalt or ankle-twisting rocks, but does there have to be quite so much of it?

Just before the first beer check, we encountered a Baltimore (grand-?)mother, who said to Fey: “Hon, your legs are way too pretty for you to be doing that to them.” Not sure if she was just being polite or trying to pick Fey up. Either way, I think it turned Fey on. Evidence of which she left at a fence crossing.

And in the category of, “just keep trying, you’ll get it eventually” we have not-so-virginal Just Kristien who was heard to say, “I almost went down eight times on this trail”. Keep trying JK, I’m sure you’ll get it right the next time. (There was a line of volunteers, I think.)

At the circle, we spent a good bit of time making fun of ourselves. The lack of gluten-free beer was noted. A really long time no-seer (or he was a newcomer; it was dark; I didn’t take notes) named Honey Suckle Divine was FRB. Some of the walkers, I think, were DFL. Lick Stick made it over from Delaware. Mayoral Fixation made it from whatever buffet line he was holding court at. Slowman came late, then promptly passed me. (This ‘slow’ thing must be relative.) Cheap-ass Gigolo was late again. EMC knows more songs than you can shake a beer at. (Again with the beer-shaking; who are you, Michael J. Fox?)

Fossil brought his dog, Cruella d’Spille. TIT Security brought her… self. Any Cock is becoming the new Tupak – I think his album will be out in stores for X-mas. Fey, still horny from the trail, declared this her candidate for ‘trail of the year’. ECDC will drink non-gluten-free beer, as long as it’s on PnD‘s boot. Other hashers who made it to trail were Silence of the Clams, Park-n-Ride, Grand Mattress, Lost Drawers, NCLB, Just Colleen, Cleanup on Aisle Three. All of whom are wonderful human beings, but I can’t write about the individual exploits of everyone. James Michener doesn’t need the competition.

This time I did make it to the on-after @ Hull Street Blues. And they had Resurrection on tap. There was much rejoicing. Of course, we emptied the keg shortly thereafter and they couldn’t find another one. Which, I guess, is acceptable hash behavior. (On our part, not the bar’s.)

$5 Infection

(Happy to turn the trash duties back over to Something Black. This shit is hard to write, y’all.)