Hash Trash #1007

Hash House Harriers

From the land of pleasant shiggy

TRASH: Run #1007
July 29, 2007
Hare: Hosehead

WHAT: BAH3 #'007 – 'You Only Hash Twice" WHEN: Sunday, July 29, 2007 @ 3:00 p.m.
WHERE: Savage, MD
HARE: Ms. (Hosehead) Moneypanties
it was a lovely afternoon with a crisp, cool breeze as the pack slowly filtered in to the appointed location as the appointed hour approached. (i'm being generous here by using the term "pack" in referring to sunday's group of fewer than ten halfminds) present were (in no particular order): back seat box, oedipussy, the virgin mike, joe bob, just julie, tub slut (an escaped mental patient visiting from NY), and extra creamy dog crap escorting his virgin du jour, the virgin gloria. and we mustn't forget our hare, the elegant ms. (hosehead) moneypanties, resplendent in her long slinky dress and 'fuck me' heels.
precisely at the crack of 3:15 the pack was off like a gaggle of frightened geese. unfortunately the virgin gloria was the only walker. blissfully ignorant of the fact that ms. moneypanties is notorious for setting totally undecipherable trails, our tender virgin set out into the mists of history flying solo on the walkers trail, never to be seen again.
on another sad note, back seat box finally succumbed to his rapidly advancing age and only bimbo hashed on sunday.
the trail itself was merely the backdrop for an afternoon of international jet set chic. deep in the woods, the pack suddenly found itself at a martini check confronted by an awesome array of selections! limon, green apple and other vodkas, tanqueray gin, and so on; it was almost impossible to choose one's ice cold shaken-but-not- stirred poison, served in an elegant thin-stemmed martini glass.
so there they were, sipping martinis and discussing their investment portfolios, when young johnnie cockring hobbled smartly into view leading a harem of 25 exotically beautiful young arab women (sans burkhas, btw) into the martini check! "ms. moneypanties, martinis for the horses!" he shouted. and gesturing expansively, he cried, "and these virgins are for the men!"
there are certain defining moments in each of our lives that we'll remember til our dying days, and at that particular moment the pack would gladly have followed the swashbuckling young johnnie to the gates of hell and back. and then……
and then those nubile young sirens, the girls of our [wet] dreams, just kept right on walking! it seems that by chance they and johnnie had merely arrived from opposite directions at the intersection just up the trail at the same time.
suddenly those martinis weren't tasting so good anymore. a suggestion that johnnie be hanged from the nearest tree was narrowly defeated after much vigorous debate, and the pack was soon off on the second half of the trail.
much water was crossed, and shiggy enjoyed, in a futile attempt to divert everyone's minds from what had just occurred. hash gigolo joe bob was lost somewhere along the way. he was last seen, naked and sobbing uncontrollably, vigorously slapping various body parts against a tree.
before anyone knew it, there was ms. moneypanties, having changed into a stunning evening gown in the meantime and strutting about like some rare bird on a different pair of impossibly high heels, welcoming everyone into the on-in.
FRB oedipussy, followed closely by the virgin mike, led the pack out of the woods. if oedipussy could only learn to speak english, people wouldn't think he was so weird…. OK, he'd still be weird, but at least we'd be able to understand what he was saying.
a memorable circle was held in a cool green cathedral beneath a stand of local redwoods. the dreamlike scene became absolutely surreal whenever ms. moneypanties let loose with a volley from her bubble pistol and bathed everyone in oceans of disco foam.
afterwards just julie, obviously distraught by the amount of attention that had been paid to the "lost virgins", appeared from behind her car wearing only her brand new victoria's secret dental floss underwear and had to be physically restrained from going to the on-after thusly attired. as she turned to go, she was immediately wrestled to the ground by the gallant creamy dog, who held the struggling young bimbo down until the danger to her reputation had passed, a period of over half an hour.
and so, basking in the afterglow of the afternoon's intrigue, the pack retired to the ram's head savage mill for the on-after.
on on!

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