Hash Trash #1173: A Star Is Born
One of the things I appreciate about the hash is that it really is about the group – everyone gets to participate and help find parts of the trail and goof around with each other. But every once in a while, a star emerges from the pack and outshines the rest. This week (or two weeks ago I suppose), that star was Queerly I’m Straight.
I first spied Queerly about a mile into the trail taking a leak on the side of the road in plain view of traffic. I did a double take at first because I knew he hadn’t been there at the start, but even from behind there was no mistaking the dude wearing spandex pants with his junk hanging out. Apparently he had had a bit of difficulty finding the start of the trail and spent a solid ten minutes trying to get directions from the hare on the phone while he was trying to set a live trail. But all worked out in the end for Queerly, and he was able to catch up to the pack just fine, though why he waited to catch up to the pack before taking his junk out of his pants, I can’t be sure.
Queerly’s decision to crash a bit late turned out to be a smart one, since the beginning of the trail was a bit… soggy. For the third time this summer, a biblical thunder-and-lightning storm began to dump buckets of rain on us at precisely 3 pm. Fortunately, seasoned hare Running B’hare had the presence of mind to mix some sawdust in with the flour, so that it did not disappear entirely in the downpour, instead merely transforming into what looked like little piles of baby puke. Once we figured out that baby puke = trail, we were able to follow it to the beer checks just fine, and at this point dodging lightning and calling out to each other over roaring thunder has become second nature to the BAH3 pack.
Joining us for the hash were many non-BAH3 B’Hare groupies, in addition to An Inconvenient Poop and Cum Fly With Me, who came wicked fah, from Boston via Texas. Most people were polite enough not to point out that Texas was a bit out of the way for a trip from Boston to DC, or else were just unaware that Texas is not, in fact, located between Boston and DC. Many thanks to all of you who gave my pals a warm welcome, especially Queerly, who offered to share his beer with Cum Fly With Me when we were running low at the first beer check, and was thoughtful enough to reassure her that his “germs are clean, like a dog’s”.
Also back on trail this week was Uncle Fester, who received a 1-Up after dying on the previous trail. Even though he has to carry a little fanny pack now to tote around his epi pen, he is still totally hardcore. I personally saw him kick a bee in the nads.
When we cruised into the second beer check, we happened upon a few young gentleman who were obviously preparing to conduct a bit of local business, to which it turns out a large group of loud, non-blind people (a.k.a. witnesses) was apparently detrimental. We gave them a few beers as a mea culpa while we hung out, and they lit up some of their business while their business partners did slow laps around the block with their tinted windows rolled up, waiting for us to clear out. They were very polite about the whole thing, and they even didn’t stab Queerly when as we ran by them he shouted, “Toke on, brothers, toke on!”
We ran through a particularly nasty section of forest, for quite a while, and much later popped out about twenty yards from where we had run into the forest, where the local businessmen shook their heads at the crazy white people. Then we ran through a forest retention area, so that we could deleteriously impact the local environment in addition to our previous impact on the local economy.
In the end, we all managed to make it to the circle, where Velvet and Cervix magically appeared with what might be described as a pile of something that was probably intended to be cookies. It was tasty at least, which is more than can be said for the kimchee that someone inexplicably brought, which even the dogs wouldn’t eat. They did go over and try to show some love for Velvet and her cookie pile, but she rebuffed their advances. C’mon, Velvet, give ‘em a break. Their germs are clean, like Queerly’s.
Circle began, and the hare kept wandering off while we were trying to violate him for such a shitty trail, and for managing to be DFL for his own trail, and for using Butt Light as the down down beer, and basically any other excuse we could think of to make him drink the Bud Light instead of us. Somehow I ended up having to pinch hit as the spare “black” person again for down-downs with An Inconvenient Poop since ZZ Bottom didn’t show up even though I explicitly told him I was bringing another black dude so he’d stop complaining so much about how special and unique he is. Some other violations were handed down, including one for Bobbin’ 4 Buttplugs for encouraging Queerly to show more skin. Queerly had finally invested in a kilt (though apparently not in a shirt), but Bobbin’s helpful advice that he should “push it down farther” was not considered to be helpful by the majority of his peers. Queerly, learn from my example. Don’t let Bobbin’ talk you into taking off your clothes.
So, my hat is off to you, Queerly, star of hash #1173. Thanks for making my job easy this week.
On on
Something Black
P.S. I also have written in my notes “Cleanup and Linda storming the castle”. I have no idea what this means, so I encourage all of you to apply whatever meaning you see fit.