Call the Hotline for Run Info!
(607) DUST 4 JR
(607) 387-8457
Date: Thu, 12 Feb 2009 21:41:37 -0500
So, it's come to my attention that the Ithaca Hash has been very lax lately on producing ReHashes. Looking over the hash list of previous hashes, i can see that we haven't had a rehash since November of last year. I think it's very disrespectful to the hash when people agree to do ReHashes and then never fulfill that obligation.
I won't bring up any names, since Floss has been doing that for the last few months, but i would like to stress the importance of submitting ReHashes on time. I know that we all would love to keep that perpetual buzz going, right through Friday happy hour and the weak attempt to score with that "hot" person across the room who staggered out of the bathroom with a wet face, but there is an obligation to the Ithaca Hash that must be upheld. There are people who simply can not make every hash, and they need to be kept in the loop on what is happening in the Ithaca Hash.
There are a number of significant and well attended hashes over the last few months that we now have no information on. Especially missed is the ReHash for #554, the "Screw Year" hash at Floss's house, where Floss set this shitty live trail through a winter storm warning. We had twenty-six hashers out to that event, which is something considering it was so messy and cold. Not only were the regulars there, like PG, Spike, Hard In Cider, Hot Lips, Just Rachel, Baster, and Tzvetsana, there, but the infrequent hashers showed up, like Country Cock, TOFU, JSUAD, UFO, Bedside, Just Eric, and Lil Dimmer. We also got a bunch of Ithaca alumni out for the run from various parts of the country and region, like Scooby, Skull, Mouthful, Skywhacker, Beats it Blind, and Mr. Stiffy. We even got traveling hasher Runs Both Ways, and virgins Elina, Jax, and Cara. Without a ReHash for this event, there will be no dirty gossip started on what these people did during trail: who got lost where or who stuffed mittens into their crotch complaining of coldness.
There are hashers on the list who like living vicariously thought the ReHashes, so it is very inconsiderate to them when there is no ReHash, especially of a big hash like the first one of January. Floss diligently set a torturous trail through the snow and snow covered streets of Trumansburg. We were taken up the hill from his house, where the entire hash got lost in ridiculously long YBFs and back checks, listening to the walkers complain that they were getting cold while JSUAD, Just Eric, and the other FRBs ran in circles around the blocks. It took forever to wander back and forth on the exact same suburban blocks until someone stumbled upon the correct trail to a hash rest under a bridge, where Mouthful was throwing pringles around like frisbees and PG did a spas dance for us on the thin ice, while JSUAD somehow managed to down a full beer without stopping his conversation. But no one on the list will even know that because someone, and i won't mention any names, decided that they would rather jerk-off to missed-connections classifieds day after day rather than sitting down for five minutes to type out a ReHash.
Floss even took the hash to his place of employment, where they hung out and got drunk. Admittedly, this was after he ran them through the high school and part of downtown. None of this will be mentioned in the ReHash unless people take responsibility for the commitments they've agreed to.
I would write the ReHash myself, but, firstly, i don't feel that i should make a habit of writing ReHashes just because the person assigned to it was too busy testing "love toys" at the local dollar bazaar, and, thirdly, i'm afraid that, at this time, there is so little left in my memory of the wild party at Chez Floss that any ReHash i could write would grossly underestimate the carnage and glitter of the actual hash. I remember a long crowded circle in the Floss kitchen, including birthday side-sides, honours for the late cummers and the alumni, a naming of Just Tzvetzana to A Lager Runs through It after a butt-chug demonstration by Skull, angry public bickering between two Ithaca hashers, naked people running out into the snow to get to the hot tub, great chili and burning mozzarella sticks, and, of course, misplacing hash mugs in other hasher's bags. Unfortunately, little else comes to mind, so i hope that the person actually assigned to write the ReHash for the 544th hash will get off their lazy arse and write down the facts.
I am really upset that this ReHash was overlooked, especially since, on the good advice of Scooby Snatch, i took the time to write down the following random quotes from circle and on-after.
"Could you hold my beer while i change my undies?"
"Could you go upstairs and masturbate for twenty minutes or so?"
"Is that really your vagina?"
"I'd love to rape you, but you're not my type."
"I peed in my beer."
"Oh, you have great nipples. Can i touch them?"
I would like to strongly encourage the Ithaca hashers to stick to their commitments of keeping the running history of the Ithaca hash going by putting out the ReHash in a timely manner. I would hate to have to start implementing some kind of punishment for failure to keep the non-hashing hashers in the loop.
</rant>
Spike
Hash List Bitch
-----------------------
Date: Sun, 22 Feb 2009 10:21:33 -0800 (PST)
It was a Sunday...not much unlike today.....it was cold. Too damned cold and I'm tired of this shit!..but...I'm whining. It was also a Hashing day. And, on this day, we were being treated to a trail set by the YHS contingent of the Ithaca Hash.
One might wonder if this feeble old hasher will be able to remember the attendees.....much less the events of the day this long after it happened. Though I may not remember the details of the day.....I'm all set with the attendees because I've been carrying around a list of the names in my back pocket ever since then with the intent of writing one of the most timely re-hashes ever. OK...so that bit didn't work..... :o)
Hares: Just Rachel, Hard-In-Cider and TOFU
Hounds:
Mr. McFeelMe
Just Elaine - Virgin
Just Darren - Virgin
Just Eileen - Virgin
Just Andrea - Virgin (Toothy's sister....all the way from Colorado!)
Beats It Blind (All the way from Colgate!!! What's wrong with you locals for not showing up???)
Toothy Lunker
Master Baster
And....yours truly....Butt Floss
It typical hash fashion....I was late....drove into the start of the hash...and back out again because I didn't recognize the cars there. Went down the street and called HIC. "You dumb ass! You were just here in the driveway!" DOH! I'll probably have to drink for that I say to myself as I slide my car in betweeen HIC's and Just Rachel's. (lucky damned car! how come I don't get to slide in between the two lovely ladies?)
Did I mention it was COLD that day?...and...WINDY? Well, it was. It took us forever to muster up the courage to leave Just Rachel's very cute townhouse and venture out on to trail. But...eventually we did....like around 3:00PM! Toothy was the last to arrive and was actually surprised we were still there. She and Dash were pleased to find us though.
ON-ON yelled our hot little hares (at this point...there was only Just Rachel and HIC because TOFU decided staying warm with her bt (boy toy) that afternoon was better than doing trail twice....smart girl!)
We seemed to do a few circles around Community Corners before eventually finding true-trail heading back towards the mall on Triphammer Rd. A quick turn to the right and we were yelling...and skipping....through the residential district. Running past a church, Beats It Blind committed some sort of blasphemous act and was dashed to the ground by "The Almighty". He says he tripped. We all knew better...what with his harry palms and all....
Soon we were on a pedestrian trail...and then off again and into the woods. Safety Dog (aka - Phoenix...aka - Shocker) (Shit...he's got almost as many names as me!!!) had a blast dragging me around and through the trees. Stupid leash! Upon clearing the woods we were on a school playground where Safety Dog got his first (unwanted) ride down a twisting slide. He seemed to fair better than Floss who happened to land on his arse at the bottom of the slide. Up and off we went across the yard.....
What's this?????
A snow angel.....a bleeding one???? Seems one of our hares thought it would be neat to make an angel such that that red colored flour was right between the angels legs. Man, talk about blasphemy! Good thing it wasn't in front of that church that struck Beats It Blind down! ;o)
Running up the street towards Warren Rd and what do we come upon??? Spike's house!!!! Now....if we only new where the secret key was kept. An impromptu BEER check at his refrigerator would teach that SOB to run of to the Sundance Film Fest and leave us freezing in NY! Alas....we couldn't find it. Nice job Spike...you wanker!
Towards the airport we start running and then find ourselves on another trail which leads is up and behind BOCES. Hmmmmmm....a dumpster...with the word "" on it. A possible naming take-off for Just Rachel??? (You overly observant readers will notice that the "word" is missing....cause I forgot it. Any one remember? It was pretty funny joking about it....) Oh well....our minds soon turned to more important matters as the words "BEER Near!" came drifting along the winds. Ah.....refreshments!!!! We drank frozen BEER...really...they were frozen!...and ate cookies...which...thankfully...were not frozen.
After quenching our thirsts and hungers we were off again....across the school yard....through the apartment complex..... It was as we were running through the apartment complex that I remembered that last time we ran the path near BOCES. It was years ago and a trail set by Small Sack and Spread Eagle. Trail that day actually ended at one of these apartments as is was there home while here in Ithaca. Sure miss those guys...as we miss all former Ithaca Hashers who have moved on to new shiggy.
Eventually we found ourselves twisting back and forth through more residential...normally quiet....streets only to come back out on to Triphammer again near the old farts complex. Some smart ass made a comment along the lines of me just staying there to save time. The nerve of these young kids today!!!!
Ahh...back to the house....and ....WARMTH! The frozen BEER that I had left on the counter was now thawed out enough to drink. Though...much of the rest of the hash BEER was not. We put the stove to good use warming them up to just above freezing.....
MB conducted a fine circle wherein all were duly abused. While circle commenced Jiffy Lube showed up for some fun...without the freezing bit. Wankerette!!! :o) The infractions were many and sordid..... Floss some how managed to not have to drink for getting "lost" in the driveway....darnit! Our hares drank often. Our visitors drank and laughed at our songs. And then...........it was time for a naming....or at least we hoped we could succeed this time...
Just Rachel was banished to the living room....about 5 feet away...so that she couldn't hear us...yeah..right! Many names were tossed about. One of the favorites was "Table Spread" in honor of her always helping with chores. That didn't win though. And...as always...there were others....including TIUTALAM. Finally though....Just Rachel was brought back into the circle. It was pointed out that she skipped the nekked run at the last weekend.....and that she wore a bathing suit in the hot tub (note...this isn't a bad thing at all....just an observation. There are no rules for the hot tub....well....almost no rules. But we won't go into that here) Any way...back to the naming.......Just Rachel was christened "Missed Her Bush". And...in good hashing mentality....she promptly dropped her drawers and asked "Is this what y'all wanted to see??" Man....and here I thought Sausquach was a myth!!!
Circle closed and we all dove into the delicious food that our hares provided....chili....home mad bread...and many other delectables.
And...now...it's 1:20 PM and time to dash off to Mr. McFeelMe's virgin trail.
There....I did it!!!! I stuck to my "word" and produced this particular re-hash "well in advance" of the next hash as I promised I would. LOL
on-BEER!
Floss
Date: Tue, 24 Feb 2009 09:49:23 -0500
Better Late Than Never (slogan copyright Planned Parenthood, Inc)
Well sorry its taken me about as long as a herd of turtles on ecstasy to cross a mile of shag carpeting to get around to writing this piece of trash, but I had to down 3 bottles of tasty New York Wine to remember it all...I think they call that state-dependent memory (there are a lot of folks dependent on the state nowadays, eh?)
A stalwart group of wankers converged on the campus de Cornell including Superflaggot, Just Jess, Siren, Panic, HIC, & Spike (who recently returned from Sundance....I haven't seen one of those since my dad's plymouth died ten years ago!) to chase the elusive Baster through the wilds of Ithaca. HIC bravely declared "I'm not getting my shoes wet!!!" as the lively hare heeded her demands and plowed directly through snow. After waiting the requisite 39.67 seconds, the pack gave chase.
After chasing our tails (and those of the lovely harriettes) we worked our way out of the woods and into a golf course....reminds of the last time I went golfing...
We were walking up the first fairway when I noticed a woman on a nearby fairway being given first aid. One of my buddies asked what had happened and he was informed that the woman had been stung by a bee and was having an adverse reaction.
"Where was she stung?" he asked.
"Between the first and second hole," was the reply, to which he said;.
"Wow! She must have been standing right over the hive."
We pretended to XC ski across the golf course and met a small little brown fella that clearly likes it doggystyle. Get yer mind outta the gutter, I think it was a terrier.
After some leg tearing shiggy, we made out way down a treacherous hill that was more disconcerting than reading the alcohol content of your beer while visiting one of your many wives in Utah. At the bottom I found a bag hanging from a tree with a wee bit o' flour in it. I dipped my finger in and took a lick (pause to allow the double entendre to sink in) and determined it was 1) FRESH and 2) held no hallucinogenic properties.
The trail took us along a scenic route with a sweet little waterfall and great bridge to bound across. We lost marks for a bit, and I chose a well executed longcut to help train for my ultra-marathon later in the year (could I borrow a napkin? I seem to be dripping some sarcasm). We got back on marks and I caught up with pack at the foot of some tempting wooden stairs. Superflaggot must have been a bloodhound in a former life, because I heard him yell "HARE!" and KABLAMO....Baster shot out of the bushes and was up the hill as fast and slick as I got rid of that last 3lb beef & cheese double fried burrito from taco bell.
We followed him up the hill and into a Norman Rockwell postcard. Kids were playing, folks were skiing, sledding, and running around sober. Clearly we needed to get out of here as soon as possible. We bit on a false heading up the hill and was rewarded by a great view of the park. Trail led past some great scenic views and a group of students doing their best penguin impressions on snowshoes.
The trail wound around and ended in the famous Cornell Fightin' Grapes lacrosse stadium. A decidely awesome and quasi-legal place for down-downs. HIC had run off to a prior engagement, and the remaining pack held a small but enthusiastic circle in the bowels of the stadium. We wrapped it all up with an informative tour of the Cornell Campus.
Oh, and Just Jess tackled a snowman. Bitch.
Thanks IH3 for all your awesome Hashpitality, & Floss for letting us invade his abode all weekend. Cum on down and see us here in Penn's Woods!!
P.S. STINKO is almost Full!!! Rego now or forever hold your insanity.
Peace and Chicken Grease,
Panic
Date: Mon, 23 Feb 2009 11:54:32 -0500
There once was an Ithacan Chili Fest
With competitions to see whose was best
Though people did sample
And offerings were ample
A select few, with beer, were most blessed.
On the way to the Chanti went Baster
Of chili, it's said, he's the taster
On greeting McFeelMe
He chatted, though briefly
Then left being not a time-waster.
Showing up to the Chanticleer bar
With Lager and Kara so far
They purchased a draft
(make it two--don't be daft)
And agreed it was quite above par.
Sitting there for a wee little while
They agreed it was cramping their style
So trail was soon made
And chalk was thus laid
And they set off with aplomb and sly guile.
On-on through the loud surging throng
The pack stopped to enjoy a song
Though karaoke is grand
The singing was panned
So they instead talked of Floss' red thong.
To Korova the hare did point chalk
And the hounds yelled on-on and did talk
So soon they were seated
Drinking beer, not defeated
Swearing not to end limericks with 'caulk.'
On-weekend,
~Master Baster
Date: Thu, 5 Mar 2009 11:43:58 -0800 (PST)
A cold, snowy afternoon. Kelly Clarkson in the background. As two girls talked to two boys in cars. Surprisingly they were only an hour behind schedule as the sky grew darker and the snow began to fall lightly on the frozen ground. The clan now grew to seven as our virgin hare – McFeel Me, Floss in his lovely post Valentine’s Day attire, and Spike showed up. Baster and Bridesmaid and Just Dana and Just Maggie finally decided to get their lazy asses out of their warm cars and turn Kelly off the radio to join the others in the increasingly cold-February-in-Ithaca-weather. As they licked their lips in anticipation for beer, they slowly made their way out of the Cornell parking lot, and passed the basketball gym where Just Dana is sure the love of her life – number 20 – was playing basketball at that very moment. She sighed. Just Maggie laughed mockingly and told her to look for the pink trail marks.
“On On!” Baster yelled in the distance. And the hunt for beer began.
As the seven drinkers continued on their journey, much like the fellowship in quest for Frodo and Sam’s first private spot to consummate their love, they found themselves missing a fellow drunkard.
“Where’s Baster?” McFeelMe questioned with a furrowed brow.
“He’s probably just up ahead, that over achieving bastard,” replied Floss while trying to keep up with Phoenix.
But wait! They’re going the wrong way! Not up the hill, silly r*nners! You fell for the false trail! SUCKERS!
Finally, they picked up trail again, with Baster still missing. Off the path and into the shiggy, the smell of beer was in the air. But what’s this? The pack is down to five? Where the hell did the hare go? The five-some decided not to wait and decided they didn’t give a damn because they wanted their fucking beer already, and continued through the bramble toward the first beer near. Across a river (creek), and through the woods, to beer and Pringles we go!
Alas! Behold! More than beer and snackies, there was Baster! And then they saw it…
A cage. Big enough to fit a human (though probably not Floss), stood before they. Who gives a shit though – they wanted their BEER! So now there were six. Eating, drinking, and playing with sticks, the happy Hashers relaxed. Until fiiinnnaalllly McFeel Me decided he was going to stop waiting for Baster back at the supposed back check and come join them. Boy did he feel stupid to see them all drinking already. And if he didn’t, well he should have. Just as Baster was feeling so giddy and clever for finding trail and beer, he wacked himself in the neck with a log. Who knew wood gave hickeys?
With tummies full of beer and unhealthy, processed foods, they were off again. Through mud and dirt, up hills and down, through snow and ice, thorns and weeds, with found flip flops and drawn blood, more beer and nuts (and those nuts, too), past trail-marked road-kill, and empty country fields, the thirstily determined group continued on.
As they past the veterinary school, they knew they were getting close to On In. As some picked up their pace, others (*cough* Baster) played in steam grates, enjoying a warming breeze between his legs with poor Bridesmaid witnessing the disturbing spread-eagle display, their final beer and circle area was in sight.
As Down Downs were done, completely in a non sketchy way, underneath the stadium bleachers, Phoenix continued to have his fun while rummaging through trash. But before they split up, to go their separate ways, a threat was made to poor, innocent, and sweet J. Dana and J. Maggie.
“Write the rehash or you’re both going to GO TO HELL!!!” warned a totally serious Floss.
The two girls clung to each other in fright and violently blinked back tears, as Floss made them sign their names in blood promising they would do their first rehash together.
And so our story ends, with one rehash written and two souls saved.
Just Dana and Just Maggie
Date: Sat, 14 Mar 2009 18:33:12 -0400
Hello sweet hashers,
here is the tale of the 3/8 hash, set by our very own Master Baster, to celebrate Daylight Savings Time and the arrival of Spring and St. Patties!
I received my necklace, and wore "A Lager Runs Through It" proudly around my neck as we ran through a fabulous trail along the lake and up to the light house on the south end by steward park.
It was rainy when we met at the Chantie and Spike, Baster, Floss, Always a Bride's Maid (who also received his necklace) and Just Brianne enjoyed our first beers. Floss had a musical thong on and encouraged me and Brianne to have a listen or engage in Floss Karaoke.
The circle took place at the Creeker, where I did some down downs for announcing my wedding this summer (6/6/09), to which all hashers are invited! The On After was at Baster's who fed us lobster salad, olives with blue cheeze and crackers.
Memorable quote from Spike: "My fucking thing doesn't work!" Response from Always a Bride's Maid: "You mean the thing you fuck with?"
May Gispert bless us all!
Happy Hashing: A Lager Runs Through It
Date: Fri, 10 Apr 2009 10:33:08 -0400
As the cold, blustery March morning clouds gave way to crisp-clear, sunny afternoon skies, Ithaca Hashers gathered at *Shindagin Hollow in celebration of two hares' virgin lays. Hare Butt Floss had cleverly coerced twins Just Brianne and Just Bridgitt to co-hare what was quite the picturesque jaunt through the forest.
The hounds-of-the-hash were: Always a Bridesmaid, Spike, Just Dana, Virgin Steve, Virgin Katie, Virgin Altay, and yours truly, Hard in Cider. There were also some real hash hounds, as I recall. Surely you know the ones that go with the hashers present.
Now, you'll all forgive me for not remembering every hair-raising, back-arching, toe-curling detail, but I can assure you that the hash went something like this:
- After chalk talk, hashers gallivanted every which way to find trail, stumbled upon a false or two, and finally heard the call of ON-ON along the true path ringing loud and clear.
- Hashers trotted along trail, splashed through mud, crawled under low-hangers (I'm talking about tree branches), rolled down Shindagin's gorge-like valleys, and skirted around landmines.
- After much searching, various YBFs (remember, this trail was set by Butt Floss), and a copious amount of complaining, hashers came upon a moldy, decrepit couch (or was it a mattress? Which makes my story more exciting?), which, under it's depths, was hiding liquid gold, as it were: BEER.
- Beer was finished, hashers took off again. There may have been hills, pretty forest, elephants, unicorns, and curious natives bearing gifts of Twinkies, frisbees and myrrh.
- Soon hashers discovered more liquid gold! Always a Bridesmaid boasted fancy tech on trail, so hashers had an inkling that they'd traveled a fair distance. Butt Floss informed Bridesmaid that only half of trail (wink-wink) had been completed.
- Hashers took off in search of golden refreshment.
- Hashers realized that Butt Floss lied to Bridesmaid. ON-IN was spotted within minutes.
- A haphazard circle was held at Just Bridgitt's and Just Altay's adorable house, where there were side-sides and up-ups for the recent birthdays, and hashers attempted to sing songs without Master Baster. Needless to say it was less than successful (if only we'd had the little laminated cheatsheet).
- The hashers went in peace and perchance even got a piece.
on-on... and hopefully on and on and on,
hic
* Shindagin Hollow: a long, deep north-south valley, almost gorge-like in appearance. It was once the site of a well-used Native American trail that connected two other active trails — the Onondaga-Owego Trail and the Cayuga-Owego Trail. Today it’s a state forest, known as “The Promised Land” to mountain bikers [and hashers]. It’s crossed by miles of challenging singletrack filled with roots, rocks, steep climbs...
Date: Fri, 1 May 2009 09:12:49 -0400
Hares: PG, Floss
Hounds: Master Baster, Bridesmaid, Missed Her Bush, Virgin Dennis, Lager, Country Cock, Spike, Stiffy, Fetch, Party Doll, Just Kinsley, Virgin Dennis.
The hounds were all assembled, they came from near and far...
On the first day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeee... a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the second day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meee... two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the third day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeee... three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the fourth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to mee... four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the fifth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeeee... five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the sixth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeee... six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the seventh day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeee... seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the eighth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeee... eight chocolate cocks, seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the ninth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeeee... nine hounds a'drinkin', eight chocolate cocks, seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the tenth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeeeee... ten fingers frozen, nine hounds a'drinkin', eight chocolate cocks, seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the eleventh day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeeeeee... eleven kinds of shiggy, ten fingers frozen, nine hounds a'drinkin', eight chocolate cocks, seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On the twelfth day of Beast-or-Egg Peedge and Floss gave to meeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee... twelve hounds wondering why PG wasn't in circle even though she was a silly hare and only brought one pair of socks and shoes and as a result got kind of wet and cold and tired and decided to skip circle which made Fetch sad because he couldn't Alouette her but sometimes she's like that and we love her anyway and oh yeah what is the deal with Hard in Cider where the heck has she been and for that matter what about Dana those two better be there at Stinko trail this Sunday, eleven kinds of shiggy, ten fingers frozen, nine hounds a'drinkin', eight chocolate cocks, seven false trails, six Rolling Rocks, five muddy beer nears! Four lazy hashers, three broken eggs, two road whores and a slightly cold and rainy April day.
On-run-ons-on,
~Master Baster
Thu, 30 Apr 2009 14:00:51 -0700 (PDT)
Moon light....street light....sun light....ALL lights...shining through the GD overhead door windows!!! How the hell is a drunk to get some sleep???
I rolled over and nudged the nasty old pussy that had curled up to me during the night. How did I rate this???? Well....at least is wasn't my bed that the pussy lost bowel control..........
And....so it began.... Another fine day for hashing!!!!
I crawled out of my "nest" and grabbed a quick shower as the other hashers in Cum is Kosher's fabuloous apartment snored away...
On the road again......... Hit the highway at 10:30 for a "6 hour" drive back to Ithaca to hash. Hmmm....6 hours? Nope...not going to make it in time. Put the pedal to the metal Flossie! There's BEER to be drank...
Being the conscientious driver that I am....I started text'ing folks as I grew near to home......
Just Brianne....you hashing today? "Yup! Too bad you will miss it!"....NOPE! I'll be there!.... "WooHoo....more sex on trail!"
PG....you hashing today? "Oh...I don't know. I'm tired. My body hurts from the gym. I would have to walk..." ....... Wussie!!!
Just Dana....you hashing today? "Don't know...I'm tired".... WTF!! GD youngsters!........ "I would hash if I had a name.."..... Hell girl...get out and hash...and we'll give you a name!!!..... "I'm tired...come drink with me later...." ..... Another Wussie!
It's a beautiful day...I'm driving like crazy....and the hotties want to stay in doors. What's Ithaca's YHS clan coming to???
Hash Time....3:00 PM I'm still down around Richford. Crap! Gonna be late. Good thing Just Brianne is there to warn them that I'm on my way.
3:20....I pull up to the start....a location in Shindagin that we haven't been to in ages. Sweet!!! And....there's trees, bushes, prickers and water all around. Hallelujah!!! Shiggy! None of this pavement crap like in Boston.
I climb out of my car...expecting to hear cheers of joy that I had arrived...... Nope. "Where's Phoenix they shouted in unison?" Buggers! Then Man-O-Whore comes over and asks to borrow Phoenix's water dish so K9-Charlie could have a drink. Drink? Hell! I need one of them too! Fortunately....I quickly received "hellos" from folks....and a tasty beverage to enjoy while I changed into some suitable shiggy gear.
Wow! What a motley crew assembled this warm and sunny spring day....
Live hares - Toothy Lunker and Master Baster
Hashers:
Hot Lips
Jiffy Lube
Man-o-Whore
Missed Her Bush
Spike
Just Dennis
Just Elain
Just Bridgette
Just Brianne
Hikers:
(yup...hikers. They did trail...all of it...at their own pace...cool!)
Just KC
Just Sue
Just Chris
And of course....yours truly...or is that debaucherously?.....Butt Floss
Soon I was reminded by the hares that it was time for them to be off....and so they were....begging a 7 minute head start.....or was that 10?
After finishing my beer.....I figured it had been long enough. But NO! Jiffy Lube...with her finger tapping her mighty watch....pointed out that we hadn't given them the time they asked for yet. What???? Who ever waits THAT long??? Hrmph! OK....we'll wait a little longer.....
Then...we could take it no longer. The hikers having already disappeared up the hilly trail...we were off!!!
Up...up....and up we climbed. Man, this can't be good! But climb we did. Checks, false trails, YBF's and Back Checks...we found them all. Our tricky hares were certainly on top of their game this day!
It was on the way up the hill that I had occasion to chat with Just Bridgette. Seems she worked the grave-yard shift the night before...went to the gym this morning...and was now out on trail. Hmmmm....if she can make it hashing on so little sleep....what the heck's wrong with PG and Just Dana???? Silly wankers!!!
As we were finishing our conversation the pack returned from one of the afore mentioned BC's. MOW says to me as he's trotting by...."If I didn't know any better.....I would have guessed that you set this mess Floss!" I thanked him for the compliment....and headed back on down the trail.
Getting back to where we had just been....I saw a tall man in a sport jacket headed our way..... Son of a gun! It was my buddy Ted from the PourHouse out for a hike. What a strange sight.... As we were chatting, the pack zoomed by and on down into the woods.
Soon we heard the FRB's shouting out.....BEER NEAR!!! Awesome!!! We hung out...drank the delicious nectar...ate some munchies...and then the hares disappeared. Up through a stream we went. Through more trails and wonderful shiggy we journeyed. On...and...on...and....on.....
The hares must have realized we were getting thirsty again.....fore a short time later....after practically killing ourselves going down a steep bank.....we found BEER!!! Yippee!!!!
While r*cing to the nectar....Just Bridgette some how managed to hash crash and put a nice gash on the back of her leg. Once she got to the BEER she showed her sister, Just Brianne. Being and ER nurse....Just Brianne knew exactly what to do. She promptly smeared mud all over the cut. OUCH!!!! Being an ER nurse herself, Just Bridgette complained about this "assistance". Feeling sorry for her...I decided to add my own assistance by washing the mud off. I spit BEER on it as a combination wash and disinfectant. OUCH....again! Whiner!!
Eventually our hikers caught up to us. We drank more BEER and then the hares were off again.
We scurried off after them sooner this time. Thinking that we were near the end...I carried the empty BEER container along with me. I was wrong. Silly me! Climbing up to the top of a dirt road/trail....we were met by a couple of guys on dirt bikes. Guess they were feeling kind this day and decided not to run us over as they went down the trail.....
Lots....and I do mean.. LOTS of false trails later....we arrived back at the start where circle commenced.
Unfortunately our hikers needed to leave early and had short-cutted back from the last BEER check. Should have given them the bloody cooler! LOL
But...they were replaced by Bobbit....Tequila Bill!! How nice to see him out there.
And...we began to drink! But...since it's been so long since trail...I forget all the infractions........ So....you wankers that remember can add them now. Or...you can just pretend I told you about them all. :o)
It was truly a sh*tty trail on a glorious day!!! Thanks to our hares and all the hounds that managed to get off of...or out of... the couch to attend.
on-next hash this Sunday-on!
Floss
PS: We need to work on some namings soon.......
Date: Tue, 5 May 2009 15:01:21 -0400
Date: Fri, 29 May 2009 01:18:59 -0700 (PDT)
Date: Wednesday, June 10, 2009 2:37:08 PM
Ithaca HASH #566: At the Waterfront Docks
It all started at 3:00 PM SHT (standard hash time) on the last day of the merry month of May, 2009.
Thirst for beer and shiggy lured twenty hashers to the docks along the Cayuga Lake inlet, each with hopes of sating that one basic primal desire common to them all as hashers...and they were not to be disappointed. Some even made others come: virgins Just John, Just Betsy and Just Tony, were made to come by their more experienced hash handlers, and all seemed to have thoroughly enjoyed the experience.
Trail was laid by Just Elaine, with the gentle but delightfully firm guidance of master trail layer Master Baster himself.
In addition to the virgins and hares, the pack was rounded out by 15 other hashers: Just Brianne, Just Dennis, Just Darren, Spike, Hot Lips, Always a Bridesmaid, Just Tori, Porcelain Goddess, Bedside Pole Dancer, Unidentified Feathered Orifice, Nurse TaKillYa, Butt Floss, hash pups Just Kinsley and Just Haley, and your humble narrator- InspectHer Speculum.
Hare Just Elaine presented the chalk talk, in which she notably explained that Boob-Checks and Dick-Checks would be encountered on trail...piqueing the interest and enthusiasm of many in the group, even if only privately for the shy ones.
Therewith, those partaking of pre-trail hoppy hydration emptied their tankards and the hash was OFF, searching for true trail in all directions.
A faction started straight away in the direction of the Ithaca Festival Beer Tent at Stewart Park, but NO NO NO- these hashers were given a valuable lesson on the value of foreplay and teasing in stoking greater desire for beer: ON ON ON was in the opposite direction- towards the shiggy not the beer! The beer would have to be EARNED through blood sweat and dick/boob checks!
But sure enough, true trail was eventually discovered, leading over bridges and then under them, then over them again- false trails being checked and outed all along the way. Primal forces rapidly took over, and the hash began to function as a single organism, a living breathing stinking aemeoba, seeking out not whatever it is aemeobas eat, but true trail and beer. Passing in front of the picture windows of Island Fitness Center pitying the deprived non-hashing souls trapped in there on treadmills...on dead end trails with no hope of beer- the horror!
True trail led the hash over a one lane suspension bridge, and then proceeded into the shiggy- into the vicinity of 'The Jungle'- Ithaca's premiere outdoorsmen's housing facility, located on the picturesque banks of the murky Cayuga Inlet, with easy access to (freight) rail service and the free cafeteria behind Wegmans (in those big green metal boxes)...a great place to spend the winter!
More false trails, and finally BEER was discovered in a beautifully dilapidated rusty garage/warehouse among the Quonset huts and scrap metal yards of Ithaca's industrial zone. (This hasher has a particular fondness for such landscapes and was grateful to have the opportunity to hash through it- thank you hares!).
After the last drop of beer was consumed, flour was found leading in a westerly direction- towards more water then back into the shiggy, to a dick check at the dead end of a road. Though this hasher did not personally witness any dick checking actually occur, it is hoped that others found a measure of satisfaction here.
Then it was On On through pricky green shiggy, and back towards water, where ButtFloss unsuccessfully attempted to drop Nurse TaKillYa into the drink for a rinse (because she smelled or something). She was able to escape with only wet feet, but the determined look in Floss' eye indicated he was not done with her yet...
Trail led to a dam near a few dykes, and a railroad bridge over the water- and here at this very spot, a boob check was discovered!! Though there was roumor of it's occurence, saddly, this hasher did not personally witness the exposure of (female) boobs, though several were at hand and exposable. A let down to say the least.
Flour further led the pack through the sundrenched old landfill site, where- Jumping Jesus on a Pogo Stick! - a NAKED GUY was discovered on trail!!
Supine, with a small orange towel covering his toolbox, soaking in the sun. Hasherettes were perplexed- is this the FOR REAL dick check?? What's under that little orange tent?? Will he show us or should we take a look ourselves?? What a girl to do?? But shyness and modesty prevailed, and the NAKED GUY was regretably left unmolested.
After emerging at the backside of a big box store, into which Buttfloss momentarily disappeared to allegedly make a sizable septic deposit, the second BN was discovered in a beautiful culvert, aesthetically rivaling the first BN in its setting. Significantly more beer and food was found here, and a short religious service was even held to give thanks- several hash hymns were sung to remind all why Jesus was not a hasher. After paying all proper respects, the hashers continued to follow flour- leading them right through the grounds of the Tight-ass Towers housing facility for retired hashers (hmm...does RoadKill have a flat in there yet?), and then spilling them onto the streets of downtown.
Here Buttfloss, having failed in his earlier attempt to rinse the smelliness off Nurse TaKillYa, decided to place her butt first into a trash can (where smelly stuff belongs). But alas, he was again unsuccessful in his attempts- Nurse TaKillYa broke free and bounded off with a spring in her step- foiled again!
Trail wound through town along sidewalks, passing a yardsale where free items were set out for the taking- this hasher aquired a beautiful matching set of five black cowboy hats with white piping, while Nurse TaKillYa adopted a stuffed monkey-type animal of biege coloration. These items came to good use soon after at the ON IN, where cowboy hats were freely distributed and Just Kinsley took a shine to the stuffed monkey-type animal and readopted it from Nurse TaKillYa.
The hash circle was formed, accusations were made, and down downs were performed: first by the hares for setting such a remarkably shittty trail, then by the virgins and those that made them come, then hash crashes, missing mugs, FRBs and come latelys were serenaded and made to drink. No hasher was spared a down down- to the point that beer began to run out and my half mind began to falter even more than usual.
But most notably, a decision was made to endow one of the very youngest and definitely one of the most harddriving Ithaca hashers, Just Kinsley, with her own hash name. Just Kinsley was led away from the circle clutching her newly adopted monkey-type by Just Brianne, out of earshot while the rest of the hash began deliberations. After a decision had been made, Just Kinsley was brought back to the circle to be christened FRONT RUNNING BUDDY with a down down of fruit juice....a most fitting name, with obvious room for modification to reflect future development!
Thereupon, the circle was closed, and finally, those with passion for beer exponentially raised by so much tantalizing foreplay, proceded on their original path: On-On-On to the Stewart Park beer tent- past the point of no return in consumating their primal urges, knowing that they had earned their rewards!
Date: Wed, Jul 1, 2009 at 10:55 AM
From far and near they came. Slowly and discretely they came. Arriving at first in small numbers, then converging in groups and illicit packs on the lawn outside the house known as Chez Floss. They came: unwittingly growing in number, awaiting something they were not quite coherent enough to express at first, something not yet intoxicating but giving the hope of future delirium and sweat indulgent fatigue, like an evening spent on a very good whore, only without the possibility of that annoying itch afterward.
The preparations had been made. Diabolically, Butt Floss had concockted [sic] the event, donning his second or third finest thong, chilling the beer, and scooping up the canine poop in much of the yard surrounding the picnic table. He was more or less about to become almost ready when they came.
And they came. Spike arrived full from brunch, practicing his BEABmanship and questioning the use of a hammer to change the regulator of a gas grill. Doris Dicktoria came in multiple T-shirts, wandering the area, cautiously checking each shirt for trim and functionality before choosing the one he would adventure in. Inspector Speculum came, inspecting the situation carefully, cheerfully before releasing his finely crafted hula hoops into the yard. Just John and and Porcelain Goddess came, with Master Baster following close behind. They came, anticipating what was to come as PG was lured into the plastic loops of Inspector, which she gyrated sensuously around her goddess parts. Country Cock came, asking about virgins, but receiving only a pacificatory beverage. Just Tori came, quietly lamenting over her lack of real hash name but secretly thinking that if she kept real quiet no one might notice. She brought the agile and chipper Front Running Buddy into the curious gathering as a distraction, while Always a Bridesmaid stretched inconspicuously and heretically out of view behind his car. Hot Lips came, bearing horn and bushy mustache. The virgins came cautiously: Virgin Anuj and Virgin Apple, seeking to learn the skills of this grand adventure from their mentor and office-banter target, Country Cock. A Jeep rumbled to a halt, expelling Unidentified Feathered Orifice and Bedside Pole Dancer in patriotic tie-dyed apparel. The flag-bedazzled couple quickly informed the growing horde of a Flag Day fair and of other quaint local traditions, passing cupcakes through the nervous crowd to calm tensions. A Lager Runs Through Her came giddily, bringing Just Jason for a return trek and hurrying to rescue PG from those insidious but finely hand-crafted plastic hoops. Just Shut Up and Drink came, donning the well tanned emperor's new T-shirt and denying that he would ever be a BLAB. Together they amassed, anticipating the unknown events that were about to unfold.
For moments they stood, not knowing what was to happen, not knowing where to turn, not knowing who stuck their finger in the frosting. Then the rumors come: rumors of a deviant hare who had fled the scene, leaving behind a tell-tail trail of flour and debauchery, rumors of beer hidden in the woods by some oft whispered about relative of the Beaster Bunny. Hushed tones and belches passed from member to member as eyes darted to the watch. The watch was counting down. . .
Then the mood shifted from somber to casual indifference. The party marched out into the wilds, slow at first, but gaining momentum as the hounds caught scent of the errant hare. Small wisps of flour dotted the peaceful hamlet, and there were howls of "on on" and complaints of sore joints as the adventurers forged up the shallow hill of the treacherous sidewalk trail. Surely this was too easy a trail for such a crafty hare. Surely the adventure party could not so easily catch such a wascally creature, and, alas, the hounds had fallen for a simple Flossian ruse, finding themselves victims of a well placed YBF.
Baffled, the hounds wandered the streets, searching desperately for the correct path. Up alley and avenue they searched, here and there, curious natives stretching their necks up from common yard work or peaceful Sunday porch visits to stare in wonder at the jogging explorers.
Then, a cry: someone calling from a stream bed below the very road on which the hounds had so meticulously searched. Flour was found in the rocks that litter the banks of the shallow waters; the hounds had a scent. This hare was crafty, using the water to hide his scent, and using the underbrush along the shore to hide his tracks, but the hounds were equally matched, and not at all dissuaded by the wiles of the hare.
Down the stream they forged, the sounds of "on-on" filling the air. Rounding backyard and embassy, they push on, under the harmoniously echoing bridge of Trumansburg and down the rapids. Over steep falls they climbed, finding remnants of ancient travelers past: those that had sought the rich beer taste and coveted hare piece, only to succumb to the dangers of the wilderness. Just John collected identification and insurance cards of past travelers long lost from the jagged rocks amidst the rapids, promising vaguely in jest to return them to longing family members in distant yards. For miles the hounds pushed on, finding relics of expeditions past: a tattered lawn chair, a forgotten Hot Wheels car, muddied remnants of a wet-T-shirt contest gone awry, toys from small children led astray, the faded plastic tambourine of ancient hippies that wandered too far from a local drug festival, and the bruised and rusted V8 of a car that had long since turned to iron oxide in the harsh waters. On and on, crying "on on" they went on, over rock and tree, battling the slippery influence of brown algae, the sun beating down on the leaves over their heads, but they pressed on.
In a devious attempt to short-cut, Spike and JSUAD, noticing the stream making a wide turn to the south, burst through the bushes at stream's edge in a valiant attempt to gain some ground on the elusive hare. Seeing the swampy water just off of the stream, JSUAD was forced to turn back, leaving Spike to endure the shiggy alone for brief seconds before coming out on the convenient trail that paralleled the stream. He made some ground, only to find the Beer Near and the hare wallowing in the shade of a reminiscent and vaguely familiar cement bridge: a BN.
Slowly the hounds came down the stream, realizing their opportunity catch a hare on trail had slipped through their algae stained fingers. They gathered back together, commiserating their failure to overcome the hare, sharing PBR, Pringles, and some delicious pudding shots. The chocolate pudding and Baileys did little to console them, so some turned to the more potent vanilla pudding white russians. They were in grave straights; they had failed to catch the hare. . . this time.
As our adventuring harriers downed beer and shots, wallowing in their own cheerful disdain, they started to get a sense that there was something amiss under that fateful bridge. Something was not quite right; something was missing. Unbeknownst to them, the hare had slipped back out into the wild: the deviousness, the trickery, the plain hashtasticness of it all.
Slowly, the hounds put away their empties and stacked their empty pudding cups. The hare must have paid FRB off, for she suddenly put on a display of childish cuteness to distract the hounds from their pursuit, but the distraction could not keep the harriers from their prey. The harriers were soon off in pursuit of the hare.
Up the mountain or very steep paved mound they climbed, gasping at the sudden change in altitude and burping in an attempt to expel unwanted beer weight and lighten their bellies. To their left, stoic stone grave markers of adventurers that had come before peered at them through the tall summer grass as the hounds struggled to the top of the hill. They scattered, desperately searching for signs of the hare, searching for their one chance to catch the elusive bringer of beer.
Wandering to the main street through Trumansburg, they came to a check. The trail went left, and the hound started after, but one lone confused harrier, not believing that the trail would actually head in that direction, carefully avoided traffic and crossed the street, heading errantly into the schoolyard. With little daring and less enthusiasm, he stumbled over his first mark, then his second. With a third mark he howled "on on", bringing the hounds running behind him.
Across the school yard they ran, rounding the building, when suddenly, unexpectedly, and with very little fanfare, the hare was spotted in the field ahead. JSUAD and Bridesmaid immediately sprinted ahead, followed by Baster, Doris, and a few others. Overathleticism ensued. Harriers performed the heretical four-letter r word. Panic took hold of the hare and he darted away, stopping only to make a sloppy erratic check in a last ditch effort to escape the pursuing hounds. I failed. The hare was not quick enough, and the hounds snagged him.
Joyful and out of breath with their achievement, the hounds then forgot to remove an article of clothing from the hare, and, in their bragging boasts and intricate retelling of the glorious tale to late arriving hounds, who showed great indifference to the noble deed, they had also forgot to strap down and eviscerate him. While their attentions were turned to magnificently woven hash lore, the hare had slipped away.
Disgruntled, the hounds quickly gave chase. Fortunately, Inspector, who had been so unimpressed with the tale that he had actually watched the hare run across the field to the right, informed the pack where the hare had gone. So full with their dispair at losing the hair and not noticing that Inspector had witnessed the escape and had said nothing, the hounds ran after, leaving Bridesmaid and JSUAD to run in the other direction for one of their infamous murky moments.
Across the fields and back into town the hounds chased, turning 'round school bus and old shack until they found themselves running down the main street of Trumansburg, back toward Chez Floss. Was this the end? Had they come all this way only to be led back so soon, without even a sweaty layer of cloth from the missing hare? No, it was not to be. A return ("back check" to some of the old timers) was stumbled upon in front of an embassy.
Still disappointed from their loss of the hare for a second time, the harriers wallowed in confusion, pondering what to do. Morale was getting low: some falling under the spell of despair wanting to abandon the pursuit and go home for a beer, others vowing never to give up the cause. The band of resilient explorers was crumbling, and no one knew exactly what to do. Members started to break rank, straying back to their cars to lick their wounds and wash away their disappointment in cheap beer-flavored beverages. Only a few turned back, determined to track down the hare at all costs.
It was at this point that the strange tale of JSUAD, Inspector, and Spike found its origin. Having been slowed by an injury, Inspector had lagged behind the group a little, unaware of the despair and demoralizing discovery of a return and the ensuing break up of the band. Spike, who had been out running false trails, caught up with Inspector and slowed for some conversation. Just as the two were reaching the library, they noticed JSUAD jogging back along the trail from the embassy, no doubt to tell them of the heart-felt disappointment of the return and the disillusioning disbanding of the adventure party. Spike engaged JSUAD in dialog, trying to get a sense of what had happened on trail. In stunning disinterest to the recap, Inspector glanced casually into the parking lot of the library and uttered "There's the hare."
"Oh yeah." mused Spike, nodding.
With a sprint in the direction of the hare, JSUAD responed, sprinting for the hare, who was hastily setting the last of his marks. The two darted through a small pine woods and disappeared behind a fence in sweaty panting.
The few remnants of the pack who had not abandoned the chase followed 'round the fence, finding a picnic table and a smiling hare and hound. The bold tales of noble hare catching once again ensued, but, this time, the hare had deviously planned numerous distractions. Like a magic bunny from a prestidigitarian's hat, the hare produced a can of Pringles, a cooler of beer-like substance, a bag of pudding shots, and a friendly family to calm and occupy the hounds. The family, seeming vaguely reminiscent of some long-lost Ithaca hasher, perhaps in the joyful Mouthful of Clam ilk, chatted warmly with the hasher, asking kindly about their adventures and listening to their lore and stories of how the hare was once again caught, nodding and smiling peacefully with interest. Then there appeared Just Anthony, a hasher from long ago, with wife and young child, donning the spirit of kindness and virtue as they joined the conversation, complimenting and questioning the hounds. The hounds were seduced by the kindness of their hosts, lulled into a feeling of welcome, and did not even notice that, again, they failed to remove an article of clothing from the hare, and again, they failed to tie the hare down to something immovable to prevent the hare from escaping.
By the time they had realized that the hare had again slipped through their grasp, he was already long gone. Not even Inspector had seen where he had gone this time.
Disenchanted, but still quite pleased with the accommodations and provisions provided by the friendly families, the hounds trudged on, but, alas, only to find them selves back where they had started, at the house known as Chez Floss. They had failed in their mission to catch and actually skin the hare.
The entire group had arrived at Chez Floss, from those who had abandoned the quest early, to those who had seen in through to the bitter end. They raucously half-heartedly celebrated their adventure, telling tales of glory and daring. They drank beer in honor of those that had not come back, or had come back and then left immediately for dinner, like Hot Lips, and they drank for those who had been sorely exhausted on the trek.
Then, alas, the gathering turned bitter. Accusations were cast across the circle of those gathered: who was FRB and who was DFL, who was BEAB and who was BLAB, who murky momented with whom, and who double-dipped in the salsa. Trophies of dishonor were handed out, T-shirts were removed from backs, PG was blamed for several things she did not do, and people were accused of r*cism and of bleeding like pups on trail. The gathering devolved into a free-for-all debaucherous barbecue and naked hot-tub extravaganza, leaving the drunken remains scattered over the grounds of Chez Floss.
Many a folk say that if you visit the Chez Floss today, you can still hear the distant whining of disgruntled hounds, taste the despair and aggravation on the wind of those who had come so close to skinning a hare, and perhaps find the stray bottle cap or decaying tortilla chip among the growing grass. If you travel to Chez Floss, you must remember these valiant and disheartened souls, and, if you ever find yourself in a similar situation, when the hare is just out of your reach, or you simply get distracted by something so god-damned interesting that you forget that the hare is getting away, learn their lesson well.
Fuck the hare.
Date: Sun, 12 Jul 2009 09:54:02 -0400
Have you already run out of things to do the summer? Are the kids / significant others getting rambunctious? Do you miss hurting all over? Are you bored? Do you have a day job?
If you answered yes to any of these questions, then come on down to Allison Acres were Master of Ceremonies Hot Lips and his noble clan will keep you entertained / out of breath for hours.
Look on in wonder as Doris Dicktorius gets naked in view of children.
Watch the drama unfold as Porcelain Goddess faces Spike the collector.
Enjoy car chases with flying pudding shots from Butt Floss.
Bask in the wisdom of Inspector Speculum and Road Kill.
Sing along with JSUAD around the fire / cold stream filled with gnats.
Place bets with Nurse TaKillYa on her world-renowned dog fights between Hailey and Shocker.
Heckle Always A Bridesmaid as he finds another back check.
Battle Just John for the title of "King of the Tramp."
Get the latest fashion tips from the newly named Lil Spermaid.
Or just sit back and admire the beauty of Jiffy Lube. sigh . . .
At the base camp, feel free to play with the baby lamb, the goat, and the bunny or enjoy the rocket ship, the tree house, the swing set, the sand box, the zip line over the pond, the water trampoline, the diving board, and the strawberries with chocolate syrup, cookies and ice cream! Hell, there's even beer . . . somewhere . . . eventually . . . But if that's not enough, Hot Lips' realm extends far beyond the borders of Allison Acres. Known as the mob boss of Tburg, Hot Lips can call in a favor to get you access anywhere in the region. In Hot Lips land there is no private property; the whole world is his shiggy, his sharp, painful, never-ending shiggy.
Don't just take my word for it. Look at our happy customers. People make the trip from as far as Flour City (Just Ethan, Just Phil, Just Ryan, and Virgin Mark) and California (Hump Me Dump Me and Lord Bürpenstain). Recent newcomers Adrian, Alex, Ethan, Gordon, Greg, Justine, Margie, and Michelle enjoyed themselves so much that they swore they would be back shortly. Just Betsy said it was the best flour-based utopia she's ever been to.
Hot Lips Land is only open once a year sometime in June, so be sure to mark your calendars and get your tickets.
On - can I be sponsored now?
Mouthful of Clam
Date: Sun, 16 May 2010 16:37:07 -0700 (PDT)
...or...as I like to refer to it...."The Brigadoon Hash"
Brigadoon
From Hashipedia, the beer encyclopedia:
It tells the story of a mysterious hash trail that appears for only one day every year, though to the hashers, the passing of each year seems no longer than one night. The enchantment is viewed by them as a blessing rather than a curse, for it saved the hash from thirst.
And, as mysterious as the trail is on this anal event....so is the recanting of its events for they seem to fade in and out of memory...just as the trail itself.
From what I recall though of that fateful day...it rained. And then...it rained. And then......we hashed. But we knew that it was not going to be just an ordinary hash. Nay! For it was a trail being set by the over zealous, and often silly, Master Baster. As we were assembling at the start of trail...way up at the top of Treman State Park...one thing was clear...and it wasn't the weather. THIS trail...was going to go down...in more ways than one as it turned out.
Before we could start, we had to lead the strays in who seemed to have lost their way up there in the misty hills of Tompkins County. Poor UFO and Bedside Poledancer just couldn't find the right "fork in the road" to take. Odd for a pair of lesbians not to be able to find their way into a "Y"....
In addition to the above lost souls were assembled Porcelain Goddess, Master Baster (our hare), Spike, Butt Floss and a number of other wonderful hashers who's names have drifted in to the mysteries of my mind. (I'm sure Spike and others will chirp up with a full attendance listing)
After swilling down some magical brew...we were off!!! Down...of course...along the Finger Lakes Trail. And....down...and farther...and still more down....and....where the f*ck is the BEER!!!...and down....
Finally.....when we felt all was lost...we heard a long lost cry out of .... BEER NEAR!!!!
SALVATION!!!!!!!!!!!
But....where were we? Where have we traveled through to get to this place? A time warp? A worm hole? The only clue we had was that Floss's new GPS said we have traveled 2.75 miles so far...down 500'...to our first point of nourishment. (Remember....this is a Baster trail.... lol) Rather than try to figure out what strange land and time we were now in, we rejoiced in our salvation of beer and snacks.
Once we were finally all together again (it takes quite awhile for DFLs to catch up on such a jaunt), and our bellies and hearts full of mirth and refreshment...we were off again.
But wait...... can we go down any more? SH*T!!!! Trail must now go back UP! UGH! Kill the F'ing hare!!!! But, where is he? The bastard! He snuck off on us!
So, on we went...hand over fist...or so we felt like it....along park road towards the north rim trail of the gorge. And, if you count dropping down in the stream bed as "going down" then we did indeed go down a little more before heading WAY up... Surely we must have another BN before we get to the top....
But....sigh...we forgot again that this was a Master Baster trail....full of shiggy....distance....and NO BEER!!!
After a 400' assent over 3 MILES...those of us that were left still barely alive....found BEER!!! Praise the Hash Gods!!! We were now at the top of Treman Park trails in the picnic area...and it was starting to rain...yet again. After quenching our thirsts....and praying together that the trail must soon end...we were off.
But, to where??? The rain had washed away most of the marks......... As it turns out....Shocker/Safety Dog....the mighty flour hound, was able to lead the feeble minded Floss back along true trail to the start....a mere quarter of a mile and 100' UP away....... WHEW! Now...where's the rest of the BEER???
With all of the energy sucked from their poor trail beaten brains...many of the hashers took almost half an hour of wondering aimlessly in the woods and mist....harking for the sound of "ON-ON", "R-U" and "BEER NEAR"...to lead them back to the cars.
Once assembled...we DRANK!!! Then, we beat the hare severely with empty BEER cans and made him drink for a truly shiggy trail.
The End
Floss
Date: Fri, 23 Oct 2009 09:11:54 -0400
Hartung-Boothroyd Observatory Hash
Alrighty people, well the Hash dawned cold, and clusters of people
huddled around the peak of Mt. Pleasant waiting for the clock to
strike HASH.
Eventually everyone arrived....well almost everyone on
time, some were to join late. We all moved out like a giant paper
snake, stretching out into the distance before the tail even realized
we had started. A large group of gimps was represented but
surprisingly the gimpy bridesmaid ended up a FRB. The trail started
off through a nice little boggy stretch that quickly soaked thorough
the warm and dry footware of the unsuspecting. The trail went down
and down to find some BEER. Then managed to go Much farther UP and UP
then seemed possible for how far down we went.
Another freezing BN
later where people clustered together for warmth and Charley the Dog
got carried around on MOWs back to confuse the dogs who where
fighting. A brief Hash Pic and we where on our way again.
Emerging
from the woods the next peak down from the observatory. We crossed a
few fields and climbed yet another Hill to the frigid cars.
Everyone...well almost everyone then migrated over to Toothy's house
for circle, the usual debauching occurred and Jiff was presented with
her MUG... finally. And after being accused of cuteness on trail,
yours truly, was sent out of circle... and away from the nice warm
fire I might add. I returned and managed to get my mouth shut and
hand over my sacred plastic cup of beer in time to not have either
fill up with aerosolized back wash, and receive the dubious but
honorable name of Cold Cocked. Circle ended in good order....if
rather a little smelling of stale beer, we we dispersed to the four
winds.
on cold on... is it summer yet?
Cold Cocked
Date: Sat, Nov 7, 2009 at 9:53 PM
The Hes:
Man-O-Whore (a Hare)
Master Baster (a Hare conspirator)
Always a Bridesmaid
Butt Floss
Cold Cocked
Just Bob
Just Jim
Just Pete
Virgin Paul
The Shes:
Crimes Against Huge Mammaries (a Hare)
Just Alex
Just Betsy
Virgin Armanda
Virgin Jen
The I:
Spike
I drove toward Varna, on the 366. He approached me in a small gray car, pulling off on the other side of the road. He had just passed the turn off to Monkey Run. I did not. I parked, put on a heavier jacket, and got out of the car.
He said, "Spike!"
She said, "Hey Spike."
I greeted them and started writing names.
I said, "CoCo? That just doesn't sound right."
She smiled a devilish grin and said, "It reminds me of those small dogs that rich women carry."
He said, "So CoCo is really some hot woman's bitch."
I said, "That's making more sense."
He hoisted his dog over his shoulder.
She started picking the ticks from its groin.
I continued taking notes.
He said, "These are my gloves."
She said, "No, they're not."
He said, "Yes, they are" and tried to put them on.
He said, "Hey O. J., nice fit."
And he said, "Okay, maybe they're not my gloves."
He gave chalk talk.
She provided corrections.
We started off down the trail, which used to be the old roadway.
He said, "This is hard on the ankles. I'm not warmed up."
I thought he was whining, but i said, "This looks like a false."
He said, "How about a Return 6."
I followed him back.
She cast a bemused harish smile, "Having fun?"
I said, "Yes." and continued on.
He ran down the trail.
She ran down the old railroad bed.
He stopped at a new heart-shaped mark.
He mock-humped him at the mark.
Then he mock-humped me at the mark.
I just hugged her as she reached the mark.
I continued on.
We turned into the woods.
I followed him through the swampy trees.
He said, "Beer Near!"
She said, "That bark looks rather suspicious."
He said, "Suspicious bark?"
We drank.
He came running up from behind, a hasher not seen in Ithaca in quite a while.
She called him on the telephone, complaining that he was late.
He said he would be right there.
We drank some more and munched on the orange square cheezy things.
She said, "Check it out."
We ran around in confusion.
I said, "This leads back the way we came."
He said, "Okay" and followed anyway.
I said, "Return six."
We ran back and across the bridge at Route 13.
She smiled with deceptive sweetness and said, "So, how was the trail?"
I grinned and said, "As expected."
He said, "Checking right."
I ran to the left, down the trail and into the woods.
I noticed the large piece of fractured quartz that had been propped in a tree crotch, just above eye level.
I noticed no one was following me, even though there seemed to be many marks.
I waited.
He came, eventually.
He checked across the road and into the trees.
We approached the small family group with children.
They watched us pass with nervous smiles.
He said, "Good afternoon."
They nodded.
We stopped at the hash view overlooking Fall Creek.
He pissed over the edge.
Small children could see, but were not watching.
We continued on.
I said, "Isn't this the old trail that washed out."
He said, "This is probably where Crimes slid on her butt down the hill."
She said, "How do we get down?"
I said, "Trail goes that way into the steep gorge."
He said, "If my dog can do it and only roll once. . ."
We descended.
She said, "Are you sure there isn't an easier—ow!"
He clawed his way up the dirt cliff on the other side.
I followed.
I said, "Oh wait, you ran by that special mark again."
He said, "What mark?"
I said, "I forgot what it's called."
He frowned, walked back and, looking at the mark, "Ah. . . that mark."
We hugged warmly.
Then we waited for others to arrive.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog brought it back.
He threw the large stick for the dogs.
A dog brought it back.
I sensed a pattern here.
A dog smacked him in the back of the leg with a large burly stick.
He said, "God damn it Phoenix!"
He threw the stick farther for the dogs.
A dog ran back in excitement, slamming sidelong into a tree.
He said, "That took the wind out of him."
I said, "He seems to be limping a little, though not enough to stop him from fetching."
He said, "That's Choby."
Other people came.
We ran on.
He said, "Turkey-Eagle split."
I stopped to look at the mark, and said, "Hmm."
He continued on, through the dry ferns.
We looked at the hill.
I said, "I guess the other way was less steep."
He made no comment.
We climbed.
We slid.
We climbed some more.
He said, "Damn."
I jogged along the edge of the cliff top.
I said, "Beer near!"
He said, "Look for suspicious bark."
I said, "How about suspicious leaves."
She said, "See any suspicious bark?"
I said, "No really, suspicious leaves, with metal things under them."
We drank and were merry.
He said, "Where are those damn turkeys."
He said, "Wait, i think i hear them."
I said, "I don't see them."
He said, "Where are those damn turkeys."
He said, "I see them."
We drank more.
We ran through garden plots.
He said, "I saw this part of trail before; it goes this way."
I followed.
We ran down Freese road and across the bridge.
He held up his bulbous squash in the middle of a field.
He ran to have it shoved it in.
He broken his rotten squash all over his shorts.
She said, "I'm glad i didn't try to hump that. And i was going to."
He wiped his arse on the ground.
She said, "Are we still on?"
I said, "I haven't seen a mark since the last turn."
We fanned out to check.
She said, "I think Alex and CoCo are having another murky moment."
He said, "With the squash?"
I said, "They're on the white truck over there."
She said, "Well. . . i guess it's not murky if we can see it."
In the distance, two fully clothed figures undulating on the hood of a white van. . .
the kind of van a serial kidnapper might use.
He said, "It's hard to say it's a murky moment when it's all the time."
He said, "Where's the trail?"
I said, "Over there."
He said, "Ah fuck, i'm taking the turkey trail."
I ran over twisting trail.
He said, "What does 'On In' mean?"
I said, "It means we're done."
She said, "The cars are right there."
He said, "Does everyone know the directions to Bridesmaid's place?"
He said, "Follow me."
She said, "Do we really have to give Floss a ride?"
He said, "It's cold."
She said, "Wow, you have a beautiful place."
He said, "Should we do circle in the garage."
He said, "We can do it in the house."
She said, "We should probably not do it over the wood floors."
He accused the hares, because trail sucked.
He accused the virgins, because they didn't know that trail sucked.
He accused the late comers.
He accused the bobbit.
He accused really late comer.
He accused the dog owners.
He accused mug owners, because the actually brought their mugs."
He accused Just Alex, because she dared to have a birthday."
He said, "May the hash go in peace."
We said, "May the hash get a piece."
He said, "Hey Spike, how about you write the ReHash."
I said, "Uhh. . ."
He said, "Good. That's settled."
Date: Sat, 5 Dec 2009 11:40:49 -0500
DISCLAIMER: all typos are not my fault
Hansel and Greddels Trailer Trash Hash
Starting the hash out standing around in some mighty brisk air, people started to bundle up for the long wait as people slowly trickled in. The normally premature erectus came late and chalk talk began with the most pitiful yet carefully drawn images on his newly christened lawn Doris bid us good luck. With many a false start down one path/road/ditch, including the single longest false trail I have had the pleasure of following without a YBF at the end. We finally found a TT ( ++> ) and where surprised by an immediate BN. After that we took off again to begin the trailer park tour. Running past/around/through some of etna's finest we spotted a craftily hidden BN (in the trunk of a car) and observing the proper hash etiquet we checked the obvious key location and sure enough the beer was had. Then the clusterfuckery began. Just shut up and drink took off to ?live hare? the end of the trail....but ran out of flour and returned before we had set out again. Doris then decided to use some cooked flour as trail markers, and scattered pretzels along the road in a tribute to the witch eaten children (in the real fairy tail they get eaten). Around this time we even saw the place where old trailers go to die (a nicely derelict trailerpark with pitted remains of once proud and pepperoni stained living quarters). This ended up becoming more of a game of tag the doris but eventually even the FRBs fell a little by the way side as Doris took the hash up the side of Mt Pleasant. We reach the top to find a check and then chase him back down the Mt. Some of us even ahead of the hare, for at this point we had given up hope of a logical trail and by the bottom it had turned into a mad dash for the ON IN which was about 4 miles away at this point. As we returned to fall creek, we where surprised (and relieved) to find an auto hash ending. Warm cars took us to the pomegranate martinis and the cozy interior of Doris's new house with the pellet stove cranking, a shiggy time was had by all, circle was led by group effort since the normally everpresent baster was still returning from a vice day celebration. Everything ended well and the wind scattered us to the seven seas or wehreever we came from, and i left my milk in the yard
The moral of the story is: you can take the Russian out of the trailer park but you cant take the trailer park out of the Russian.
On not getting shot by hunters on
Cold Cocked
Fri, 8 Jan 2010 14:30:28 -0500
Sir Tote My Pole of Boddington-Upon-Leicestershire arose from his slumber one Tuesday, the wintry chill reflecting the pallor of a visage reflective of the previous night's debauching, in which many beers were draughted after a particularly revelsome hash. Whereupon he realized he was not in his own bed, but on the floor of his trusty companion Sir Kleinman of Mottram-in-Longendale, he resolv'd to seek retribution for the EGREGIOUS hangover now set upon him. Taking hold of Sir Kleinman's arm, he shook it until he extracted a promise to hare the next hash. The commotion woke Sir Coco of the Chilly Bollocks, who threw an empty growler at them in his grogginess. The two immediately set upon him, insisting that such an affront could only be made right by joining them on a righteous quest.
And so it was, two weeks later, that our noble hares=A0 Just Dante and Cold Cocked (thus hereafter for the sake of brevity), assisted by the green-gilled Tote My Pole stood athwart the bridge of 6 Mile Creek, waiting to see who on Earth would deign to show themselves. As the minutes trickled by, Spike, Hot Lips, Just Jen, Just Greg, Obsessive Copulation Disorder, Assquatchtus Erectus, Just Betsey, Always a Bridesmaid and your truly joined their motley crew. After some semi-public pre-lubing, including an inexplicable tall-boy of Miller Lite, off we went. We were warned: false trails may be rewarded with bonus beer, to reward the VIRTUOUS and TRAIL-FOLLOWING!
Trail fanned out along each edge of the compass rose, and the streets did echo with the sounds of the pack's calling. False trails were picked up on Columbia and both sides of Giles, and soon down the slippery stairs they went, frolicking amongst the wintry chill. Soon, the Kleinmanatic hare noted that the pack had found the first of several bonus beers, under the bridge by the turbid creek. After further exploration, a VILLAINOUS back check was noted by Spike, and back up the trail they went. Mysteriously, a true trail arrow pointed down Giles Street, and the DASTARDLY pavement-pounding began, much to the chagrin of the pack. Just Greg gave a whoop and a holler as he took the lead, flitting around the potholes with the agility of a woodsprite in his shorts. A suspicious-looking arrow pointed down the hill, and though the pack was suspicious, one by one we made our way down, Betsey nearly falling while skidding down the scree.
But wait! What is this deception? Down this hill and amongst these brambles... no BEER? The pack cursed the name of Sir Coco of the Frozen Nethers, and back up the hill they went, Sir Pole scampering up the hill with the dynamism of a deer. Over the Giles Street bridge they coursed, surging into Six Mile Creek preserve only to find a suspicious looking carriage: Sir Pole's car! With coolers! Alas, it was a short-lived celebration, as no BN could be found. On-into the woods they went, where the trail suddenly swung upward, forcing the pack through shiggy and up a steep, muddy embankment, and back down. "WASTRELS! HOOLIGANS!" cursed Just Jen as the pack doubled their laundry load in thirty seconds.
Stopping for a short bonus beer and a round of JESUS SAVES! by the titular rock near the preserve, the pack followed the trail arrows... back OUT of the loop and into the parking lot... where what to our wondering eyes did appear but a BN in the asphalt! What joy! Hooray! A BEER NEAR for all! Duly refreshed, we continued out and down Giles, only to notice the faintest of markings pointing up the slope. Aha! Past the settling ponds we went, and up the slopes towards the Rec Way trail. Some confusion ensued, as markings were oddly fuzzy. It took the work of Assquatchtus Erectus Prodigimus to solve the series of CONFOUNDING checks before we were off down the Rec Way, over the hill, and on to the old Morse Chain factory, where the pack proceeded to become lost. Some of them short-cut entirely and were lost, while others spent a good eight minutes NOT DRINKING BEER and sniffing around. Eventually true trail took us through the service alley and down the back side, where the power substation runs through. Sir CoCo of the Icy Gonads was very helpful, almost too helpful for a hare, though the harriers finally discovered OCD pointing towards ON-IN at Just Jen's Fortress of Awesomeness.
Down-downs were duly meted out to the usual suspects for their dizzying array of punishments. Some notables include Just Jen for hosting, Tote My Pole for enabling the hares (and being late to circle), Just Elaine for bobbitting entirely, Bridesmaid's award for outstanding valor in the face of injury, Obsessive Copulation Disorder and Cold Cocked for copulating obsessively, and Just Dante for preventing completion of the deed by hurling a stuffed turtle into CoCo's face. Naming opportunities such as "Turtlegasm" were discussed, and duly shelved after some contemplation.
And yea, the hash did go a piece, and get a piece, and all was laid to BURNINATION.
See you all in 24 hours!
On-on,
~MB
Mon, 28 Dec 2009 09:15:28 -0800 (PST)
Holy Hellfire Shit!!! Floss is writing a re-hash...and it's not even weeks late! (yeah...I still owe one for Baster's hash last summer. Thank goodness we aren't giving water down-down's for such infractions (beer would be too good for the f'ers! lol))
It was a beautiful Sunday winter day as Phoenix and I began our long drive on down to Harris Hill in Big Flats. Sunny...warm...and plenty of time to ponder the last week. Re-connection with a very dear friend...and subsequent re-disconnection again...boo....Christmas dinner at UFO's and Bedside's home where I got my butt kicked in Wii bowling by Jack....THANKS GUYS!....doing absolutely nothing the day after Christmas....having Christmas with my kids and grand girls on Sunday morning..........PRICELESS!!!....and now off to a hash in new terrain set by a visiting hasher........ahhh......lots to mull over while I sipped upon my "road soda"...
Who is this hare you ask????? Why it was Hot-n-Juicy home on vacation from the Cairo hash! She even brought VIRGINS with her!!! Just Patrick, HnJ's brother was a Virgin hashser...AND a Virgin Hare this fine day. (Damn...forgot to give HnJ a down-down for popping her brother's hare-y-cherry!) And Just Patrick brought along his wife...Just Alex...I believe.
As I arrived first...........can you all imagine that???? lol ....... there was our visiting hare....standing....or I should say jumping...by herself in the parking area with not a soul around...not even a car.... As she let Phoenix out of the car...who was chomping at the bit now to get out...she explained that she made Just Patrick go place the BEER at the BN's. Shortly Spike rolled up...after having called your's truly as he was lost. Then Always a Bridesmaid came zooming in and hit the brakes....cuz Phoenix was too stupid to stay out of the way. As we were grabbing our first BEERS another car pulled up. WTF? We weren't expecting any more hashers as everyone seemed to be out of town this weekend. But...the more the merrier! Turns out that Just Eric was bored silly at home in Cortland and decided to go for a drive.... :o)
As we were all quenching our thirsts from our long drives....HnJ told us about the marks for the day...as they were from the Cairo hash and not Ithaca style...though somewhat similar as they were hash marks after all.
A "circle" is a regular check...check...err...got it. A "T" is a FALSE....check...err....WTF??...don't got it.... Oh! "T" means "Turn Around" and go back to the check....OK ... got it A "circle with an X" is a BEER check.... Well....she didn't have to say THAT ONE twice!!! GOT IT!
And...we were off!!!!!!!!!
Trail was very well marked and we ran across a field...up a hill....shit...I'm out of shape!!! and then down into some briars.....SHIGGY!!! We made our way in to some woods with LOTS of cleared trails going in all sorts of directions. Our hare informed us that we were now in the Tanglewood Park (you Type "A's" know about this place) and of course there were plenty of false trails to follow on those trails.
We eventually made it out of the woods.......alive.....and headed up a roadway near the Soaring Museum. At the pinacle....having a marvelous vista of the Corning Valley...we found a "circle with an X"...YAY! BEER!!! We drank..we talked...and Phoenix ran around. Soon...we were off...down the road...into the woods...and back around to where we just were. Bloody hare! lol More woods and then out to the edge of a Par 3 golf course...and more BEER! Hallelujah! We drank..we talked...and Phoenix ran around. (sensing a pattern here? lol) Then...off once more into the woods...and onto said golf course. Trail made it's way back to the cars....and circle was begun.
Floss donned his very old RA cap and punished the hares. Then...we punished Just Eric for being a cums-lately...NEY. He was at the last hash! So, it was Floss who had to drink for this! Virgins drank...lots since one was also a hare. Dog owner drank. Virgins drank for "sex on trail" (Ha! and we didn't even have OCD and CoCo with us!) Just Eric drank for r*cst gear. Eventually...we all drank. :o)
Circle was closed and we moved to warmer places..."just down the hill" and had some food with our new friend who should visit more often!!!
May the hash go in peace...May the hash get a piece!!!
On-Happy-Screw-Year-On!
Floss