05 November 2005
22. Birthday and Beer
Savannahhh - 7 Febeerary 2004
So there I was, trying to figure out how to start my manifesto in an attempt to help RV fill in the blanks a little, when I realized Savannah seems to have a tradition of starting a lot of their hash trashes with a certain phrase. Hey, this will be easy.
So there we were. Drinking. We had cum from all over the southeast... Orlando, Jacksonville, Charleston, Atlanta, Charlotte, Greensboro -- for one reason and one reason only -- FREE BEER. Oh yeah, it was also Tooth's birthday. And apparently, when you turn 40, you become so instantly senile, you do really dumb things like buy everyone beer and food.
The food was the first thing we noticed when we pulled up. Ramblin' was nursing turkeys and huge cuts of pork at his smoker, with Chaps and the kids nearby. (And once again, here’s a huge thanks to both of you for your hospitality and crash space). About half the group was already there. Drinking, of course.
Boob had driven down Thursday to do trail #266. Others arrived the night before for a pre-lube, which apparently consisted of at least one hasher (who shall remain nameless, right 2th?) losing intestinal fortitude. Numerous times. Ask Godzilla for the sound effects. We all spent the next couple hours catching up and spreading rumors. The sun crapped out when it started hiding behind the trees, and Tooth thought it would be a good idea to start trail. Yup, the senile freak also decided to throw flour.
So there we were. R*nning. Because when you run, there's beer at the end and you can get to it faster. I'll leave the list of hounds and never-leave-campettes to one of the locals. I don't like forgetting anyone. It was the sort of trail I was hoping for. There was forest. There was swamp. There were briars. And there was blood. Lots of blood. We arrived at the beer stop to find Tooth there. Either he had a problem, or the house was nearby. Try #2. We compared superficial leg damage, said hello to the walkers and went back to camp. But not before greeting the dedicated Tequila Tony, who had just r*n the Tybee marathon earlier that day. After that, what’s a few miles in the muck? That's dedication, people.
Circle was a two- or three-part event, depending on who you ask. It seems to me there was a pre-circle, a regular circle and the post-circle after we messed with Tooth at the piñata. It was the post-circle that did me in. I already had two down-downs for being a visitor and FRB. Well, while everyone was at the piñata, I took off the FRB cranium gear (a construction hat with a dildo on top of it) and stepped back a few feet to change out of my wet, bacteria-laden clothes. Someone got wise and grabbed the hat, so I had to drink to get it back. Then I got called out because I had clean-looking shoes on. Yup, beer in the shoe. And let me tell you freaks something: A size 9 1/2 shoe holds a lot of beer. There was one more down-down, but I forget what that was for.
So I wouldn’t black out, I switched to soda while we ate. And yes, we ate well. The pork and turkey were phenomenal. The fire burned all night, and there always seemed to be a group of people there spreading more rumors or singing a never-ending stream of hash songs. Inside, our games of Asshole and 3-Man had background music, courtesy of a marathon (s)karaoke session. At one point, things got as close to sappy as hashers get, with the reading of everyone’s Three Thing’s I Remember about Tooth lists. Some of the responses were quite creative. Things got back to hash-normal with the midnight naked run hared by Wedgie, who said he was almost too drunk to run naked circle. He might have been right, but I was too drunk to notice. Things went downhill from there, as everyone kept consuming. Put it this way: Rum’nCoke digressed to Rum’nC to just plain Rummin, in a matter of just a few hours.
I remember trying to go to bed twice, but getting back up in an attempt to be among The Last Standing. The next thing I know, it’s 8:30 in the morning, and I’m being prodded to wake up so we can do that whole driving-home thing. Thanks to all the Savannahhh locals and all the dedicated Road Whores who helped give Hash Weekends a good name. Oh, and happy birthday, old man.
Until next time,
On Out
So there I was, trying to figure out how to start my manifesto in an attempt to help RV fill in the blanks a little, when I realized Savannah seems to have a tradition of starting a lot of their hash trashes with a certain phrase. Hey, this will be easy.
So there we were. Drinking. We had cum from all over the southeast... Orlando, Jacksonville, Charleston, Atlanta, Charlotte, Greensboro -- for one reason and one reason only -- FREE BEER. Oh yeah, it was also Tooth's birthday. And apparently, when you turn 40, you become so instantly senile, you do really dumb things like buy everyone beer and food.
The food was the first thing we noticed when we pulled up. Ramblin' was nursing turkeys and huge cuts of pork at his smoker, with Chaps and the kids nearby. (And once again, here’s a huge thanks to both of you for your hospitality and crash space). About half the group was already there. Drinking, of course.
Boob had driven down Thursday to do trail #266. Others arrived the night before for a pre-lube, which apparently consisted of at least one hasher (who shall remain nameless, right 2th?) losing intestinal fortitude. Numerous times. Ask Godzilla for the sound effects. We all spent the next couple hours catching up and spreading rumors. The sun crapped out when it started hiding behind the trees, and Tooth thought it would be a good idea to start trail. Yup, the senile freak also decided to throw flour.
So there we were. R*nning. Because when you run, there's beer at the end and you can get to it faster. I'll leave the list of hounds and never-leave-campettes to one of the locals. I don't like forgetting anyone. It was the sort of trail I was hoping for. There was forest. There was swamp. There were briars. And there was blood. Lots of blood. We arrived at the beer stop to find Tooth there. Either he had a problem, or the house was nearby. Try #2. We compared superficial leg damage, said hello to the walkers and went back to camp. But not before greeting the dedicated Tequila Tony, who had just r*n the Tybee marathon earlier that day. After that, what’s a few miles in the muck? That's dedication, people.
Circle was a two- or three-part event, depending on who you ask. It seems to me there was a pre-circle, a regular circle and the post-circle after we messed with Tooth at the piñata. It was the post-circle that did me in. I already had two down-downs for being a visitor and FRB. Well, while everyone was at the piñata, I took off the FRB cranium gear (a construction hat with a dildo on top of it) and stepped back a few feet to change out of my wet, bacteria-laden clothes. Someone got wise and grabbed the hat, so I had to drink to get it back. Then I got called out because I had clean-looking shoes on. Yup, beer in the shoe. And let me tell you freaks something: A size 9 1/2 shoe holds a lot of beer. There was one more down-down, but I forget what that was for.
So I wouldn’t black out, I switched to soda while we ate. And yes, we ate well. The pork and turkey were phenomenal. The fire burned all night, and there always seemed to be a group of people there spreading more rumors or singing a never-ending stream of hash songs. Inside, our games of Asshole and 3-Man had background music, courtesy of a marathon (s)karaoke session. At one point, things got as close to sappy as hashers get, with the reading of everyone’s Three Thing’s I Remember about Tooth lists. Some of the responses were quite creative. Things got back to hash-normal with the midnight naked run hared by Wedgie, who said he was almost too drunk to run naked circle. He might have been right, but I was too drunk to notice. Things went downhill from there, as everyone kept consuming. Put it this way: Rum’nCoke digressed to Rum’nC to just plain Rummin, in a matter of just a few hours.
I remember trying to go to bed twice, but getting back up in an attempt to be among The Last Standing. The next thing I know, it’s 8:30 in the morning, and I’m being prodded to wake up so we can do that whole driving-home thing. Thanks to all the Savannahhh locals and all the dedicated Road Whores who helped give Hash Weekends a good name. Oh, and happy birthday, old man.
Until next time,
On Out
# posted by L&F @ 5:46 PM 
