05 November 2005
25. A Case of the Crabs
Southern Comfort H3 - 27 Febeerary 2004
This is a story about consistency, reliability and the guarantee of a good time. This is why a group of dedicated hounds made the drive down to Newnan to hash on a freezing Friday night. Because if you want to catch an enjoyable case of the Crabs, Newnan’s where you go. Oh yeah, this is also a story about a tiny scare, but that’s a little later. First things first.
By 7:20, the hounds were all ASSembled in the Lowe’s parking lot and bundled up, ready to go. Many were jumping up and down to warm up a bit, since the storm clouds had started breaking up a couple hours earlier and the temperature was dropping fast. In attendance this night were Pu$$y Pilot, Dane Bramaged, Elvis, Yuron Weed, Davey Crochet and L&F. The ever-masterful bimbo for the evening was Slippery Slit. In case you haven’t gathered by now, our hare and Event Planner was 2 Crabs. At 7:33, he grabbed his flour, turned on his he@dlamp, and was on his way.
Of course, it was 7:37 when we gave chase, and luckily, the fastest running was found right at the start. The quick warm-up made things much better for the rest of the trail. Access roads, sewer easements, power cuts, tunnels and straight-up forests were all used, in no particular order. The recent snow and rain made a lot of the areas wet and muddy, so places that might have been dry at one point were now enjoyably sloshy. Highlights of the trail included a plastic hunting deer with an “R U ?” sign around its neck. It was watching over a check. A little bit later, there was also a gigantic hunting tower that had its own long, rubber-coated ramp. And how anyone forget the creek that had orange water? This is the kind of murky, stagnant stuff even some hashers try to avoid, but in the dark, it was so hard to see, the prevailing mood was Out of Sight, Out of Mind. The last check was near some barbed wire and the interstate, so that was a pretty easy call. Into the tunnel. We exited the other side to find the temperature and humidity had changed significantly. Something about the lowlands made it a lot colder. And every breath sent out a long, thick plume of steam that hung around like cigar smoke.
On In was at the edge of the forest, over a steel gate, and onto a power cut, which looked out over the lowlands and some distant pieces of civilization. The cloudless night, the bright moon and the wide expanse of a treeless skyline ended up making the area a great place to hang out. Another highlight of the evening was not readily noticeable, but quite entertaining: The hash bags were now out of the warm car, and the temperature change had made the tops of them condense and freeze. With all but one of the hounds in, the pack quickly changed, grabbed a hash beverage of choice (BEER) and gathered around the fire barrel. It was here that everyone realized the fire barrel was the answer to world peace.
While we all drank and ate some of the best sausages ever created, we also wondered something: Where was Dane Bramaged? And we kept wondering. And kept wondering. Finally, Elvis went into the forest to go backwards on trail, while 2 Crabs took his truck to about mile 1 and started looking from there. We got a call about a half hour later saying the two had met up in the middle, and still no sign of our missing hound. You can probably imagine the scenarios we created at the fire barrel, as we talked about our next move if she didn’t turn up soon. After what seemed like forever, we got a call from Dane Bramaged, saying she was at the start. 15 minutes later, there was much rejoicing as the pack was once again reunited. And we got the story: her flashlight went out, and while hashing by moonlight was a possibility, going through that last tunnel with no light was out of the question. So she did the only thing she could do: go back to the start. Unfortunately, that last tunnel was at about mile 3 1/2 or 4, so she had to go all that way by moonlight, backwards on trail.
After Dane Bramaged warmed up a bit, we did a quick circle and got our joke from Elvis. L&F got to consume the Hash Lottery down down in exchange for a song. We ended the evening with a decision that the Quote of the Day had come from 2 Crabs at some point about an hour earlier: “Fuck you... in the nicest possible way.”
Thanks to our hare for the trail, the beermeistering and the cooking, and thanks to everyone for cumming out to help find the answer to world peace.
Until next time,
On Out
MISTER BEERMAN
Melody - Mister Sandman
By Lost and Fucked, Black Sheep
Mister Beerman
Give me a can
I need some nectar to hold in my hand
Heineken, Fosters
Coors Light or Bud
I don’t give a shit
As long as there’s suds.
Mister Beerman
Give me a brew
Clear dark or amber
With a reddish hue
When it comes to booze I’m a fan
Mister Beerman give me a can.
This is a story about consistency, reliability and the guarantee of a good time. This is why a group of dedicated hounds made the drive down to Newnan to hash on a freezing Friday night. Because if you want to catch an enjoyable case of the Crabs, Newnan’s where you go. Oh yeah, this is also a story about a tiny scare, but that’s a little later. First things first.
By 7:20, the hounds were all ASSembled in the Lowe’s parking lot and bundled up, ready to go. Many were jumping up and down to warm up a bit, since the storm clouds had started breaking up a couple hours earlier and the temperature was dropping fast. In attendance this night were Pu$$y Pilot, Dane Bramaged, Elvis, Yuron Weed, Davey Crochet and L&F. The ever-masterful bimbo for the evening was Slippery Slit. In case you haven’t gathered by now, our hare and Event Planner was 2 Crabs. At 7:33, he grabbed his flour, turned on his he@dlamp, and was on his way.
Of course, it was 7:37 when we gave chase, and luckily, the fastest running was found right at the start. The quick warm-up made things much better for the rest of the trail. Access roads, sewer easements, power cuts, tunnels and straight-up forests were all used, in no particular order. The recent snow and rain made a lot of the areas wet and muddy, so places that might have been dry at one point were now enjoyably sloshy. Highlights of the trail included a plastic hunting deer with an “R U ?” sign around its neck. It was watching over a check. A little bit later, there was also a gigantic hunting tower that had its own long, rubber-coated ramp. And how anyone forget the creek that had orange water? This is the kind of murky, stagnant stuff even some hashers try to avoid, but in the dark, it was so hard to see, the prevailing mood was Out of Sight, Out of Mind. The last check was near some barbed wire and the interstate, so that was a pretty easy call. Into the tunnel. We exited the other side to find the temperature and humidity had changed significantly. Something about the lowlands made it a lot colder. And every breath sent out a long, thick plume of steam that hung around like cigar smoke.
On In was at the edge of the forest, over a steel gate, and onto a power cut, which looked out over the lowlands and some distant pieces of civilization. The cloudless night, the bright moon and the wide expanse of a treeless skyline ended up making the area a great place to hang out. Another highlight of the evening was not readily noticeable, but quite entertaining: The hash bags were now out of the warm car, and the temperature change had made the tops of them condense and freeze. With all but one of the hounds in, the pack quickly changed, grabbed a hash beverage of choice (BEER) and gathered around the fire barrel. It was here that everyone realized the fire barrel was the answer to world peace.
While we all drank and ate some of the best sausages ever created, we also wondered something: Where was Dane Bramaged? And we kept wondering. And kept wondering. Finally, Elvis went into the forest to go backwards on trail, while 2 Crabs took his truck to about mile 1 and started looking from there. We got a call about a half hour later saying the two had met up in the middle, and still no sign of our missing hound. You can probably imagine the scenarios we created at the fire barrel, as we talked about our next move if she didn’t turn up soon. After what seemed like forever, we got a call from Dane Bramaged, saying she was at the start. 15 minutes later, there was much rejoicing as the pack was once again reunited. And we got the story: her flashlight went out, and while hashing by moonlight was a possibility, going through that last tunnel with no light was out of the question. So she did the only thing she could do: go back to the start. Unfortunately, that last tunnel was at about mile 3 1/2 or 4, so she had to go all that way by moonlight, backwards on trail.
After Dane Bramaged warmed up a bit, we did a quick circle and got our joke from Elvis. L&F got to consume the Hash Lottery down down in exchange for a song. We ended the evening with a decision that the Quote of the Day had come from 2 Crabs at some point about an hour earlier: “Fuck you... in the nicest possible way.”
Thanks to our hare for the trail, the beermeistering and the cooking, and thanks to everyone for cumming out to help find the answer to world peace.
Until next time,
On Out
MISTER BEERMAN
Melody - Mister Sandman
By Lost and Fucked, Black Sheep
Mister Beerman
Give me a can
I need some nectar to hold in my hand
Heineken, Fosters
Coors Light or Bud
I don’t give a shit
As long as there’s suds.
Mister Beerman
Give me a brew
Clear dark or amber
With a reddish hue
When it comes to booze I’m a fan
Mister Beerman give me a can.
# posted by L&F @ 5:49 PM 
