27 February 2006
63. There's Shiggy Here?
Southern Comfort H3 - 24 Febeerary 2006
"Shiggy in Avondale Estates!!!" is the promise that drew us to the start Friday night. Shiggy and Avondale Estates are not normally words that are uttered together. Satellite imagery showed a couple promising areas, but being on the ground is a lot different than looking down on Earth from a satellite.
The start was at an abandoned office park near all the Dekalb County services buildings at Memorial and Kensington. The cast of characters in order of appearance were:
2 Crabs
Your Humble Scribe
Runs Down
Breast Stroke
Davey Crochet
Meow
Squid Dick
Dane Bramage
The Ghost of Everqueer
I took a wrong turn near the start and drove into the back lot of the Dekalb County Medical Examiner's office, where I drove right next to a van marked "Technical Body Recovery Team." Could this be a sign of things to come? Undaunted, I found the real start and disrobed to the delight of no one so I could put on hash gear. At the appointed time, we circled around a slightly hyper Runs Down, who informed us Meow would be bimboing, but not beer-meistering. But... but... where was our golden nectar? Apparently, Runs called Everqueer just moments before, and woke him up at the dorms, so our beer-meister would be joining us at the end. Pre-trail instructions included the quote of the evening: "There will be a couple danger signs, but I'm not going to lay them." With that logic firmly in place, our hare continued: "The dangerous parts will be REALLY obvious. If you get hurt, you're REALLY stupid." We tried to explain the group he was dealing with, but he was too nervous about trail and getting snared to care. On Out. We watched him struggle through the shiggy next to the parking lot's fence for a good minute and decided to give him five minutes from the point we couldn't see him anymore. Then he disappeared but we kept hearing him crash through the brush, so we decided to give him five minutes from the point we couldn't HEAR him anymore.
The pack left at the exact moment I realized I had forgotten my goggles, so I was a couple minutes behind everyone. (I would be glad I got them. More on that later.) I trudged through a foresty section for a while to the edge of a contruction site, and still didn't see anyone. There was a steep change in elevation here, and I decided to jump down. But it was dark, and since I didn't have anyone in front of me to gauge the earth below, I jumped blindly into mud that went up to my calves. There was much mental rejoicing.
I caught up with the pack at a check, located at the back of the Medical Examiner's office, so at least I had my bearings. Trail continued on assfault for a while, and almost as an apology for the road rage, Runs dipped us into an urban swamp. Yeah, he actually found a swamp here, and from what he told us later, it looked N.A.S.T.Y in the daylight. Well, that would explain the extreme blackness of my shoes, socks and feet when I changed at the end.
The briars started here. A lot of them. Big ones, thick ones, long ones... any type you can imagine. And they were still flexible, even in the winter, so you couldn't break through them. Arg. I swear to you I broke records for the number of times I got my cranium gear stuck on vines. I can only imagine how stupid I looked rotating around trying to free myself. More stupid than I normally look, obviously. We even saw some of those briar trees, which can even be scary to look at.
From the swamp, we did a lot of forest running in between homes and apartments. This is the great part about haring for a night crowd: You can find thin strips of shiggy and know the hounds will have a lot harder time realizing where they are. At one point, I noticed lights of an apartment complex and could almost hear Runs as he was scouting for this trail, letting out a bellowing, evil laugh. "Mwah hah hahhh... they will have no idea where they really are!"
Aren't water towers normally built on the highest points of an area? Well then, we hit one of the highest points of Dekalb, because we ran right next to a nice-sized monstrosity with the county's name beautifully scrawled across it, and the whole thing wasn't built up too high. Interesting.
The smell of pot greeted us as we ran toward a Marta stop. I don't remember which one, but I remember the large amount of stares we got as we all ran through the main section and into the parking lot. 2 Crabs got the first snare of the night at an apartment complex nearby, and we waited for the pack to reconvene before taking off once again. There was more shiggy here behind the complex, some weaving around a fence and one of several creek crossings. I also vaguely remember a large easement of some sort and a climb up a Hill of Death to a street above.
Apparently, Runs was getting tired, because the second snare seemed to occur not too long after the first one. We were on the tracks, and from what I was told, it is important to note these weren't the Marta tracks, since those carry quite a bit of electricity. As we were waiting our allotted time, we spied someone way off in the distance on the tracks, and knew right away it was Runs. His backpack busted not too far from where he had left us, and because he was getting so tired, he decided to go back and take the street to the end and save the longer, shiggier route for another trail.
Trail ended at in the front yard of Runs' house, and we were treated to seeing him get drunk while he was running circle. Apparently, he lives in one of the coolest neighborhoods ever, because no one complained, even though we stayed out there for quite a while, shouting and loudly uttering the traditional SoCo hash song countless times. Circle ended with us naming Meow, who from now on and forever more be known as Furry Curry. Welcome to the hash, and thank you for being a such loyal bimbo.
Join us Friday to witness what Wine Ho will be torturing us with. Until then,
May the Hash Get a Piece
"Shiggy in Avondale Estates!!!" is the promise that drew us to the start Friday night. Shiggy and Avondale Estates are not normally words that are uttered together. Satellite imagery showed a couple promising areas, but being on the ground is a lot different than looking down on Earth from a satellite.
The start was at an abandoned office park near all the Dekalb County services buildings at Memorial and Kensington. The cast of characters in order of appearance were:
2 Crabs
Your Humble Scribe
Runs Down
Breast Stroke
Davey Crochet
Meow
Squid Dick
Dane Bramage
The Ghost of Everqueer
I took a wrong turn near the start and drove into the back lot of the Dekalb County Medical Examiner's office, where I drove right next to a van marked "Technical Body Recovery Team." Could this be a sign of things to come? Undaunted, I found the real start and disrobed to the delight of no one so I could put on hash gear. At the appointed time, we circled around a slightly hyper Runs Down, who informed us Meow would be bimboing, but not beer-meistering. But... but... where was our golden nectar? Apparently, Runs called Everqueer just moments before, and woke him up at the dorms, so our beer-meister would be joining us at the end. Pre-trail instructions included the quote of the evening: "There will be a couple danger signs, but I'm not going to lay them." With that logic firmly in place, our hare continued: "The dangerous parts will be REALLY obvious. If you get hurt, you're REALLY stupid." We tried to explain the group he was dealing with, but he was too nervous about trail and getting snared to care. On Out. We watched him struggle through the shiggy next to the parking lot's fence for a good minute and decided to give him five minutes from the point we couldn't see him anymore. Then he disappeared but we kept hearing him crash through the brush, so we decided to give him five minutes from the point we couldn't HEAR him anymore.
The pack left at the exact moment I realized I had forgotten my goggles, so I was a couple minutes behind everyone. (I would be glad I got them. More on that later.) I trudged through a foresty section for a while to the edge of a contruction site, and still didn't see anyone. There was a steep change in elevation here, and I decided to jump down. But it was dark, and since I didn't have anyone in front of me to gauge the earth below, I jumped blindly into mud that went up to my calves. There was much mental rejoicing.
I caught up with the pack at a check, located at the back of the Medical Examiner's office, so at least I had my bearings. Trail continued on assfault for a while, and almost as an apology for the road rage, Runs dipped us into an urban swamp. Yeah, he actually found a swamp here, and from what he told us later, it looked N.A.S.T.Y in the daylight. Well, that would explain the extreme blackness of my shoes, socks and feet when I changed at the end.
The briars started here. A lot of them. Big ones, thick ones, long ones... any type you can imagine. And they were still flexible, even in the winter, so you couldn't break through them. Arg. I swear to you I broke records for the number of times I got my cranium gear stuck on vines. I can only imagine how stupid I looked rotating around trying to free myself. More stupid than I normally look, obviously. We even saw some of those briar trees, which can even be scary to look at.
From the swamp, we did a lot of forest running in between homes and apartments. This is the great part about haring for a night crowd: You can find thin strips of shiggy and know the hounds will have a lot harder time realizing where they are. At one point, I noticed lights of an apartment complex and could almost hear Runs as he was scouting for this trail, letting out a bellowing, evil laugh. "Mwah hah hahhh... they will have no idea where they really are!"
Aren't water towers normally built on the highest points of an area? Well then, we hit one of the highest points of Dekalb, because we ran right next to a nice-sized monstrosity with the county's name beautifully scrawled across it, and the whole thing wasn't built up too high. Interesting.
The smell of pot greeted us as we ran toward a Marta stop. I don't remember which one, but I remember the large amount of stares we got as we all ran through the main section and into the parking lot. 2 Crabs got the first snare of the night at an apartment complex nearby, and we waited for the pack to reconvene before taking off once again. There was more shiggy here behind the complex, some weaving around a fence and one of several creek crossings. I also vaguely remember a large easement of some sort and a climb up a Hill of Death to a street above.
Apparently, Runs was getting tired, because the second snare seemed to occur not too long after the first one. We were on the tracks, and from what I was told, it is important to note these weren't the Marta tracks, since those carry quite a bit of electricity. As we were waiting our allotted time, we spied someone way off in the distance on the tracks, and knew right away it was Runs. His backpack busted not too far from where he had left us, and because he was getting so tired, he decided to go back and take the street to the end and save the longer, shiggier route for another trail.
Trail ended at in the front yard of Runs' house, and we were treated to seeing him get drunk while he was running circle. Apparently, he lives in one of the coolest neighborhoods ever, because no one complained, even though we stayed out there for quite a while, shouting and loudly uttering the traditional SoCo hash song countless times. Circle ended with us naming Meow, who from now on and forever more be known as Furry Curry. Welcome to the hash, and thank you for being a such loyal bimbo.
Join us Friday to witness what Wine Ho will be torturing us with. Until then,
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 4:09 PM 
26 February 2006
62. Baby Showers and Other Manly Things
Carolina Trash H3 - 18 Febeerary 2006 to 19 Febeerary 2006
My cell phone, Saturday night: Ring.
Me, carefully shifting my mug between hands so I can answer and not spill precious beer: Hello?
Spooge: Hey, does Bagless drive a blue van with handicap plates?
Me: Yeah, why?
Spooge: Does he drive a blue van with an On-On sticker and Cobb County plates?
Me: He would probably be the only person on the planet who drives that. I hope that's a Trash sticker. Where are you?
Spooge: In Alabama on I-20. I might be behind him. He's driving really fast.
Me: You don't have his number?
Spooge: No.
Me: I'll call you back.
Me, pushing phone buttons with super-human retard strength: Bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop.
Fag Hag, answering Bagless' phone: Hey, [unprintable nerd name]
Me: Yay! Hey, where are you right now?
Fag Hag: In Alabama on I-20. We're coming back from a game.
Me: Well slow down so Spooge can say Hi to you.
Fag Hag: Oh, so HE'S the lunatic behind us.
Me: Yeah. And you know I'm playing middle man from Fayetteville right now. Sweet.
Fucking-A sweet is right. Helping Trashers verbally canoodle at Interstate off-ramps, one gulp of beer at a time.
We got to Trashville about 2pm on Saturday afternoon. Those us with boobs went to Tang's baby shower. And for those of you living under a rock, that's Spooge's better half, and she's almost ready to pop. Those of us without boobs stayed at Tripple Nipple and Yucca's house, warming up the beer pong table. We also did what guys normally do when someone lights a fire at a fire pit: We stand around it and say "Yup" a lot. We were on our 3,539th Yup when the girls started arriving. Now that everyone was together, we were all focused on one goal: Getting fucked up as a way to welcum back Yucca from Afghanistan. I had just learned to count to Two, and that came in handy because that's how many kegs we had at our disposal. Then I had to learn fractions real quick because there was a 2 1/2 gallon container of Yucca standing by. There was food everywhere, and everywhere you looked, there seemed to be another rat-dog the size of one of my bowel movements.
If that cell phone anecdote gave you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, take that feeling, stretch it out all night, and that was the party. Hey, anytime there's naked people jumping in a near-freezing pool, good times aren't far away. Around midnight, there seemed to be a lot of people who we were explaining hashing to, and it turns out they were some drunks from across the street. And by across the street, I mean this dude's house who lives on the river and has an outside bar. Can you say Ending for a Float?
Ruby Relaxers rock. There might be some of you who think they're too "girly," but if you're also playing beer pong with straight manly Yucca, it sort of balances out.
We're flash-forwarding to Trail now, because I said so. Sunday 1500hrs. The start was off Raeford, I believe. There was railroad tracks, and 1/4 of the trail smelled like a natural gas leak. That might be enough of a clue for some of you. County Services blah blah blah maybe. This was where more Yucca was consumed. Anyway, TN, Cunt, Red Breast and Keyless laid trail, and for about 24 hours, I had heard people say that it was going to be short because "the girls were laying it." Um, no. If they made it long to prove everyone wrong... good. There was three beers stops and a good amount of shiggy. At one point, a check had us baffled, and with everyone milling around, I decided to follow the last mark we saw, which was at a tunnel under a street. I trudged through water up to my thighs to get to the other side. Once there, I realized that the last mark we saw was seriously the last mark. But how can you regret doing a tunnel, especially when you get to the other side and see a drainage pipe with icicles hanging below it? Oh, did I forget to mention it was freaking COLD out? There was a check about 1/2 mile from the start/end, and as five of us continued along on trail, I noticed the rest of the pack decided to shortcut. But I don't roll that way. So for all but four of you, here's what you missed: SHIGGY. Forest, a dried-out creek bed, briars, etc. Gotta love Etc. I was Drunk Trasher to a virgin for this trail, and he ran the whole thing in shorts and a tank top. He was shivering at the start, and the cool-downs at the beer stops seemed to be hurting him a little. Suggestion: Clothes with more fabric. After the five of us got through the shiggy, we hit a check at a CSX Railroad building that confused us just long enough to get stopped by a slow-moving train. My virgin decides to jump on the train, in front of the frumpy CSX guy. Not too bright. While Mister Frumpy stomped closer, and my virgin's co-virgin/friend tried to get him down, the rest of us bolted down the street. Once we were all back together, we boxed our way back to the end. As soon as we got there, circle commenced immediately.
Of note at circle: It's a little surreal traveling more than 350 miles to get to trail and then not having to do a visitor down-down. I'd have to say it's almost as enjoyable as beer, and almost as pleasurable as anything that vibrates.
May the Hash Get a Piece
My cell phone, Saturday night: Ring.
Me, carefully shifting my mug between hands so I can answer and not spill precious beer: Hello?
Spooge: Hey, does Bagless drive a blue van with handicap plates?
Me: Yeah, why?
Spooge: Does he drive a blue van with an On-On sticker and Cobb County plates?
Me: He would probably be the only person on the planet who drives that. I hope that's a Trash sticker. Where are you?
Spooge: In Alabama on I-20. I might be behind him. He's driving really fast.
Me: You don't have his number?
Spooge: No.
Me: I'll call you back.
Me, pushing phone buttons with super-human retard strength: Bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop bloop.
Fag Hag, answering Bagless' phone: Hey, [unprintable nerd name]
Me: Yay! Hey, where are you right now?
Fag Hag: In Alabama on I-20. We're coming back from a game.
Me: Well slow down so Spooge can say Hi to you.
Fag Hag: Oh, so HE'S the lunatic behind us.
Me: Yeah. And you know I'm playing middle man from Fayetteville right now. Sweet.
Fucking-A sweet is right. Helping Trashers verbally canoodle at Interstate off-ramps, one gulp of beer at a time.
We got to Trashville about 2pm on Saturday afternoon. Those us with boobs went to Tang's baby shower. And for those of you living under a rock, that's Spooge's better half, and she's almost ready to pop. Those of us without boobs stayed at Tripple Nipple and Yucca's house, warming up the beer pong table. We also did what guys normally do when someone lights a fire at a fire pit: We stand around it and say "Yup" a lot. We were on our 3,539th Yup when the girls started arriving. Now that everyone was together, we were all focused on one goal: Getting fucked up as a way to welcum back Yucca from Afghanistan. I had just learned to count to Two, and that came in handy because that's how many kegs we had at our disposal. Then I had to learn fractions real quick because there was a 2 1/2 gallon container of Yucca standing by. There was food everywhere, and everywhere you looked, there seemed to be another rat-dog the size of one of my bowel movements.
If that cell phone anecdote gave you a warm, fuzzy feeling inside, take that feeling, stretch it out all night, and that was the party. Hey, anytime there's naked people jumping in a near-freezing pool, good times aren't far away. Around midnight, there seemed to be a lot of people who we were explaining hashing to, and it turns out they were some drunks from across the street. And by across the street, I mean this dude's house who lives on the river and has an outside bar. Can you say Ending for a Float?
Ruby Relaxers rock. There might be some of you who think they're too "girly," but if you're also playing beer pong with straight manly Yucca, it sort of balances out.
We're flash-forwarding to Trail now, because I said so. Sunday 1500hrs. The start was off Raeford, I believe. There was railroad tracks, and 1/4 of the trail smelled like a natural gas leak. That might be enough of a clue for some of you. County Services blah blah blah maybe. This was where more Yucca was consumed. Anyway, TN, Cunt, Red Breast and Keyless laid trail, and for about 24 hours, I had heard people say that it was going to be short because "the girls were laying it." Um, no. If they made it long to prove everyone wrong... good. There was three beers stops and a good amount of shiggy. At one point, a check had us baffled, and with everyone milling around, I decided to follow the last mark we saw, which was at a tunnel under a street. I trudged through water up to my thighs to get to the other side. Once there, I realized that the last mark we saw was seriously the last mark. But how can you regret doing a tunnel, especially when you get to the other side and see a drainage pipe with icicles hanging below it? Oh, did I forget to mention it was freaking COLD out? There was a check about 1/2 mile from the start/end, and as five of us continued along on trail, I noticed the rest of the pack decided to shortcut. But I don't roll that way. So for all but four of you, here's what you missed: SHIGGY. Forest, a dried-out creek bed, briars, etc. Gotta love Etc. I was Drunk Trasher to a virgin for this trail, and he ran the whole thing in shorts and a tank top. He was shivering at the start, and the cool-downs at the beer stops seemed to be hurting him a little. Suggestion: Clothes with more fabric. After the five of us got through the shiggy, we hit a check at a CSX Railroad building that confused us just long enough to get stopped by a slow-moving train. My virgin decides to jump on the train, in front of the frumpy CSX guy. Not too bright. While Mister Frumpy stomped closer, and my virgin's co-virgin/friend tried to get him down, the rest of us bolted down the street. Once we were all back together, we boxed our way back to the end. As soon as we got there, circle commenced immediately.
Of note at circle: It's a little surreal traveling more than 350 miles to get to trail and then not having to do a visitor down-down. I'd have to say it's almost as enjoyable as beer, and almost as pleasurable as anything that vibrates.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 11:43 PM
12 February 2006
61. Park Your Ass for a Black Sheep Trash
Black Sheep H3 - 5 Febeerary 2006
From one park to another, this is how we frolicked during Black Sheep’s 404th, also known as the ALS Fundraiser Hash, also known as the Super Bowl Prelube Hash.
The Pre-Game Show: Happy Birthday, Fuck You
Some of us might have been a bit hung over for this trail, since the night before was the Party of the Moment… Dr. Doo Doo’s birthday extravaganza. I will avoid going into any of the gory details of this joyous event, since some of you might be eating while you’re reading this.
First Quarter: The Start
A decent-sized group of people had gathered at the park, which was either Mark Trail or Nathaniel Scott in Decatur. The most energetic living thing at this stage of the game was Martha Screw-it’s Bassett hound, which was loving that everyone was at a much lower elevation dealing with footwear. (Ask her about the doggie-dicks of some of the more rotund males of the breed; it’s priceless.) Bwana and Wee Little Bit were our hares, and were ready at the required time, although we were still without our Slack Sheep hare. Well, Doo Doo pulled up while the other two were getting blessed, clad in jeans and what looked like black dress shoes. Nice. He grabbed some flour and the three took off.
Second Quarter: All Over the Place
We sprinted after the hares in a westerly direction, immediately hitting one of the park’s wooded areas, and then followed Parkland Dr. down to I-20. This part of town is odd. Not only does I-20 cut directly south here, Flat Shoals does some strange meandering thing as well, and actually crosses I-20 twice. So unless you’re really smart (a geography major), or have looked at a map before trail (2 Crabs) then there’s a good chance big landmarks won’t help you figure out which way you’re going. But hey, most of us were following flour anyway, so who cares. And flour led us through what one harriette described as Urban Shiggy. Of course I’ve heard this phrase before, but not on a Black Sheep. I’d have to say that the hares squeezed every bit of shiggy out of this area, because the turns and changes of scenery were coming at a quick clip. Bonus: this kept our brains busy. At one point, we almost did a complete loop in a wooded area, ending where I-20 meets Gresham Road.
Half Time: Our Long Search for Flour
Our little reprieve from exertion came here, at a couple of checks near the overpass. The first check had many of us milling around north of the highway, and the second check had us shuffling around south of the highway, scratching our craniums in confusion. We cavorted around a shopping center for quite a while, talking to the locals and finding a rather disgusting spot in the back alley. Our search extended to nearby streets until we finally found trail much closer to the check, hidden between the tight space of a fence and the sound barrier at the Gresham Road off-ramp. So obvious, yet so crafty.
Third Quarter: Tractors and a Really Bad Stench
The twists and turns of trail slowed here, with a construction area to the west giving us a larger area to play in. From here on out, we pretty much followed the streets and shiggy next to a long creek, first diving in just as it went under I-20. Wow, it was muddy here, and the smell was atrocious. I think what made it worse was that our shoes were still dry up to this point, and we had gotten used to solid ground. A few creek crossings on the other side of the highway cleaned off the mud. One long stretch before the end was an easement of some sort, and during trail trial, a few Sheepers commented on the strange sensation of running on the bazillion tractor tire indentations. We ended at Dekalb Memorial Park, right where I-20 starts to dip south. Sani’s hot soup, birthday cake and a glorious keg were all at the ready.
Fourth Quarter: The Circle
Bwana made it quite clear he was not too thrilled about sitting bare-ass on the ice in the cold weather, so a few hounds decided to stretch out their comments to add to our fearless leader’s misery. Speaking of the low temperature, Pussy Pilot got a shout-out for doing trail with a short-sleeve shirt on.
It’s also worth mentioning the large number of entries in the Things That Made the Pack Groan Department. One was the canoodling pair of Doo Doo and Double Penetration, frolicking on the ground in their birthday orgy. Yay for genitalia. There was also quite a bit of licking of the ice. That always gets a decent reaction. And let’s not forget TLS’s slow striptease down to his panties. Yes, I said panties.
Before our traditional Swing Low, Sani informed us that we had just donated more than 800 dollars to ALS research, and that helped put us over the amount needed to get a hash foot and Studda Bubba’s name on the Muscle Mountain Mania event jersey.
The Post-Game Show: Wee Little Bit’s Casa
An even bigger group turned out to watch the Super Bowl. Some of the more frequently heard comments included “Hey, where were you for trail?” “That ad didn’t make any sense” “I love beer” and “Sex is the best thing ever.” OK, I made up that last one. But it’s true, isn’t it?
On that note,
May the Hash Get a Piece
From one park to another, this is how we frolicked during Black Sheep’s 404th, also known as the ALS Fundraiser Hash, also known as the Super Bowl Prelube Hash.
The Pre-Game Show: Happy Birthday, Fuck You
Some of us might have been a bit hung over for this trail, since the night before was the Party of the Moment… Dr. Doo Doo’s birthday extravaganza. I will avoid going into any of the gory details of this joyous event, since some of you might be eating while you’re reading this.
First Quarter: The Start
A decent-sized group of people had gathered at the park, which was either Mark Trail or Nathaniel Scott in Decatur. The most energetic living thing at this stage of the game was Martha Screw-it’s Bassett hound, which was loving that everyone was at a much lower elevation dealing with footwear. (Ask her about the doggie-dicks of some of the more rotund males of the breed; it’s priceless.) Bwana and Wee Little Bit were our hares, and were ready at the required time, although we were still without our Slack Sheep hare. Well, Doo Doo pulled up while the other two were getting blessed, clad in jeans and what looked like black dress shoes. Nice. He grabbed some flour and the three took off.
Second Quarter: All Over the Place
We sprinted after the hares in a westerly direction, immediately hitting one of the park’s wooded areas, and then followed Parkland Dr. down to I-20. This part of town is odd. Not only does I-20 cut directly south here, Flat Shoals does some strange meandering thing as well, and actually crosses I-20 twice. So unless you’re really smart (a geography major), or have looked at a map before trail (2 Crabs) then there’s a good chance big landmarks won’t help you figure out which way you’re going. But hey, most of us were following flour anyway, so who cares. And flour led us through what one harriette described as Urban Shiggy. Of course I’ve heard this phrase before, but not on a Black Sheep. I’d have to say that the hares squeezed every bit of shiggy out of this area, because the turns and changes of scenery were coming at a quick clip. Bonus: this kept our brains busy. At one point, we almost did a complete loop in a wooded area, ending where I-20 meets Gresham Road.
Half Time: Our Long Search for Flour
Our little reprieve from exertion came here, at a couple of checks near the overpass. The first check had many of us milling around north of the highway, and the second check had us shuffling around south of the highway, scratching our craniums in confusion. We cavorted around a shopping center for quite a while, talking to the locals and finding a rather disgusting spot in the back alley. Our search extended to nearby streets until we finally found trail much closer to the check, hidden between the tight space of a fence and the sound barrier at the Gresham Road off-ramp. So obvious, yet so crafty.
Third Quarter: Tractors and a Really Bad Stench
The twists and turns of trail slowed here, with a construction area to the west giving us a larger area to play in. From here on out, we pretty much followed the streets and shiggy next to a long creek, first diving in just as it went under I-20. Wow, it was muddy here, and the smell was atrocious. I think what made it worse was that our shoes were still dry up to this point, and we had gotten used to solid ground. A few creek crossings on the other side of the highway cleaned off the mud. One long stretch before the end was an easement of some sort, and during trail trial, a few Sheepers commented on the strange sensation of running on the bazillion tractor tire indentations. We ended at Dekalb Memorial Park, right where I-20 starts to dip south. Sani’s hot soup, birthday cake and a glorious keg were all at the ready.
Fourth Quarter: The Circle
Bwana made it quite clear he was not too thrilled about sitting bare-ass on the ice in the cold weather, so a few hounds decided to stretch out their comments to add to our fearless leader’s misery. Speaking of the low temperature, Pussy Pilot got a shout-out for doing trail with a short-sleeve shirt on.
It’s also worth mentioning the large number of entries in the Things That Made the Pack Groan Department. One was the canoodling pair of Doo Doo and Double Penetration, frolicking on the ground in their birthday orgy. Yay for genitalia. There was also quite a bit of licking of the ice. That always gets a decent reaction. And let’s not forget TLS’s slow striptease down to his panties. Yes, I said panties.
Before our traditional Swing Low, Sani informed us that we had just donated more than 800 dollars to ALS research, and that helped put us over the amount needed to get a hash foot and Studda Bubba’s name on the Muscle Mountain Mania event jersey.
The Post-Game Show: Wee Little Bit’s Casa
An even bigger group turned out to watch the Super Bowl. Some of the more frequently heard comments included “Hey, where were you for trail?” “That ad didn’t make any sense” “I love beer” and “Sex is the best thing ever.” OK, I made up that last one. But it’s true, isn’t it?
On that note,
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 7:07 PM
06 February 2006
60. Just a Little Stunning
Biloxi H3’s Eat Mor Chikin Weekend - 20 January 06 to 22 January 06
Our latest road trip has been sponsored by storm-devastated Biloxi and surrounding areas. Tolerating me in the car this time around was Red Breast and Poke Her Cabana.
The Things I Learned Before, During and After Eating Mor Chikin:
--Chick-fil-A has some great props for a weekend of this caliber.
--The Biloxi crowd really knows how to welcome out-of-towners.
--If you turn down a chance to play Tippy Cup in Biloxi, the Welcoming Committee will turn on you.
--If you walk around with a battery-operated chicken that makes hellish sounds of pain when you choke it, people will tire of it (and you) very quickly.
--Five months after d-day (K-day?), and you still have to drive forever to get to an open bar. But hey, once you’re there, Scareoke sounds exactly the same.
--Two out-of-towners laying trail can be quite entertaining.
--Porkymon’s house smells like my butt crack. And by butt crack, I don’t mean my butt crack after I shower, I mean my butt crack after I get done haring.
--Want an abandoned bike? Walk around Ocean Springs for a few minutes.
--If you’re wearing flour-covered running tights in Ocean Springs, and you put a plunger on your freshly shaved dome, one of the locals will stop and ask you what’s going on.
--If your name is Burn-n-Bush and you just got your house repaired, you might need to swallow quite a few Bravery Pills before you invite a bunch of drunk people over for a weekend.
--The more drunk you are, the cooler drinking games are.
--“What the Fuck” is the coolest drinking game that I can’t play whatsoever.
--How do you make a 79.9-proof Hurricane? Mix powdered flavoring into straight booze.
--If you drink hard liquor and beer all weekend, and forget to drink water, you tend to get quite ill after a couple days.
--If you drink too many Hurricanes, you will pass out. For a long time.
--I will always forget something at an out-of-town event. Sometimes, I’ll forget two or three somethings.
--If you say you’d be willing to have public sex with a Dwarf for a nominal fee, drunk hashers will whip out their cash faster than Paris Hilton whips out her wad at Louis Vuitton.
--There’s a new type of Christmas Tree. It’s a Biloxi Tree. Directions: Take a regular tree from the Biloxi area, add hurricane-force winds at a 20-plus-foot storm surge, and let the water recede. Ornaments will include clothes, paper bags, toys… and maybe even a full-size boat.
On On
Our latest road trip has been sponsored by storm-devastated Biloxi and surrounding areas. Tolerating me in the car this time around was Red Breast and Poke Her Cabana.
The Things I Learned Before, During and After Eating Mor Chikin:
--Chick-fil-A has some great props for a weekend of this caliber.
--The Biloxi crowd really knows how to welcome out-of-towners.
--If you turn down a chance to play Tippy Cup in Biloxi, the Welcoming Committee will turn on you.
--If you walk around with a battery-operated chicken that makes hellish sounds of pain when you choke it, people will tire of it (and you) very quickly.
--Five months after d-day (K-day?), and you still have to drive forever to get to an open bar. But hey, once you’re there, Scareoke sounds exactly the same.
--Two out-of-towners laying trail can be quite entertaining.
--Porkymon’s house smells like my butt crack. And by butt crack, I don’t mean my butt crack after I shower, I mean my butt crack after I get done haring.
--Want an abandoned bike? Walk around Ocean Springs for a few minutes.
--If you’re wearing flour-covered running tights in Ocean Springs, and you put a plunger on your freshly shaved dome, one of the locals will stop and ask you what’s going on.
--If your name is Burn-n-Bush and you just got your house repaired, you might need to swallow quite a few Bravery Pills before you invite a bunch of drunk people over for a weekend.
--The more drunk you are, the cooler drinking games are.
--“What the Fuck” is the coolest drinking game that I can’t play whatsoever.
--How do you make a 79.9-proof Hurricane? Mix powdered flavoring into straight booze.
--If you drink hard liquor and beer all weekend, and forget to drink water, you tend to get quite ill after a couple days.
--If you drink too many Hurricanes, you will pass out. For a long time.
--I will always forget something at an out-of-town event. Sometimes, I’ll forget two or three somethings.
--If you say you’d be willing to have public sex with a Dwarf for a nominal fee, drunk hashers will whip out their cash faster than Paris Hilton whips out her wad at Louis Vuitton.
--There’s a new type of Christmas Tree. It’s a Biloxi Tree. Directions: Take a regular tree from the Biloxi area, add hurricane-force winds at a 20-plus-foot storm surge, and let the water recede. Ornaments will include clothes, paper bags, toys… and maybe even a full-size boat.
On On
# posted by L&F @ 11:34 PM
