01 June 2006
68. Hedonistic Easements
Black Sheep H3 - 28 May 2006
Wow, it was hot. Oppressive hot. The only consolation we had was that the humidity could have been a little higher. This was Hedon weekend, so as usual, the start was close to Camp. And as usual for a Memorial Day weekend, Hired Snatch stepped up to the plate for the haring duties. The spawn of his seed, Big Squatch, was having the birthday thing that people generally have every year. And since we saw him at the start with flour and that look of heightened anticipation, we immediately knew how he wanted to celebrate the milestone: co-haring and getting briar slashes up and down his legs. So this is how the Second Anal Big Snatch Run came about.
The start was a dirt lot off Tingle Lane, and yeah, the tingle came from the blinding heat streaming down from above and radiating up from the dirt at our feet. I think I counted eight brave wanks who came from Camp. Hey look, a visitor. Ganja Man (from Jamaica, then Britain, then Ventura H3 in SoCal) took leave of Hedon briefly to join us, despite the punishment he endured at trail the day before. Oops was another camper, but Deposit Slit was notably absent. Apparently too much drinky-drinky. By the time Sani showed up, I had been standing out in the sun long enough to not even notice that Bunny had not cum down with her. And I shit you not, when Bwana blessed the hares, I was so heat-befuddled that it barely even registered that Bunny wasn’t doing the blessing. This is what my brain was telling me: “Fuck it’s hot… Hey, Bunny’s not… FUCK it’s hot!” Here’s something else that crossed my mind as Bwana wrapped up: “Fuck it’s hot… Hey, O&5 is co-hari… FUCK it’s HOT!”
Back at camp:
A drunk hasher stripped off all their clothes and joined other drunk hashers in a game of naked volleyball. Some drunk hasher sitting among of group of other drunk hashers took a drink in front of them, and everyone else in the group saw it and subconsciously took a drink immediately afterward. Some drunk hasher was having sex with another drunk hasher in a tent.
I think there were about 20 hounds watching the hares disappear into the distance. And this act took a while. My Ampersand Brother took the easterly route up Tingle Lane toward the I-85 off-ramp, while Big Squatch took the westerly route, across the length of the lot, up a kudzu hill and toward the far side of a distant building. As for Hired, he decided he had enough excitement for the day and let his son take over as the main hare. Translation: Hired would be transporting himself to the end via vehicle. He was already bloody, so we figured he had earned his keep. A few minutes later, we finally found someone who had been timing the countdown (Gentri I think) and we were off soon after.
In short, there was some forest running, some power cut running, some easement running and some fire lane running. Yuron had a new puppy with him and bailed out right before we hit a very-welcome beer stop at about the halfway point. We hit a big, floury “BN” not too long afterward, and followed flour a couple tenths of a mile down a fire lane to our destination. We were all dripping wet, even though we never found water on trail. The Quote of the Day was uttered here, by a steamy Hot Lips: “I’ve been sticky before, but never THIS sticky.” Hey, you find entertainment where you can.
Back at camp:
Another keg blew. A gentle breeze blew next to the camp kitchen, providing some relief to the humid hashers sitting on the wooden bridge. Someone blew someone.
The end was the intersextion of the fire lane and a power cut, in a shaded area not too far from a sewer cap, which we only noticed when the breeze shifted. The first thing we saw when we got in was that 2 Crabs Fucking was turning into 2 Crabs Leaving. Already in his truck, he said something about the man who owned the property calling the cops on SoCo’ers the last time he ended here. Sani had just gone back to the start without knowing this, and at some point while she was away, she got the same message. Shit, we were going to have to leave. At this point, a general malaise set in. Yes, I said malaise; an aura of uncertainty that turned our delicious beers just slightly bitter; a nervous anticipation that kept us from that pleasant/settled feeling you get when you know you’re done moving and exerting any more mental energy. This is when EverQueer used his half-mind to remember back to that fateful night at SoCo, when the crazy homeowner accused the pack of doing drugs and other morally questionable things. Cops were called and a shitty time was had by all. But he also remembered that the homeowner had said something about asking permission next time. So that’s exactly what EverQueer did. He and Big Squatch drove to the guy’s house, got his permission, and they even cleared up that little drug issue. They got back, Sani returned and there was much joy and sat-iss-faction. We mourned the temporary loss of 2 Crabs, someone temporarily renamed him 2 Crabs Freaking (and 2 Crabs Fleeing) and we got back to drinking delicious beer and finding thirsty ticks all over ourselves.
Of note: Holy shit, 0&5 got bloody. Hey Pussy Pilot, he broke your record for the most blood I’ve ever seen on someone after a hash. And your record has held for almost four years now (sorry Foreign Lesion… I didn’t see you on your trip to the hospital a while back). It wasn’t exactly the volume of blood that was so impressive, but the perfectly even distribution of red across every exposed surface. On that note, I’ll take this time to apologize to everyone who came but didn’t get a mention today. Next time, please do something horrifically embarrassing or pathetically cute at some point during the afternoon so I can proudly proclaim your insanity.
Back at camp:
Someone woke up from a nap in their tent, leaned over to grab their half-full mug, drained the warm golden contents and shuffled to the keg trailer for a refill. Someone at the Tiki Bar laughed at someone else who had puked the previous night. Two harriettes got a group of guys totally horny when they mashed their boobs together and started moaning. Someone even got wood. So did someone else.
There were puns flying around in circle, so we started naming people after Barf Bag. Example: Barf with an Attitude. During trail trial, our out-of-towner Ganja Man decided he liked the quick journey to the beer, and he was especially happy that he found plenty of Newcastle in the cooler. The compliments led to applause and happiness. We swung low courtesy of Hired, combed the area for any trash so the landowner wouldn’t get upset, and we were off. It was sometime later that Boner Rooter realized she didn’t have her ultra-super-special PowerPuff Girl water bottle with her. And because we had picked the area clean of anything other than ants, ticks and grass, she knew there was a thief in our midst.
Back at camp:
Music collector and Hedon DJ Asshole realized a thief was there as well. His IPod, a borrowed IPod and an IPod charger all disappeared in the overnight hours, leading to much irritation and the gigantic question of how he was going to replace $800 worth of stuff.
For those of you who saw Davey and I back at the start, an explanation might be in order, especially considering some of the looks we got. We had decided we needed to make an appearance at Hedon, and thought streaking would be appropriate. So I took my morbidly dirty Trash bib and tied it around my waist. You know, so the bib covered up my Skin Whistle and Oysters. Then Davey tried tying one of those microfiber sunglass bags around his junk and decided his full package was too large to fit inside. So he put it only around his schlong and pulled the string on the sunglass bag really tight so it gripped as much as possible. Once we were happy with the placement of our coverage, we were off.
Back at camp:
Two loyal Black Sheepers streaked around the entire Hedon property with their makeshift loincloths. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea considering how hot it was and how instantly sweaty they got, but it was generally acknowledged that the two scantily clad hounds were very proud to represent their hash in such a revealing way.
Join us next time, when a Clit named Colonel gives us his version of a shiggy orgasm.
Until June 11th UFF’s
May the Hash Get a Piece
Wow, it was hot. Oppressive hot. The only consolation we had was that the humidity could have been a little higher. This was Hedon weekend, so as usual, the start was close to Camp. And as usual for a Memorial Day weekend, Hired Snatch stepped up to the plate for the haring duties. The spawn of his seed, Big Squatch, was having the birthday thing that people generally have every year. And since we saw him at the start with flour and that look of heightened anticipation, we immediately knew how he wanted to celebrate the milestone: co-haring and getting briar slashes up and down his legs. So this is how the Second Anal Big Snatch Run came about.
The start was a dirt lot off Tingle Lane, and yeah, the tingle came from the blinding heat streaming down from above and radiating up from the dirt at our feet. I think I counted eight brave wanks who came from Camp. Hey look, a visitor. Ganja Man (from Jamaica, then Britain, then Ventura H3 in SoCal) took leave of Hedon briefly to join us, despite the punishment he endured at trail the day before. Oops was another camper, but Deposit Slit was notably absent. Apparently too much drinky-drinky. By the time Sani showed up, I had been standing out in the sun long enough to not even notice that Bunny had not cum down with her. And I shit you not, when Bwana blessed the hares, I was so heat-befuddled that it barely even registered that Bunny wasn’t doing the blessing. This is what my brain was telling me: “Fuck it’s hot… Hey, Bunny’s not… FUCK it’s hot!” Here’s something else that crossed my mind as Bwana wrapped up: “Fuck it’s hot… Hey, O&5 is co-hari… FUCK it’s HOT!”
Back at camp:
A drunk hasher stripped off all their clothes and joined other drunk hashers in a game of naked volleyball. Some drunk hasher sitting among of group of other drunk hashers took a drink in front of them, and everyone else in the group saw it and subconsciously took a drink immediately afterward. Some drunk hasher was having sex with another drunk hasher in a tent.
I think there were about 20 hounds watching the hares disappear into the distance. And this act took a while. My Ampersand Brother took the easterly route up Tingle Lane toward the I-85 off-ramp, while Big Squatch took the westerly route, across the length of the lot, up a kudzu hill and toward the far side of a distant building. As for Hired, he decided he had enough excitement for the day and let his son take over as the main hare. Translation: Hired would be transporting himself to the end via vehicle. He was already bloody, so we figured he had earned his keep. A few minutes later, we finally found someone who had been timing the countdown (Gentri I think) and we were off soon after.
In short, there was some forest running, some power cut running, some easement running and some fire lane running. Yuron had a new puppy with him and bailed out right before we hit a very-welcome beer stop at about the halfway point. We hit a big, floury “BN” not too long afterward, and followed flour a couple tenths of a mile down a fire lane to our destination. We were all dripping wet, even though we never found water on trail. The Quote of the Day was uttered here, by a steamy Hot Lips: “I’ve been sticky before, but never THIS sticky.” Hey, you find entertainment where you can.
Back at camp:
Another keg blew. A gentle breeze blew next to the camp kitchen, providing some relief to the humid hashers sitting on the wooden bridge. Someone blew someone.
The end was the intersextion of the fire lane and a power cut, in a shaded area not too far from a sewer cap, which we only noticed when the breeze shifted. The first thing we saw when we got in was that 2 Crabs Fucking was turning into 2 Crabs Leaving. Already in his truck, he said something about the man who owned the property calling the cops on SoCo’ers the last time he ended here. Sani had just gone back to the start without knowing this, and at some point while she was away, she got the same message. Shit, we were going to have to leave. At this point, a general malaise set in. Yes, I said malaise; an aura of uncertainty that turned our delicious beers just slightly bitter; a nervous anticipation that kept us from that pleasant/settled feeling you get when you know you’re done moving and exerting any more mental energy. This is when EverQueer used his half-mind to remember back to that fateful night at SoCo, when the crazy homeowner accused the pack of doing drugs and other morally questionable things. Cops were called and a shitty time was had by all. But he also remembered that the homeowner had said something about asking permission next time. So that’s exactly what EverQueer did. He and Big Squatch drove to the guy’s house, got his permission, and they even cleared up that little drug issue. They got back, Sani returned and there was much joy and sat-iss-faction. We mourned the temporary loss of 2 Crabs, someone temporarily renamed him 2 Crabs Freaking (and 2 Crabs Fleeing) and we got back to drinking delicious beer and finding thirsty ticks all over ourselves.
Of note: Holy shit, 0&5 got bloody. Hey Pussy Pilot, he broke your record for the most blood I’ve ever seen on someone after a hash. And your record has held for almost four years now (sorry Foreign Lesion… I didn’t see you on your trip to the hospital a while back). It wasn’t exactly the volume of blood that was so impressive, but the perfectly even distribution of red across every exposed surface. On that note, I’ll take this time to apologize to everyone who came but didn’t get a mention today. Next time, please do something horrifically embarrassing or pathetically cute at some point during the afternoon so I can proudly proclaim your insanity.
Back at camp:
Someone woke up from a nap in their tent, leaned over to grab their half-full mug, drained the warm golden contents and shuffled to the keg trailer for a refill. Someone at the Tiki Bar laughed at someone else who had puked the previous night. Two harriettes got a group of guys totally horny when they mashed their boobs together and started moaning. Someone even got wood. So did someone else.
There were puns flying around in circle, so we started naming people after Barf Bag. Example: Barf with an Attitude. During trail trial, our out-of-towner Ganja Man decided he liked the quick journey to the beer, and he was especially happy that he found plenty of Newcastle in the cooler. The compliments led to applause and happiness. We swung low courtesy of Hired, combed the area for any trash so the landowner wouldn’t get upset, and we were off. It was sometime later that Boner Rooter realized she didn’t have her ultra-super-special PowerPuff Girl water bottle with her. And because we had picked the area clean of anything other than ants, ticks and grass, she knew there was a thief in our midst.
Back at camp:
Music collector and Hedon DJ Asshole realized a thief was there as well. His IPod, a borrowed IPod and an IPod charger all disappeared in the overnight hours, leading to much irritation and the gigantic question of how he was going to replace $800 worth of stuff.
For those of you who saw Davey and I back at the start, an explanation might be in order, especially considering some of the looks we got. We had decided we needed to make an appearance at Hedon, and thought streaking would be appropriate. So I took my morbidly dirty Trash bib and tied it around my waist. You know, so the bib covered up my Skin Whistle and Oysters. Then Davey tried tying one of those microfiber sunglass bags around his junk and decided his full package was too large to fit inside. So he put it only around his schlong and pulled the string on the sunglass bag really tight so it gripped as much as possible. Once we were happy with the placement of our coverage, we were off.
Back at camp:
Two loyal Black Sheepers streaked around the entire Hedon property with their makeshift loincloths. It probably wasn’t the brightest idea considering how hot it was and how instantly sweaty they got, but it was generally acknowledged that the two scantily clad hounds were very proud to represent their hash in such a revealing way.
Join us next time, when a Clit named Colonel gives us his version of a shiggy orgasm.
Until June 11th UFF’s
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 8:40 PM 
