15 March 2008
85. Introducing the King
Black Sheep H3 - 6 Jan 08
So there I was. Sober. And looking straight at Elvis Presley, standing in a suburban parking lot. I wouldn't really describe him as the Fat Elvis, but he had the Fat-Elvis clothes on; those white sequiny duds that made him look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy had fallen in a vat of shiny cake decorations.
All of a sudden, we were called to circle to send off the hare, and Elvis started stripping. "Oh God, my eyes," I thought as I got ready to shield myself. But Elvis had hashing clothes on underneath. Huh? Finally, The King removed his glasses and I realized it was only TLS, fooling us all again for the third or fourth year in a row.
You mean I was the only one fooled? Wow, I have to lay off the Mescal.
So there we were, now all on the same page. The hungry pack, counting down the five minutes until we could all chase after Tastes Like Shit on his annual Elvis Birthday Hash. TLS shares a birthday around the same time as The King, which (I'm guessing) is how this yearly debacle began.
Maybe I should mention that we started at Union Hill Park off Winward Parkway, east of 400. Northern shiggy. Someone was actually keeping the right time, which the more spry members of the group thought was worthless, since they said they would instantly snare anyway. Hmmm. Bwana was anxiously taking about swampland to the east. But 400 and some tunnels were to the west. On Out.
Flour had us immediately diving into the forest, heading west. Half the pack was obviously hung over and started following a front-runner who wasn't following flour. Oops. Soon everyone was back on track, only to find a CB at the edge of a parking lot which pretty much had us backtracking right past the start. We were now sprinting west across McGinnis Ferry Rd.
North now, paralleling civilization, which never seemed that far away. But it was slow-going, with deadfall, briars and a bunch of those orange flood barriers. The pack deftly trudged over a series of dry swamps here. Several of us took a wrong turn in a thick patch of forest, and spent a painful amount of time trying to get back to the last mark. True trail took us around a swamp that still had plenty of water in it.
The pace picked up considerably when we turned east again, with a lot of easement and fireroad r*nning. One of the memorable features here was a walk over a very low dam-type concrete wall-thing in a creek. It kept us dry, but only from the calves up. From the ankles down, we were submerged in freezing water that had a lot of hounds screaming. I recall crossing a couple creeks too. We sprinted over or under McFarland Rd, Shiloh Rd, and Old Alpharetta Rd, then paralleled a creek. It was here, near the water fighting undergrowth, that your humble scribe started hearing something about a snare from the front of the pack. Apparently I had caught up with the FRB’s. At mile 4 we hit road, and I quickly caught up with the hare. Energized by the warm weather, a few of us actually beat the hare to the end, thanks to the assfault and the sight of the famous Oops/Deposit Slit truck.
Cums on the Ceiling was our On-In host and once in her back yard, we were greeted to beer, orange food and plenty of space to mingle about. Elvis decorations were plentiful, including posters, a fake Elvis parking sign and a string of tiny paper records circling the umbrella on the deck.
Trail trial was mostly positive, with the only complaints being the mile of road rage at the end, and the insane amount of hair we were forced to see on TLS’s ass. Regarding trail, I had no complaint, knowing that I finally got my shoes wet after 5 straight dry hashes.
There was much licking of the ice this time around, as various people lifted their chilled buttocks off the block. I'd have to say the best story during circle was from Hot Pocket. She detailed her run-in with an Association Bitch, who was whining about people having fun in her general vicinity. HoPo said she was just looking for her cat, but the AssBit countered with, “What about those other 40 people who just passed by?” HoPo described her response with a shrugging gesture, and then made another gesture as she explained what she said when she was back with the pack: She dropped her shorts to expose her cheeks and yelled, “Hey guys, I found my pussy!” I believe she deserves some sort of down-down for that one next time we see her.
Speaking of next time, we have another annual birthday event planned. Little Easy and Gasshole are teaming up once again for our punishment pleasure. See you on the 20th.
May the Hash Get a Piece
So there I was. Sober. And looking straight at Elvis Presley, standing in a suburban parking lot. I wouldn't really describe him as the Fat Elvis, but he had the Fat-Elvis clothes on; those white sequiny duds that made him look like the Pillsbury Dough Boy had fallen in a vat of shiny cake decorations.
All of a sudden, we were called to circle to send off the hare, and Elvis started stripping. "Oh God, my eyes," I thought as I got ready to shield myself. But Elvis had hashing clothes on underneath. Huh? Finally, The King removed his glasses and I realized it was only TLS, fooling us all again for the third or fourth year in a row.
You mean I was the only one fooled? Wow, I have to lay off the Mescal.
So there we were, now all on the same page. The hungry pack, counting down the five minutes until we could all chase after Tastes Like Shit on his annual Elvis Birthday Hash. TLS shares a birthday around the same time as The King, which (I'm guessing) is how this yearly debacle began.
Maybe I should mention that we started at Union Hill Park off Winward Parkway, east of 400. Northern shiggy. Someone was actually keeping the right time, which the more spry members of the group thought was worthless, since they said they would instantly snare anyway. Hmmm. Bwana was anxiously taking about swampland to the east. But 400 and some tunnels were to the west. On Out.
Flour had us immediately diving into the forest, heading west. Half the pack was obviously hung over and started following a front-runner who wasn't following flour. Oops. Soon everyone was back on track, only to find a CB at the edge of a parking lot which pretty much had us backtracking right past the start. We were now sprinting west across McGinnis Ferry Rd.
North now, paralleling civilization, which never seemed that far away. But it was slow-going, with deadfall, briars and a bunch of those orange flood barriers. The pack deftly trudged over a series of dry swamps here. Several of us took a wrong turn in a thick patch of forest, and spent a painful amount of time trying to get back to the last mark. True trail took us around a swamp that still had plenty of water in it.
The pace picked up considerably when we turned east again, with a lot of easement and fireroad r*nning. One of the memorable features here was a walk over a very low dam-type concrete wall-thing in a creek. It kept us dry, but only from the calves up. From the ankles down, we were submerged in freezing water that had a lot of hounds screaming. I recall crossing a couple creeks too. We sprinted over or under McFarland Rd, Shiloh Rd, and Old Alpharetta Rd, then paralleled a creek. It was here, near the water fighting undergrowth, that your humble scribe started hearing something about a snare from the front of the pack. Apparently I had caught up with the FRB’s. At mile 4 we hit road, and I quickly caught up with the hare. Energized by the warm weather, a few of us actually beat the hare to the end, thanks to the assfault and the sight of the famous Oops/Deposit Slit truck.
Cums on the Ceiling was our On-In host and once in her back yard, we were greeted to beer, orange food and plenty of space to mingle about. Elvis decorations were plentiful, including posters, a fake Elvis parking sign and a string of tiny paper records circling the umbrella on the deck.
Trail trial was mostly positive, with the only complaints being the mile of road rage at the end, and the insane amount of hair we were forced to see on TLS’s ass. Regarding trail, I had no complaint, knowing that I finally got my shoes wet after 5 straight dry hashes.
There was much licking of the ice this time around, as various people lifted their chilled buttocks off the block. I'd have to say the best story during circle was from Hot Pocket. She detailed her run-in with an Association Bitch, who was whining about people having fun in her general vicinity. HoPo said she was just looking for her cat, but the AssBit countered with, “What about those other 40 people who just passed by?” HoPo described her response with a shrugging gesture, and then made another gesture as she explained what she said when she was back with the pack: She dropped her shorts to expose her cheeks and yelled, “Hey guys, I found my pussy!” I believe she deserves some sort of down-down for that one next time we see her.
Speaking of next time, we have another annual birthday event planned. Little Easy and Gasshole are teaming up once again for our punishment pleasure. See you on the 20th.
May the Hash Get a Piece
# posted by L&F @ 11:20 AM 
