Hare : Pyro
Where: Silver Point Pub
Big Rock: if your throat is dry…
It was a cold night, but not too cold. It was a run through the streets and alleys of Silver Spring, but not too long. A few checks, but not too many. In fact it was shaping up to be a perfectly easy going, tuck it in and kiss it good night, stroll of a hash run… and then, within a block of the regroup, Pyro burned the entire hash. Save for a determined Hardly and a handful of walkers. No beer for the rest of the Hash despite all of their frantic searching for true trail. Not only was Hardly rewarded with the entire cache of Regroup beer, but again by Religious Advisor for the night, Doctor Phil!
Before we get to that though, let’s go to the beginning, which started as always, with introductions of the stranger types among us –archive Goldilocks, new boots, and visiting Dreamin Semen and Edmonton Hasher, Rumple Foreskin.
Although several in the hash were uncertain, suspecting that Rumple Foreskin could actually be a masquerading Dreary, having shaven his head and face. Alas, after talking to him long enough, most of us were mostly convinced. The fact that he brought an unopened bottle of Bailey’s for Rubbermade seemed to confirm his identity – no one is that generous in the Calgary kennel!
It’s reported that the other visiting Beijing Hasher, Dreamin Semen, is here to stay… Personally after hearing about him pirouetting in the streets with Roaring Nancy, I’m thinking he will be too much competition for Lofty Prancer, who will likely snuff out the aspiring twinkle toed semen. Time will tell.
Something was muttered in the circle about bringing a new toy to the Christmas Party, after which Not Too Deep exclaimed either she needed to check her arsenal or arsehole for a good one. No one wanted to clarify, as with Not Too Deep – ask her and she’ll tell ya everything! Some things are best left for only Cocktail to know, see, and deal with!
After an enduring (not endearing) session of announcements stating that we now have a sewing club and with the addition of yet another charitable cause, have become a Rotary Club, the Hash was off and running the Silver Spring streets, with COP luminescing in the background.
Ice and snow all over the place, and no one went down (that was reported)? In the dead of Summer on a clear day, Maple, Granny Panties, and Beetlejuice can do in their ankles, yet in treacherous Calgary conditions, nary a scratch!
The trail was so well marked that it had coaxed everyone into the belief this would be the easiest hash ever. Yet Pyro is Pyro, and his trail was once again, not as it seemed. Dry throated, exhausted, and demoralized in spirit, the Hash trudged to the bar without ever finding the regroup.
Doctor Phil tried to set the Hash right, with as much Religion as he could muster in one night – He cast away the thought of a minor choir effort, and went for the best all-harrierette choir he could think of, Running Dry, Party Pumper, Comes From Behind… and King Shit.
Shakesbeer was shamed for his Fonzie looking leather jacket, and Can You Hear Me Now for an outfit that desperately cries of dressing all Skater Girl in the hope he will someday bump into Avril Lavigne and she will somehow be impressed.
Rubbermade, fresh from her voyage at sea, apparently sees herself as a refined woman of the World, complete with her cup of tea… and a shot. It is Rubbermade, and the poor girl, try as she might, can’t break the habit of throwing down the booze and insisting that Dreamin Semen must simply remove his pants. So much for refinement.
Buried Pleasure was downed for taking calls while on trail – apparently she has much more important people to talk to than the Hash!
Master Beater was very wrongly and viciously accused of Lollygagging on trail, but the hash looked on as an innocent Beater was even further derided with a song declaring racist Canadian hatred toward their neighbors to the South. The poor guy, I hope the Hash felt really, really bad about that!
Snevil was recognized for an all-important 5-69 run on top of Not Too Deep’s 1-69, of which there was no end to the guessing by hashers as to the number of years it must have taken her to reach that number!
It was Karaoke night again at the Silver Point Pub and Eatery, and as we rounded out the last of the songs while finishing the last of the swill, you could practically feel the envy that the regular crooners in the joint vibrated with as they watched us belt out “he sucks the horse’s penis”