Hares : Pyro & Mydol
Where: Regal Beagle, 5308 17 Ave. SW
Big Rock: Tastes fresh and new
Hares : Pyro & Mydol
Where: Regal Beagle, 5308 17 Ave. SW
Big Rock: Tastes fresh and new
Hare: Dr. Fill
Where: Shamrock Hotel, 2101 – 11 Street SE
Big Rock: One last time
The hash, as told to me by a lost Lost in Space, the evening’s Religious Adviser:
Hardley was Choir Master – by all accounts, he sang poorly, which in the hash is of course good. Tighty Whitey commented that the choir was like a bad MC at a wedding… it still manages to work.
Spitting Balls begged to keep the hash shit one more week as he wanted to dress it up more
Buried Pleasure snitched on Skewbic Hair for showing up early to the run – which Skewbic as a rule never allows to happen.
Rubbermade snitched on King Shit for complaining that someone stole the hash camera and took under the clothes pictures. King Shit threatened to put the pics on the internet.
In turn, Rubbermade responded, “who cares? No one knows who it is”. Rubbermade may have volunteered at that point to do a complete and thorough investigation. I wasn’t there, but I know Rubbermade…
Dementia was called up… but no one remembers why
The rest is Lost in Space by Lost in Space. Its swirling out there somewhere in the cosmos, but it has no hope of coming back to our Lost.
Hares : Twisted Sister, Rubbermade
Where: Rosemont Community Hall
On-In: The Local 390
Big Rock: is fabulous!
Double Deuce Hashmas!
What a bunch of naughty, naughty, naughty girls and boys!
A great trail set by Rubbermade and Twisted Sister complete with Christmas Light displays and booze from a straw regroup – such a classy group!
Despite a trail looping through wonderland, Scrooges Dastardly and Hot Cheeks were heard not quite ‘ere out of sight, “This is want happens when girls set trails” and the standby favorite humbug, “Who set this shitty trail?!”. The latter one earned the head shit for one Ms Cheeks.
Baby was unimpressed with the lights and distractions, and was later spanked with a down-down by the RA for being a, well, a Baby about the Hash Hold being so long!
The run was not without controversy, as Not Too Deep and King Shit mysteriously disappeared during the run, and just as mysteriously reappeared in the same parked car in a seedy little corner of the hockey rink lot.
Not a surprise really, since Cocktail was wearing Rubbermade’s Tutu… or Rubbermade was wearing Cocktail’s… oh never mind.
Men O Pause tried to lighten the lack of Christmas spirit by handing Sucks Everything the keys to his new house (but not the double secret password to lower the drawbridge or the code to type in that would raise the wrought iron gate with spikes blocking the entrance to the alabaster marble driveway). Strange that he would entrust the keys to the castle to Sucks, who was incapable of remembering to drag the hash stick during the hash, but a naïve pause and his house are soon parted…
Mmmm Lady Fingers and Cam Shaft showed up to provide some added cheer, and it was fitting that the Christmas 22 Hash was held at the Hash fav bar, Local 390.
Cam Shaft showed up to pull his 100 run gift mug from under the tree, and hashers attempted to hold off a mid-winter’s nap as they waited, waited, and waited for Master Beater to sip his half yard for 200 runs. The Pink-Beater daughter, Savannah perhaps should have stood in for him based on her chug of the remaining liquor at the Re-Group?
As I saw it, there was hardly a dry eye in the house as i-Prick, Skewbic Hair, and Master Beater caressed the hash’s ears with beautiful holiday influenced hash songs. There had not been a finer trio since Frank Sinatra, Sammy Davis, and Dean Martin crooned the very same tunes – in fact the resemblance of i-prick and Skewbic Hair to Sinatra and Martin was really uncanny! Those that disagreed were probably just bitter old Scrooges.
Hardly masterfully shared the spirit of the season as the night’s Baby Jesus R.A., awarding Christmas mini-half yards to Lost in Space and Can You Hear Me Now, and had a lot of harrierettes and hashers reach in to feel around his sack to see what would come out.
Desmond Tutu/Gomer Piles lost his crown, Goes Both Ways his balls – both on trail
Hash Mattress Rubbermade was presented her very own shiny New Year hash shit for what we hope will be her future great work on running the hash!
Near the end, as with all holiday parties, this one fell completely apart. Shakespeare and Lay ‘em in Snow sacrificed an innocent pineapple with the help of a Local staff’s samurai sword to bring in a Pineapple Express of snow. It should be noted it didn’t work, and a poor pineapple was chopped mercilessly for the folly of drunk super-slurrin-stitioned Shakes and Lay’em.
I still don’t know why we needed to bring 2 “#2’s”… I carried a pair around all night and no one collected them, and Pink Meat complained they stank all the way home. I’ll never understand Christmas, or the Spirit of the Hash completely I guess.
Hares : Granny Panties & Running Dry
Where: Bella Roma Restaurant
Big Rock: with pizza!
As a cold and icy night falls on The Capitol (AKA Calgary), the people from the districts gather together to see who will be chosen for the down-downs.
District Sets a Long Ass Run in The Cold: Grannie Panties and Running Dry
District Can’t Hold a Note in the Choir: Masterbeater and Baby
District Stalker: Roaring Nancy and Tighty Whitey (Tighty is leaving his clothes at Roaring’s, so he has an excuse to always go back.
District Too Much to Scribe on Her: Dementia (taking hooker phone calls while on trail)
District Threesome: King Shit, Pyro and Thunder Tits (Watch out for her, boys! She is a man user on trail!)
District Slap a Bitch (AKA Lac La Biche): Archive Goes Both Ways
District Xmas Party Crew: Spitting Balls, Buried Pleasure, Dr. FIll and Frigid Beaver
District Nerds: Skewbic and Menage a Trois
District Down on Trail: Twisty
District No Life: Comes and Goes (his 200th run)
District New Guy: Tim (Now be known as “Lying Sack of Shit” for trying to invent his own hash name of Hackysack)
May The Odds Be Ever in Your Beer!
Effy (AKA Abandoned Pussy)
Hare : Dementia, Mucky Dip & Frigid Beaver
Where: Joyce on 4th
Big Rock: You’re as young as who you feel
It was a celebration of magnificent proportions! Everybody who was nobody was there. Amidst the decorations, games, cake and beer you could find the Birthday Beauties celebrating in style. Dementia, Frigid Beaver and Running Dry know how to throw a party! Conspicuously absent was Mucky Dip… or was she? Has anyone ever seen Mucky and Skewbic Hair in the same room? Either way, Skewbie’s impersonation (complete with pointy hat boobs and a tiara) was spot-on and we barely noticed that Mucky wasn’t there. Somehow overlooked was poor Frogodile whose birthday was a mere 11 days away.
To start the party, we were provided with grow-sticks, blow-sticks and paddles. The blow-sticks were a disappointment to say the least, and inexperienced hashers blew and blew to no avail. Ménage à Trois was seen teaching Baby and Gomer Piles how to use their paddles. Unfortunately in the excitement that followed, Baby lost one of his balls and consoled himself by sadly blowing his horn in the corner. Undeterred, Ménage set about showing Spitting Balls how to activate his grow-stick with a good whacking. Spitting Balls was later found mumbling something about an STD. Feeling saddened by her inability to impart her knowledge of grow-sticks and paddles, Ménage à Trois tried to throw herself in front of a bus. Thankfully, Pyro, ever the gentleman, made sure everyone else made it back to the bar in one piece.
As with every party, there are those that are determined to ruin the fun:
The festivities wrapped up with Thunder Tits pounding down shots in honour of her 400th run (gheeze, get a life). Then with Tighty Whitey’s blessing it was on to cake!
Hares : Cocktail and Not Too Deep
Where: Mustache Pete’s
Big Rock: You Better Believe It! Grasshopper all around
Attendance: Small but Determined
In a NW galaxy far, far, away… where Not Too Deep and Cocktail are believed to inhabit, the hash broke some terrain not tread in many moons. Many were asking at the bar before the run, “I mustache you why are we here?”
The answer was evident from the start – a really well laid trail by the hosting hares that made the small group of stalwarts who made it out on the “breezy” and “cool” evening work hard and think about the game. Failure here meant exposure, frozen appendages, perhaps death.
Sneevil again ran the circle like a well-trained hamster (don’t we have a Hash Mistress to do that?..)
“Working smart” the hash shit huddled together at a stop light in a twisted, tangled, orgy of warmth-giving body contact. Mouthful claimed this was ONLY for survival, but it looked more like a nice convenient excuse to exploit Krusty.
At run’s end, it was Squawk Box arriving to the regroup first, and immediately tearing a strip out of anyone who would listen that her regroup beverage was not immediately accessible. She was quickly quietened when it became evident our wise and experienced hares were well prepared for this night, it was not their first run. Lysol had stolen Cocktail’s mini-semi truck and popped it open, revealing the Cookies and Cream Liqueur goodness?!? Joy to the World! The hash devoured and gulped the life sustaining regroup goodies – Christmas had come early!
Cocktail pulled the double duty of Religious Advisement, tearing through the small contingent for sins and recognized achievements – some imagined and some might have even been partly real.
A family affair occurred at the front of the room with the pleasure giving trio of Dr Phil, Buried Pleasure, and Spittin Balls crooning the tunes.
Krusty had archived, and was duly recognized with his welcome back beer.
Dirty Dancer had been crabbing something about Mouthful needing to give him his way, and was singled out for it.
Hot Cheeks was up front for something – but having the dazzling cheeks she has, I have no memory of why.
Granny Panties is 100! Runs that is! She gulped down the mug of… water, and then was overjoyed to learn she got to keep it! (One would think perhaps some things would be learned after 100 runs???)
Master Beater had been eyeing Granny Panties’ mini-mutt eyeing the hash shit, only to find he should have been much more worried about Sucks Everything trying to hump his shit. Although it was first Roaring Nancy who was presented what was left of the Hash Shit stick for his endless vocabulary of songs, in the end, Sucks got what he so strongly pined for. His very own remodeled pull-along Hash Shit, though no one is ever going to want it back now.
Somewhere along the way, a bashing Beetlejuice was sighted. Not in the sky, but in the bar. But then she disappeared, and in her place, a bashing Knobslinger appeared before the hash. Sightings,and disappearances? Maybe there’s a reason the hash hadn’t ranged in the NW – perhaps our elders know why.
There was probably more, but time and distance can dull one’s recollection – and it was Tuesday night by the time I reached the Meat mansion. I was lucky to remember where I even had driven from through the night.
Hare : Roaring Nancy
Where: Roaring’s Reclusive Riverdale Residence
Big Rock: The Beer of Champions!
Attendance: 13 (were you watching Saskatchewan?)
Hare : Tighty Whitey
Where: King’s Head Pub, 9116 Macleod Trail South
Big Rock: Accept no substitutes
“Head, Who Said Head”?! – Kings Head Pub
November 24, 2014
Oh what a rough night for our choir! While Shakesbeer’s New Orleans Saints were falling apart late on Monday night football as a backdrop, the Hash choir melted down early until they hit the one play Daisy Duke could execute. All too frequently we have seen choral failures, but on this night, the choir was similar to a solid play-off caliber dream team showing up and having an awful night. The talented Rubbermade had lost her rhythm, Melody (whoever the hell she is), and tone. The Rockies crooner was flabbergasted, and poor (insert name here) was barely accounted for. Daisy Duke clutched onto his one go-to song, a great one to be sure, “She’s the meanest” and ran his John Cornish-esque song into the Hash line over and over again. Although not a music critic alive could have handled five minutes of the stumbling songsters, the Hash being the Hash, thrived on tunes sung so badly only a Hash could endear themselves.
While Daisy Duke was plunging his song into the line – Skewbic Hair an hour earlier attempted to break a tree’s spirit and will by plunging right into it. On balance, I’d call it a stalemate. While the tree didn’t move, Skewbic displayed his grit and toughness by assaulting the offending tree with a full frontal assault, bravely not using his hands to brace himself. No comment from Skewbic on what the tree did to bring on his wrath, and no comment from the tree. Would seem the two are keeping the cause and effect of the incident a private matter.
Dementia was dealing her Religion to the hash – unfortunately, it’s not only a very black religion, many suspect she has created her own practice.
A rare treat, as Dementia yielded the floor to Cocktail – who took the stage in explaining Menage a Trois’s lost virginity resulting in Lord Beaverbrook school being named – a story telling that had many more than Not Too Deep squealing for more.
Dark religion exercised by Dementia reversed the well placed blame upon Dreamin Semen competitively hashing, and accused poor, poor Master Beater once again of an undeserved Hash Shit offense of Competitive Hasher Jealousy. Did anyone spring to his defense? No. Dementia’s grip on the hash is ironclad.
Pink Meat went back on trail to find King Shit’s lost camera, and ended up with the Head Shit for her effort. There was probably a reason, but Dementia being Dementia, seems to have forgotten!….
Lay-em in snow was so happy to get rid of his hash shit, he may have dribbled, Luna style.
When all hope of justice seemed lost, King Shit was given the pitcher of holy water to down for his offense of carelessly leaving incriminating pictoral evidence of the hash on trail. Dementia required redemption, and she received it!
Shitty Trail (I think that’s what it was… could have been Squirrel’s Tail, or Itty, Bitty Male, hard to tell…) was “sung” to the nonplussed Tighty Whitey for a live hare trail that wasn’t, but was a well-marked, measured, geometrically accurate, and timed to end exactly on time at the regroup, with the walkers and running hashers arriving at the Regroup precisely at the same time. Even the oft wandering Lofty Prancer was able to FRB this trail from start to end, exclaiming happily to the Hash “I’ve got this”! Good for you Lofty, good for you.
Tightey’s wastefulness of tossing entire pieces of chalk on the ground, denying needy children in Ethiopia of their own chalk was harshly dealt with down downs by RA Dementia.
Charlene was nursemade to Erectionally Challenged’s horizontally challenged blunder. Dementia went above and beyond her call of duty, and dutifully delivered the down-down, making a house call to VC (and to the mystery of the Hash, to an apparently healthy Charlene?)
Running Dry gave the entire hash quite a start when she exclaimed her hair was coming apart, only to realize her hair was actually there… prescription drugs, hallucinogens? No one really knows…
Heard from the gallery –
Not Too Deep – “oh! I really miss (unnamed Hasher)!… I think he had a drinking problem and that’s why he is not at the Hash anymore”
Cocktail – “No… he doesn’t have a drinking problem… he’s not here – WE have the drinking problem!”
Also heard, the best priced ticket in town $50 for debauchery and Holiday feasting and fun – the Hash Christmas Party. Time is running out for pre-sale tickets. Support the Hash, support your habits.
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”