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.