A shitty trail


March 10, 2011

Last night was the second running of the No Name Hash.  Was it the nice long ‘S’ shaped deuce you brag to your friends about?  Or was it the painful and explosive kind you try to muffle while using a public restroom?  Well, it wasn’t painful, certainly not long, and the effects of the fallout are yet to be seen.

The Hash Gods gave us mercy last night, because they were expected to do a number one on us, but instead showed us the moon.  It must have been prime time as we gathered in the Safari, because the strippers were hot and wild and had mean poll dancing skills.  Rectal Rooter volunteered to be our second ever hare (beggars can’t be choosers…) and he was deflowering Just Katie (because I guess haring a pickup hash is really only third base?).  Cockjaw sent off the hares in the stylings of a southern Baptist minister, ensuring that the beerus would ever flowus.  And it did.

But what did we expect?  It was a Rectal trail.  I mean, just looking at the guy you might guess he’s not going to lay a ball buster.  If fact, you’d be lucky (stupid) if anything got busted at all, or even lightly irritated for that matter—except for, of course, your liver.  I suppose it was hard for Rectal to run much after leaving the strip club, because he got approximately 500 feet before needing to stop for a quickie with Just Katie (right…).  Luckily, he was gone before the pack showed up, and we were greeted with our old friend (that we try to shake off, but just won’t leave), Carlo Rossi.  This was the shittiest beer check I have ever witnessed because a) NO FUCKING BEER and b) we didn’t even have the chance to run and warm up before having to stand around in the cold and drink an entire jug of Carlo. Awesome.

After about a quarter mile, I suppose Rectal was a bit winded and needed to stop for a breather, because we found ourselves at yet another beer check.  At least this time he was able to make it to a bar.

Our exuberant hares then made it a full mile before getting sufficiently sloshed at the last beer check with the rest of us.

Then Religion.

You probably think that since I’m sleeping with RA that I’d never say a word against him.  Oh, but you’re wrong.  I’m not just sleeping with him; I’m the wife.  And we all know that the foundation of a good marriage is criticism.

Deflowering a virgin RA is just like sex.  He’s young and fit, tight in all the right places, eager and enthusiastic.  He’s practiced by himself, and even watched it done tons of times, but never actually done it before.  Maybe he’ll try to lie, “No, I’ve done this loads of times.”  But he’s not fooling anyone.  It’s his first time and he’s scared shitless.

He  shows promise.  You can tell he’s got the basics.  He can kiss, he’s a bit limber, and willing to try anything.  With a little training, you know he’s going to be a great lay.  Sometimes we may have to offer him gentle encouragement, and sometimes we have to take his hand and say, “Touch me here, Dipshit!”  Breaking in a new virgin is great, because we can make him do it just how we like it.  I look forward to see our new RA blossom into a hot, vigorous, albeit sweaty, SEX MACHINE.

As we stood around the sperm infested pool, cold and unsure if we would regret this night the next morning, Cockjaw beguiled us with his favorite down down songs.  We drank.  We sang.  We drank.  And we drank some more.

Fuu-Fuu and O endowed us with a shiny new sacred vessel, and Tripod endowed us with a soon-to-be-sacred table runner. We are now well endowed.  Congratulations.  I do believe a sanctification ceremony is in the works.  The No Name is oddly reminiscent of the Oregon Hash, though, with time, we too will have our own traditions, idiosyncrasies, and idiots.

Fuu-Fuu was appointed the Hare Raiser.  Contact him to be one of the first No Name hares and shape the future of the hash forever.

Yours truly was appointed the Hash Scribe.  This does not mean that you cannot write up a trail.  This does not mean I will write up every trail.  This only gives me a right to pollute the email group with my own personal brand of word vomit (don’t worry, it tastes better coming up than it did going down).

Stink Finger drank because he was ousted from Canada.

Other people drank for various crimes.  Though I don’t recall; I had been drinking.

All and all, it was a shitty trail and a shitty circle.  Honor to the hares, and honor to our new RA!

In other news:

There’s an Oregon Hash after the Iditarod on Saturday

A BASH on Sunday

A Kahuna on Monday

The 100th Beaver on Tuesday

The Hump’s 10th B-day on Wednesday (which means it’s a birthday suit themed hash)

A No Name on Thursday and St. Drink-a-lot Day

(Perhaps a pick-up hash from TGIF locale on Friday?)

A Full Moon on Saturday

A Dead Whores on Sunday

And yet another Kahuna on Monday

That’s right folks: TEN CONSECTUTIVE HASHES!  Is your cock big enough for that?

On On!

Your sexy and decreasing less humble scribe,

Romancing the Bone

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