The Yukon Tavern was packed last night as hashers came near and far to celebrate another peoples’ holiday in the best way we know how: by hashing, and drinking their beer. Ditch Bitch nervously twitched and twirled her hair as she eyed some of our notorious FBRs that surely looked like they were out for blood. Then she told me in a giggle, “I always get nervous when I hare.”
In due time our hares, Ditch Bitch and Plan B were sent off by the most beautiful piece of scripture or psalm or whatever you call it Cockjaw could muster.
The hares’ tactic was clear: confusion. The pack was led down one false trail after another; surely, the hares had no reason to worry about being caught. All the blowjobs distracted the pack.
As we drank our Coronas and Tecates at the first beer check, Cockjaw told us a story about how Clint met the gay caballero, which he knows from personal experience. A blowjob on credit is worthless as shit.
At the second beer check, a few of hounds proved that they weren’t so lucky to be blessed with a half-mind—Flaming Hetero, Heavy Flow Day, Sucks on the Beach, Gayzelle (the list goes on, I guess calling us half minds is a bit optimistic). An old, thin, drooping (this does not sound appealing to me) piece of rope hung from a small tree on the edge of a 200 foot ravine, and what did these wankers think they should do? Swing on it. We watched hoping [not] to see one of these dumb wankers fall to his certain death. Unfortunately, this was horribly anticlimactic and no one died.
We ran right by some spectacular shiggy, but only on the safe and protected paved road that overlooked Oaks Bottom. We pounded mile after mile of hard, black pavement, taunted by adventure, but this guided tour was not interactive. My shoes stayed clean and dry, and there’s no need to do my laundry for at least another week. I guess Ditch and Plan B didn’t feel like getting dirty yesterday. We might have to change our anthem to “I’ve been down the pavement on a hash with No Name.” Honor to our hares for getting us shiggily frustrated.
The pavement stopped at the lovely Rosie Palms’ house, where we had an outstanding Mexican feast. I was so impressed, we got dinner and I didn’t even have to RSVP! Honor to Rosie Palms for hosting us and honor to our chefs for the delicious grub.
Cockjaw wrangled in a circle of over 50 half minds, our largest group yet. Honor to Deboner, Hash Bum, and BeeFuck for teaching us new songs. Honor to Cockjaw for orally pleasuring everyone.
Even after we swang low, we continued to sing, and I hear the merry drunkards kept Rosie Palms’ teenage daughter up until 1:00 am.
Friday: TGIF at the Red Fox in North Portland, then following we get to watch Fallen Cum Rag run around in her birthday suit.
Monday: Scrotum Rotor hares Kahuna
Wednesday: Hot Tub Slime Machine has a three way with two virgin harriettes at the Hump
Thursday: Iced Pee and Can’t Finish hare the No Name
I hear from Iced Pee that this No Name trail will be especially awesome. But Cockjaw and I will be passed out naked on a street corner in San Francisco and will not be able to attend. Can’t Finish will be filling in for Cockjaw. It would super awesome if someone would write the Hash Trash, so I can hear all about it. It only gets hard if you rub it, or think about it too much…
Your shiggily frustrated scribe,
Romancing the Bone