The Half-Mind’s Guide to Shortcutting: An Addendum

You may recall, way back when, I wrote a Trash about shortcutting.  This is what I said:

“Here’s my tally:
Successfully shortcutted: 1
Gotten lost trying to shortcut: 69
But I’ll never forget the one time it actually worked.”

I would now like to tell you about that time that actually worked.

Robo Dick was deflouring Double Hoe 7: International Clam of Mystery, and they brought us to the top of the spectacular Rocky Butte.  This trail certainly had promise, promise of shiggy, promise of beauty, promise of sex and booze, even promise of finding human remains (my personal favorite).  But we would soon discover that these things would not cum so easily.  Our hares kept their legs closed, they teased us and tortured us, and broke their idle promises.  Oh man was it a shitty trail.

So there I was—the hash shit clunking up and down, Cockjaw mad because I beat him and smeared flour all over him, and then the first (I assumed of many) rather steep hill.  So, I walked as I watched the pack push farther and farther away.  And then, of course, Fallen Cum Rag and I were too busy orally pleasuring each other to pay any attention to trail.  Just when Cum Rag, Stink Finger, Fuu Fuu and I started to say this was one of the longest first legs of a trail we’ve seen in a while, we took what we thought was a very slight shortcut, just clipping a bend in the road, and BAM.  We saw the On In.  But why weren’t there any beer checks? Where was everyone? I really thought we were on true trail the whole time…

After a mild amount of concern that we were on trail backwards, since the actually On In was .69 miles from where they wrote On In, we made it to the end at approximately 7:45.  Our stealthy FRBs were Fallen Cum Rag, Stink Finger, Fuu Fuu, and myself.  We may have missed the beer checks, but there was a keg waiting for us at the end, and we drank copious amount as we waited for suckers like Gayzelle and Cockjaw to finally get to the end, and that’s why shortcutting is honorable.

…even if it’s on accident.

We soon learned that we weren’t the only half-minds that missed beer checks, some made it only to the first beer check, while others only made it to the second.  I’m not sure anyone actually made it to both.  Honor to the hares for showing us there’s a 1001 ways to lay a trail (or not lay a trail) on Rocky Butte.  Honor to the pack for learning why it was so hard to find a body there…

We watched the sunset over all of Portland during the On In, while we were serenaded by the most stunningly beautiful song about herpes I’ve ever heard.  It was a Pump me Dry original, and I’ve added it to our hymnal so we can all aspire to be as awesome as that bimbo.  We also had a very reluctant visitor who refused to tell us her hash name because “it’s so embarrassing.”  As you can imagine, we finally got it out of her.  Her name is apparently “Doggy Style” because she really hates dogs—which seems a bit mild to me (perhaps she’s lying).  But anyway, if she hates her name that much, then I LOVE it.  Iced Pee got the hash shit for giving up way too easy and trying to rename her (I hope you like the 5 pound ball hitch I added to it).

This day will forever go down (just like me every second Friday after the full moon) in history as the day I successfully shortcutted. And. i. Will. Never. Ever. Forget. It.

Your successful shortcutting scribe,

Romancing the Bone

Today: TGIF at Scandals
Tomorrow: Sux on the Beach does the OH3 at Couch Park
Sunday: OBGYN: Nice Snatch takes us to Port Way Tavern in N. Portland
Monday: Anita Kahuna Hare?
Tuesday: Anita Beaver Hare!
Wednesday: Hump: Just Kim and Hareola get defloured by Shoots But Does Not Score and Chew Toy at the Buns and Guns Hash! Start at Ole Medium Rare in Clackamas.
Thursday: Can’t Finish hares the No Name



4 thoughts on “The Half-Mind’s Guide to Shortcutting: An Addendum”

  1. I’m like, what…a no name hash what the fuck is that, I mean, like, this is what happened like when a bunch of idiots who spent all weeks running hash can’t even like, pick a name to start a new group since this new group like, masterminded, and I used the word like, loosely like they really are the master of mind like, start this hash although the initial predicament to starting was foreseen by Fuu Fuu, one of the master of mind that some guy by the name of (sic) Wild man could actually, like, making thing cooler with a name like Judas Flock Oregon Hash sumpin, sumpin…Hey, that’s my beer, bitch…gitjer own!!

    Ok, this fat bald guy Butt Mudd, who I suspected long ago was a little limpwristed succulent butt-pluggin’ deviant, not that I do not condone such behavior being a believer of do if yer must feel free laying trail in my backyard called Happy Valley…not that the name has any true reference to how people feel in the valley with suspected faghgots carrying bags of yellow flour laying trail. Ok, I showed up for the run because the only true hash is way up in my kind of boonies, with some OZ worded as the bush, in my side of town.

    Ok, trails was reasonable ‘easy to follow’ by about over twenty with just a few bitches who refused to flash titties, which I am proud of my productive behavior, of coerced them to do it, not that I have not seen titties in my entire adult life becuase being America that it is what else is there to do on a hash run day. I used the word run more specific because most hashers can’t even contribute to properly lay a reasonable trail so that point to another aspect of the beer check which is not getting a lot of rap, but from me, should be short and fast.

    Ok, the truth is they missed me, Blast Rag who’s married to Pabst the Smear, who is not a good friend of mine who took away what’s important to me which really doesn’t make any sense unless of course if one is a true hashers sleeping around not that that is a hobby of mine other than yellin on top of mah voice about showin ’em tits, if you’re a bimbo or something that possessed similar body parts.

    Ok, note to hashers, running in an urban-metro areas sometimes called da city ain’t make it hashing. Running from bars to bars have the same bag of discredit. That said, you guys need to hash in Asia and smell some Asian assh*les or at least poke your spindley finger in it and how hashing is organized and run.

    Ok, spoken from experience which is really double boring…be different and creative about the running trail which to me by experience could make or break my enthusiasm. So you bitches may think, this scumbag slimeball is a perverted titties maniac which I pleaded unfair when all was for the good of the collective, is it not?
    Hashing used to be two things: run and beer. Today it’s also titties and getting laid and if you look around you that tit check you just did to make ’em bimbos to flash is not a hash original, it’s a modern creation of a sick mind which you make not have noticed over the period of time was invented by me and carried on by a OZ couple as goes on predated early in the Humpin Hash era.

    Since you ain’t me, and not as creative as me or even close, your trail will be scrutinized, criticized and your lack of a viable form of intelligence pounded upon. If you insist of laying trail in the much used hash-corrupted area of Hawthorne where all the scum live you ain’t deserve to be called hasher in my book….which I still need to get a free one from Border’s.

    In my book you would rot in Hell…

  2. Wait, I thought I got the hash shit for wood envy!? I think the no name can do better with just meghan than her previous hashes and give her a name she hates more than “doggy style” (weak!) and is more fitting for her and her used condom counting ways … “Rubbernecker”… how did that not stick? best names imho are from funny crap that happens on trail.

    1. oh yeah, i forgot about the wood thing…

      we can’t rename a visitor/transplant the first time we see them just because you may think her name is weak. if she hates her name, then it is obviously a perfect fit, and we cannot do better.

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