A giant rod in my bush


It was ass-fucking cold* last night.  Testicles everywhere were shriveled into nothing, penises were damn near microscopic, and nipples, hard and erect, protruded from the many layers of polyester and fleece that wrapped up our bimbos.  But the No Name Hash is where the real hashers go—regardless of how drunk we got at the Hump the night before, regardless of the cock-robbing cold or pissing rain, regardless of any other life we pretend to have.  No Name hashers always cum hard and swift.  All for the love of beer.

We met at the Sextant Bar where there were many pretty ships (their lights were so glitteris on my clitoris).  Our hares were Log Jammer and Tiny Topless Dancer, and for some reason, many of us were under the impression that they would lay us a nice easy trail.  Cockjaw even whispered to me before we started, “I hope we get back by 8 tonight; that would ideal.” No such luck.

The devious pint-sized hares set off while the rest of us enjoyed our beers and the comfortable warmth of the bar. Begrudgingly, we finally left only to run down a long, hard, and straight pavement road amidst cars full of drunken families recently mesmerized by sparkling lights moving across the water.  If it wasn’t for VVD’s obnoxiously vibrant skirt and Flaming Hetero’s overly flamboyant socks, we would have surely been another causality brought on by the drunken nautical light parade.  We found our first beer check along the water banks and drank until the cold became too unbearable.

It was then off into the shiggy.  We ran through some agricultural fields, where Hot Buns advised us to turn off our headlamps as he laughed at Flaming Hetero ahead of us, “That red blinking light would be a fun target for a sniper.”

The then we saw it—the trail went over a giant pipe across a deep canal.  It sure was intimidating, Grab My Handlebars and Romancing the Bone were convinced that it would be more than they could handle.  It had considerable girth and it was nail-you-in-the-cervix long. The first few hashers, Cockjaw, Plan B, Can’t Finish and several other wankers, walked across as if they took rods like that all the time.  But the rest of us eased into, we straddled that pole so we could feel its enormous girth between our legs.  We slid up (and down) that pole slowly, gently, and careful until we finally came (to the other side).  The whole time I was on that shaft, I was shaking with excitement, and half way through I wasn’t sure I could handle it anymore, but when I finally came (to the other side) it felt real good.  Buster Hymen felt so good about this shaft, that there were literally fireworks.

Our next obstacle in the miniature hares’ torturous trail was tight tunnel through some thick bush.  While I usually do enjoy a nice tight hole, this one was poorly manicured, and could definitely take a page from Cockjaw’s book in hair maintenance. So we all got on our hands and knees, and went, face-first, into the bush.  She resisted a little, and there were smatterings of blood (as to be expected), but eventually everyone came (through).  Somehow, miraculously, Maxi Pad managed to avoid the blood!

After such a vigorous fucking, we drank heavily at the second beer check.  Though the hounds were ready to sleep off a drunken orgasmic bliss, the hares were ready to do some more good hard fucking.  And so we set off the on the last leg of the trail.  After what seemed like a very long trail, there was more trail.  After the beer was gone and we started to sober up again, there was more trail.  After the cold had frozen even our most delicate and important parts, there was more trail.  That was about when our guilty hares drove down the trail to pick up the tired hounds. But the fun didn’t end there, Whiney Little Cunt got the ride of his life as he laid across Grab My Handlebars, Romancing the Bone, and VVD (his face firmly planted in VVD’s warm, inviting lap.

And then we found the On Home, back at the Sextant.  There, we ate, drank, and were merry.  The hares ruefully told us it was an 8 mile trail (those tiny little bitches!), and so we all drank some more.  Then we swang low.

In other news, I received an interesting email regarding our hash, and it goes as follows:

“I work at Columbia River Correctional Institution and last night there were concerns about a possible escape attempt. I work graveyard and when I arrived to my shift I was provided a description of lots of “flashlights” and arrows made with “flour” outside the perimeter. Upon watching the video (we do have cameras everywhere) and being familiar with your group runs, I suggested that this was a possible run and not a potential escape. I then looked at your website and saw that you were meeting at the Sexton tonight which is very close to the prison. I explained to my supervisor what your group does and how this was more than likely what happened but figured I should double check.
If you could just verify that you were in the area that would be great. This information would merely satisfy the need to eliminate an escape or potential contraband drop, it would in no way reflect negatively upon your group.
On a personal note it would help me out as not sounding like the crazy person who when everyone else is ready to go on lockdown I tell them not to worry that it is just a group of hashers.
Thanks,
Cpl. [Nutsack]”

 

Looks like Hot Buns wasn’t so crazy after all for worrying about snipers.

Lastly, HARE THE NO NAME.  I updated the hare guide for info on Winter hashing; have a look.  If you would like to hare, check out the Oregon calendar to see available dates, and fill out a hare request form (because I don’t remember when you drunkenly tell me anything at a hash).

Your sniper spotted scribe,

Romancing the Bone

 

Upcuming:

Friday-TGIF at Sweet Hereafter in SE

Saturday- Romancing the Bone and Cockjaw hare the OH3 in SW!  The On After will be their killer Housewarming Party (please don’t make us regret inviting you).

Monday- Mystery Meat does the Kahuna

Wednesday- Poke Her Face and Scooby Snatch hare the White Elephant Gift Exchange for the PH4

Thursday-Clownmydia infests the No Name!

 

*ass-fucking cold: when it is so cold, you must insert your cock into someone’s ass in order to stay warm.

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