This was, unfortunately, not a sausage fest


We were to begin the No Name Hash last night at Otto’s sausage kitchen and meat market.  And I’ve got to tell you, I was excited because I love sausage, especially the big juicy kind that you can really feel between your lips.  And I really love it when it squirts in your mouth.  Oh man, I’m getting wet just thinking about it.  Really, who doesn’t love a giant sausage?  (I also love a nice pair of meatballs, but that’s another story.)  By the time we pulled up to parking lot, I couldn’t contain myself anymore, I was really itchin’ for a sausage or two.  But alas—the sausage kitchen was closed, and I soon found hashers congregating at the nearest beer peddling establishment—the Laughing Planet.

As you might assume, with the fervent expectation of some thick sweaty sausages, we were graced with an influx of lovely bimbos.  Milkbone, Grab My Handlebars, Two Buck Fuck, Whore Knob, Tongue Twat Twister, Hare Krotchna, Topless Tiny Dancer, her sister, Crack Up, and myself all sat disappointed and horny at the Laughing Planet, and those poor wankers had no idea.  Maxi Pad got a crazed look of excitement in his eye as more hot bimbos filed on to the patio.  Shoots also had a crazed look, but I think that’s normal for him.

It was pissing rain, and windy as fuck.  Our hare, Crack Up, admitted from the start that there would only be one beer check, so we hoped and assumed that it would be a short easy trail (just like Crack Up).  When we set off, the rain pissed harder, the flour got wetter and wetter (among other things), until it resembled some kind of white goo (that I could only imagine a proper comparison for…).  The first leg was all pavement, and beer check came within a half mile.  I took of sign of relief knowing that while it was a boring trail, it was going to be easy and perfectly adequate for the lovely weather (because you can only get pissed on so much before it start to soak into the mattress [that sounds like something Chubby Chaser would say…]).

But no, shortly after the beer check we headed off to Reed College, were Tongue Twat Twister began to have violent flashbacks of her drug addled college days, and insisted the we keep moving and ignore the shiny man with a horse’s head.  And then we hit mud.  For what seemed like light years, we sloshed through dark trails of ankle deep mud, interspersed with slippery-ass bridges.

When we finally broke out of the shiggy, we were more than ready to be done with the trail, but it was A to A’ and despite our urge to beeline it to our cars, no one had any idea where the On In was.  In due time, Plan B started cussing like a sailor, becoming irrational and cranky after a prolonged spell of sobriety.

We finally arrived at On In (some random sports bar), where we were greeted by Crack Up, her boy toy, Hare Krotchna’s sister, and several pitchers of beer.  Honor to the pint sized hare for getting us to the beer before the flour washed away.

At first, bar goers were annoyed that we were ruining their Blazer game watching experience, but as we sang more songs, they began congregating around the doorway to watch us.

It was a delightful religion; everyone drank for something.  And then we swang low.

Your sausage- loving scribe,

Romancing the Bone

 

P.S. Grab My Handlebars, our fabulous new haberdasher, has made some awesome shirts for us.  They are a high-quality tech fabric and the No Name’s first ever haberdashery.  You must have one.  Contact Grab My Handlebars at msrmhammer@gmail.com to preorder, or flag her down at a hash.

 

P.P.S. Crack Up’s naming story

 

Up Fucking:

Today:  80’s Music Video Skate Party at Oaks Park

Sunday: Stink Finger’s 69th fucking birthday hash!! Meet at the corner of NW Johnson and 15th at 1:30.

Monday: Log Jammer jams her log into the Kahuna

Wednesday: Chubby and Oral do a quick Hump, followed by an awesome drunken choir practice

Thursday: Tina Turnover and Tap That Ass decide venture into the rain to hare the No Name.

 

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