Follow My Balls, Sip My Shine, and Eat My Nuts Hash
(Cotton Balls, Moonshine, and Peanuts That Is)

Run #1004, June 27, 2005

Hare:  Dr. WHO

Location:  Carolina Management Area, RI

Weather:  High 70s, cloudy, humid, muggy.

Present:  Fuwangi Boner, Tinker, Basket Boom Boom, Dry Foot Fairy, Bondo Jovi, Seamus, and Ben. Virgins: Just Erin and Just Jen.
Late Cummers:  Trail Hoover, Oozing, WIPOS, and Yank My Doodle (transplanted from Jhavalina H3 in Tucson).

The Run:

The start of this week’s run was off Rt. 112 at the northeast corner parking lot of the Carolina Management Area. As Dr. WHO, Tinker, and Dry Foot were engaged in a pointless conversation over taxes, an unidentified car pulled in. Not one, but two(!) virgins arrived, and bimbos on top of that! Just Erin and Just Jen were finally coaxed into hashing by WHO. Actually, it was more accurately described as Just Jen confessing “..after a year of daily harassment, I finally caved in and said, ‘ok, I’ll go, just stop pestering me…’” Well, one must do what one must do to recruit new boots. The arrival of Fuwangi, Basket, and Bondo tarnished the otherwise nice pack of hounds. After brief education of trail marks for the virgins, they were off, heading west into the Management area.

With the land largely excavated, it was pretty easy going at the start. Just Erin and Just Jen, sticking closely together, didn’t think it was that bad after all. Their impressions soon changed for the worse. Hey, the hare didn’t mention anything about dead fish on trail! A check was reached. Basket went north, the rest headed south, following the southern theme of the hash. The piles of black sand were no doubt remnants of coal mining activity, a cultural cornerstone of Appalachia, and the western Carolinas. This confused Fuwangi into a falsie, with even more confused virgins following him. Dry Foot found true trail, heading out of the excavated fields of black coal dust piles and down some boulders into a dried up swamp, heading south, of course.

At this point, the hare pointed Just Jen and Just Erin into the swamp. The price of losing their virginity was to be swift and dastardly this day! Dry Foot and Fuwangi took turns breaking trail through the swamp (badly in need of water to really be considered a swamp, but I digress). Tinker, being the clever one, stayed close to and tried to charm the virgins. Basket was nowhere to be seen; however, nobody complained. As the hashers skirted around the Hatchery Area, the fish were lucky not to have their waters defiled by RIH3, which would no doubt ruin the entire 2006 trout season. There was the inevitable stream crossing, gratuitously offered by the hare. At this point, the virgins gave up all hope of keeping their feet dry.

Trail bent westward out of the swamp. A little actual running ensued, with Tinker in the lead! Hashing must have some kind of Fountain of Youth properties! Just Erin didn’t care if hashing turned sh*t into gold, as she only wanted to get out of the swamp. Futilely trying to impress the virgins, Fuwangi and Dry Foot again took turns being the FRBs, as trail started to bend northward. And then Basket arrived from the opposite direction, as he somehow managed to run right past the beer check. Skirting along a sandpit, Fuwangi, Dry Foot, and Basket were eventually greeted at the beer check by Tinker, Oozing, and Trail Hoover. Oozing and Trail Hoover demonstrated that the best way to the beer is by arriving late. Tinker again exhibited his blistering speed, as not even Basket saw him zoom right by him to the beer. Either that or he was given secret instructions by the hare, but WHO would do that?

Just Jen and Just Erin arrived to a growing crowd followed by Dr. WHO. Containers of IPA and porter were opened and the beer savored by all. A bag of Carolina hot peanuts were welcomed too. And being in the deep south, a bottle of Kentucky moonshine was passed around the group. Ben and Seamus had some water. But where was Bondo? No Bondo? Ahhhhh… what a nice beer check! However, hashers being hashers, they made some calls to bring Bondo to the beer check, against better judgment. Even the virgins knew this to be a mistake. The calls didn’t bring Bondo, but rather WIPOS to the beer check. Just Jen and Just Erin were clearly impressed with WIPOS's protective layers of kevlar.

Then a figure appeared from across a large field, but it didn’t look anything like Bondo (not much does), and this hasher was running too! Clue #2 that it wasn’t Bondo. It was Yank My Doodle, a transplanted hasher from Jhavalina H3 in Tucson, AZ. The visitor was christened into RIH3 by being late (as RIH3 is probably the only hash chapter that ever starts on time) and covered in swamp shiggy and black dirt. Nevertheless, Yank My Doodle was rewarded with beer, hot peanuts, and song. Some thought they heard “asso” emanating from nearby woods, so everyone just gave up on Bondo. And the presence of four(!) bimbos inspired the typical wankers to be… well, typical wankers. Another horrific attempt at making their rhubarb rise did nothing to impress the virgins and visitor.

After the beer check, the hare led the pack northward, while Basket and Dry Foot ran east to the cars. This proved to be a mistake as they were greeted by a smiling Bondo. The rest trickled in and the circle commenced. Comments: Four bimbos (Hooray!), two virgins (Hooray!), swamp shiggy (Hooray!), a visitor (Hooray!), a dead fish on trail (Hooray!), a boat on trail (Hooray!) no Bondo at the beer check (Hooray!). Taking away from a strong effort by the hare were no loss of Basket, the hare still promised six virgins (but we’ll take any!), and the ease at which Oozing and Trail Hoover found the beer. All in all, Total: 6.9! Hashit went to Dry Foot Fairy for his act of treason by co-haring for Newport. In his defense, they did NOT go bowling.

Just Erin and Just Jen decided not to join the On-on-on. Nobody was certain, but some thought they heard something about picking up a friend at the airport. No bets were made on their guaranteed return. However, Yank My Doodle joined the rest of the wankers for beer and grub, which was at Mark’s (Exit 6 not 6A). Exhausted from trying to entertain virgins, bimbos, and a visitor, the typically raucous bunch was uncharacteristically subdued. WIPOS and Fuwangi preferred to shoot pool. And the hashers didn’t even bother to sing a single song for the entertainment of the other patrons. All in all, yet another complete waste of an evening concluded. You’d think they’d eventually learn. Shees!

On On

Dry Foot Fairy