Talk Lak a Scot, Ye Puir Gonuph Hash

Run #1012, August 22, 2005

Hare:  Basket Boom Boom

Location:  Slatersville Reservoir, Burrillville.

Weather:  Low 80’s, Clear.

Present:  Async, Dry Foot Fairy, Sparky the Hobosexual (Newport H3), Dr WHO, Oozing SD, Amish It Head, Gives Great Head, Fuwangi Boner, WIPOS, Tinker, Pounder On It, Dogmeat, Seamus.

The Run:

For reasons [Actually, the word “reason” is basically incompatible with “Basket”. He’s an oxymoron, after all. But I digress. Already!] known only to the hare, the run this evening was to have a Scottish theme. This meant that: a) the hare would bring single malt to the start in an attempt to mask the pathetic nature of the run, b) Oozing, freshly returned from Scotland would bring something stupid that he acquired overseas, like a Scottish Flag or something equally pathetic, c) Dr WHO would exercise his pathetic Scottish accent, and d) that Fuwangi would wear a kilt as yet another excuse to flash his pathetic genitals at everyone. Unfortunately, all this came to pass.

The hare further demonstrated his laziness by live-setting the first half, and having Dogmeat accompany him to the start to act as “Bag Lady”, excuse me, “Bag Car”. He promised a swim. He promised Scottish-themed flotation devices for the non-swimmers. [At this point, a reasonably astute hasher would have got back into his or her car and driven straight to the hare’s house. Where there would inevitably be a keg! But again, “reasonably” and “astute” are words rarely applied to hashers. At least in a positive sense.] With sinking hearts, they allowed the hare a generous head start. No one wanted to risk snaring him. If caught, he would all-too willingly forfeit his pants. They knew he would be naked soon enough. Most dreaded this. (And yet they showed up in the first place. Hmmn!)

Trail was started at 6:40, then. They crossed the street and went up the embankment for a small circle jerk around the retention pond, and avoiding the obvious powerlines. Soon, they bushwhacked briefly and caught trail heading southwest across Inman road into Wright’s Chicken Farm. They crossed the parking lot mostly together, and turned west on Rt 102. Fuwangi led, with Oozing, who never left the road, catching up quickly. Tinker took advantage of this moment to disappear. They all should have followed suit.

The trail crossed 102 before coming to Rt 7, and joined up with the overgrown railroad grade heading southwest. The group soon turned south to the Victory Highway, and reversed direction, heading east. Tinker appeared from the woods. Big mistake. Trail crossed down to the Branch River just before the Old Nasonville Road. Sparky and Amish looked doubtfully at the river. But the hare was sighted, just making the crossing ahead of the pack. Tinker led. He ignored the inflated turtles, rings etc. left by the hare. He plunged in and swam across. The rest followed and discovered that the bottom of the river was a mucky mess of rotting vegetation which, when disturbed, released some particularly foul gasses. By the third or fourth swimmer, the water resembled a particularly active sewer emptying the dysentery ward of a Cholera Hospital in India. A fine moment!

Trail then led to a second river, with an arrow pointing across. WHO thought he could see a mark on the far side. Async, Fuwangi, WIPOS, Amish and GGH were too smart for this. Sparky and DFF were not. Sparky found the second river even more flatulent than the first. Excellent! True trail led around through a clearing filled with garbage, following a semicircle on a ridge overlooking yet another swampy curve in the river. The confusion around these markings, laid by an obviously panicked hare, allowed the second-time swimmers to rejoin the main group. WHO found trail down to a dirt road, and southwest out to Rt 7.

A check on the road sent half northwards, to the Western Inn. It was closed. They returned south to find true trail and the BC at some powerlines on the west side of the road. The hare was waiting, but wouldn’t reveal the beer. It was nevertheless found and opened. As they drank, Pounder appeared, suspiciously dry. Then Oozing showed up, also dry. The group was almost complete. Only Tinker was missing. Only Sparky was concerned about this. It was explained that the hash has been running under Darwinian principles for some time. But somehow, winnowing out the weak just doesn’t seem to be working out for us. Perhaps the laws of Natural Selection need to be revised.

After a decent interval and a few songs, they moved on. Trail now led southwest on the powerlines, briefly. A check sent WHO to the left, correct for once. Familiar territory was entered, and the approach to Snake hill Road was sensed. It was getting dark. Only Amish had a light. Doesn’t he know that among the Amish technology is forbidden? At any rate, the trail zigzagged southwest across a ridge and descended down to Basket’s. WHO led the pack. He arrived triumphant. He was greeted by Bondo, Oozing and Tinker. Aghast, he tried to run back. But the beer was enough to keep him there. The rest arrived.

The Circle was held in the pool, with Basket, Fuwangi and Async opting for the au naturel mode. Pounder noted that the cold water was having quite an effect. She was assured that there would be little improvement in the shrinkage, even in a hot tub. Ratings for the run were prolonged, mostly irrelevant and occasionally unintelligible. But the loss of Tinker, the fine stream crossings, and the good beer made up in part for the sight of Fuwangi and Basket naked (or in a kilt, for that matter) and the hare was awarded a +0.69. Basket received the hashit. No surprises. No reasons. None required.

After swinging low, they came out to a fine meal courtesy of Dogmeat. They tried some single malts. They had some more beer. And how could you end such a fine evening? Why, by introducing Pounder to the fine and rare cinematic experience of “Lulu’s Talking Asshole”, of course. She was duly impressed. (Unlike her reaction to her earlier experiences in the pool.) This masterpiece was also well-received by Amish and GGH. Perhaps it’s time to begin the RIH3 Film Festival. Maybe that’ll get us some more new blood. Send your thoughts, requests and suggestions to Dr WHO at DrJohnWooWHO@sleazypiecesofcrap.com.

On On