Farewell to Our Grand Master Hash
Run #1013, August 29, 2005
Hare: Dr. WHO
Location: West Greenwich, RI (Big River Management Area).
Weather: 70’s, humid, sporadic showers.
Present: Amish It Head, Great at Giving Head, Sparky the Hobosexual (NH3), Naughty
Bi Nature (NH3, a.k.a. Pound Her On It), Just Molly, Async, Dry Foot Fairy, Bondo Jovi, Oozing, and Basket Boom Boom.
(Mis)management: Jake (GM), Ben, Seamus.
In Memory of Jake
1994-2005
#550, Dec. 16, 1996 |
Jake joins RIH3. Basket hasn’t reached his 500th. Oozing hasn’t started hashing. And Fuwangi is
only 16 years-old. |
#569, Apr. 13, 1997 |
Jake makes strong bid at the AGM, beginning his RIH3 political career. |
#669, March 18, 1999 |
Jake takes over as RIH3 Grand Master and hasn’t looked back since. |
#823, Feb. 11, 2002 |
Jake battles strong opposition at the AGM yet retains the title of GM. |
#1013, Aug. 29, 2005 |
Jake’s last hash, but he will always be with us in spirit. There has never been nor will ever be a
better RIH3 Grand Master. |
Scribe’s Note: Dates and other historical facts may be less than accurate,
as the historical record (hash trash) tends to be less than accurate as well. You do the math. |
The Run:
The rain was falling so hard that I-95 turned into a flowing river, unable to drain the torrent of accumulating water.
Rush hour traffic slowed to a harmonic crawl. It was already past 6 p.m. when Oozing, Sparky, Naughty, Just Molly, and I (Dry Foot) departed Providence, all stuffed in my car. With so much body weight, I didn’t know if I
could get everyone there on time. I was seriously thinking of dumping Sparky, or Oozing, or better yet, both. That way, I could get there quicker and retain the two bimbos as
well. It was unecessary, unfortunately, because with my finely-honed Michael Schumacher-like driving skills, I got the
five-some to the hash with time to spare. How pathetic.
As we arrived, the rained stopped. Nevertheless, the rain-soaked forests and fields of the northern part of the Big
River Management Area made for prime hashing conditions. The dampness in the air and dark clouds looked as if another
rainstorm could hit. Excellent! I sensed everyone was in high spirits.
For the second week in a row I noticed Async at the hash. His boss must have still been
out of town. As though I cared. The newbies Great at Giving Head and
Just Nathaniel arrived, seemingly becoming RIH3 regulars, suggesting to me that they have no life. Cool, I was not
alone. Bondo brought both Ben and Jake to the hash. I began to
wonder if Bondo needed Jake so that he wasn’t always slowest on
trail. Regardless, Jake was still faster than Bondo. And of
course, Basket arrived with his better half Seamus.
And with that, we departed the fields off Fish Hill Rd. (just off Harkney Hill Rd.) into the northwest corner of the
management area. We followed an arrow pointing west and crossing Fish Hill Rd. and onto a dirt road. With many marks
washed away, mass confusion ensued -- nothing unusual, however. I just stayed away from Basket
. Far, far away. At a check, Basket searched north, Sparky
went west, and I looked south. Basket sounded his horn beckoning all to follow.
Something smelled funny, and this time it wasn’t Bondo, as Bondo
and Jake went south after special instructions by the hare. I should have followed them.
Yet since I was the scribe for this week, I felt it my sorry duty to stick with the pack. In retrospect, the run would
have been much more exciting had I gone with Bondo and Jake.
C’est la vie.
You’d think they’d learn! You would think that THEY would learn!! That was all I kept telling myself as I watched
them, like a pack of doomed mindless lemmings, following Basket into a long falsie. Even the
veteran Async took the bait. Confused, Just Molly started to
show worried expressions, as this was only her second hash, and worse, the first with the Rhodies. If I were not a
hasher, I would have felt sorry for her. True trail then headed west through wet fields of tall grass. I wished they
were briars. Ahhh, nothing could have been better than fresh blood on trail!
Trail bent southward led by Oozing and G@GH. The rest of us
caught them as they reached a small tributary of the Big River. Oozing didn’t think the mud
was THAT deep. After he reached thigh-deep in the wonderful-smelling black mud, he began to think otherwise. With
several shoes lost in the thick muck, I joined the others who (but not WHO) decided to look
for an easier crossing. Nobody went unscathed. And Just Molly began questioning her
friendship with Naughty. Sadly, the two didn’t partake in a physical struggle… in the mud.
I digress, unfortunately.
Trail dumped out on Fish Hill Rd. and led westward by the hare re-marking the washed away flour. All I had to do is
follow the hare. Pathetic. Others weren’t so observant. Even more pathetic. Then something so freakish happened that
I could only have thought it a miracle. Despite numerous checks, Basket the FRB managed to
guess each and every one of the checks correctly! Divine intervention? Nah. It was just Seamus making all the decisions
this time. After all, there is nothing divine about Basket. Intervention on the other
hand…
I soon noticed Just Nathaniel growing worried, and rightly so, as he followed Basket so closely. And I never saw Sparky so happy (is that guy NEVER
happy?), as he was enjoying the best view of the hash – right behind Just Molly and Naughty. Lucky Bastard. Then I noticed Async grimace at G@GH. Aync must have seen the new guy as personal competition in
athletic ability, good looks, and propensity to attract bimbos. Neither truly had much to worry about. There was no
alpha male in this pathetic group. I continued to run, keeping my thoughts to myself.
Still the FRB, Basket led us suckers southward and close to I-95 and then in a long
off-trail clock-wise circle jerk. I spotted the hare short-cutting the circle-jerk and bringing the DFLs in tow. We
reached another check next to Big River, and everyone followed Basket, once again. I decided
that Basket’s luck would run out, so I headed northward and quickly came across a “B”.
Nobody followed me, thankfully. Not wanting to share any of the beer, I repeatedly hollered “false trail!” to anyone
following. I managed to fooled Sparky, not once, but twice! After all, “BN” on trail could
have so many different meanings. Right?
Despite my futile attempts at finding the well-hidden beer and after five minutes of fighting off the other hashers,
Async and G@GH eventually arrived and brought the others quickly
to the beer check. Sh*t! I was so looking forward to a nice quiet beer check without these wankers. Nevertheless,
Dogfish Head IPA and Chicory Stout were opened and savored. Even with special instructions from the hare, Bondo and Jake were missing. Brilliant! And it must have been a hint
by the hare, as a bag of Smartfood was included. Not even Smartfood could have helped this sorry group. Nevertheless,
Naughty even with a graduate degree tried mightily to add a bunch of smarts. Um, hashing…
smart… hashing… smart… oxymoron. Ugh, I should have found that beer before the others arrived. Not even I am perfect, I
suppose. *Sigh*
For reasons beyond reason, upon leaving the beer check, Oozing decided to take over as the
hare, using toilet paper to mark trail east and northeast back to Fish Hill Rd. where Bondo
and Jake sat waiting in the darkness, both sharing five gallons of Bondo-brew. Then the hare
(the real hare) took off to fetch his car and the beer for the circle. The rest of us waited.
Circle was held and comments started with Oozing launching into “Jesus Saves”. If I were
Jesus, I’d open up the thunderclouds and zap this circle into oblivion. We’re all going to hell anyway, so why drag it
out? Weren’t we already in Purgatory (run #1008)? Guess not even the devil likes us. Can’t
blame him (or her). I digress. The others kissed up mightily to the hare. It was excruciating to watch. I concluded
that the hare must have put something into the beer. After all, he is a doctor and has access to who knows what? And
yes, WHO does know what. Regardless, the total seemed to average the mathematical
impossibility of -0.6.9! Hashit to Bondo, for bringing Jake
and making him suffer (not so much from the physical exertion but to be in the presence of us). Just Molly was rightfully punished for showing up at an RIH3 hash, and Just
Nathaniel was christened into RIH3 by being named Amish It Head. Being the super-nice
guy that he is, he did not put up much of a fight, thus suggesting a renaming in the future. But I digress, again.
Anyway, we moseyed onto Marks down the road. Nobody had to worry about Exit 6 not 6A this time. I encouraged all to
order the scallop roll, but only Sparky got the message about this culinary delight.
Pitchers of IPA and Guinness… blah, blah, blah. Even Bondo joined us this time. Too bad
Jake couldn’t join us too. He was more deserving.
Speaking of deserving, I really felt undeserving to the task of writing this week’s hash trash -- my ten months of
hashing versus Jake’s ten years. Yet we all can take comfort in knowing that Jake will be in a much better place, and in a way I, for one, am both grateful and jealous, as I am
doomed to hash with all you wankers for many years to come. And with that…
A Toast to Jake!
On On
Dry Foot Fairy