Monks of St. Wanker Hash

Run #1026, November 28, 2005

Hare:  Fuwangi Boner

Co-Hare:  Amazon-dot-cum

Location:  The Monastery, Cumberland

Weather:  High 40’s, partly cloudy

Present:  Great at Giving Head, Dr WHO, Oozing SD, SESYB, Basket Boom Boom, Dick Doc (TBGH), Bondo Jovi, WIPOS, Amish It Head, Seamus, Ben.

The Run:

The directions specified to drive into the Monastery and turn right to park under “the tree”. There being more than one tree, this resulted in considerable dispersion of the hash right from the beginning. For all we know, Just Sandra may still be there sitting in her car, waiting for someone to show up at her tree. But the co-hare (and visitor) Amazon-dot-cum heard the sound of beer bottles opening as Dr WHO wheedled one off Great at Giving Head in a dark corner of the lot. She came over and collected them and then the rest, as they straggled in. Promptly at 6:30, they were off, the hare somewhere in the wilds, preparing trail. Or drinking. To excess.

The group followed an arrow, directing them northwest and then west on the perimeter road. A falsie snagged Dr WHO and Amish. But having set trail here before has its advantages. WHO pressed on and they continued southwest on a lovely path paralleling the true trail. Led by Basket, the pack had crossed through the fence, and were contending with checks, underbrush and the like. Only Dick Doc had the sense to stick with Amish and WHO. The rest followed Basket. For Shame!

The short cutters came on to true trail. WHO led, as the trail joined the cross-country path and turned more west. An arrow indicated that trail should cross the Monastery Brook. The suggestion was politely declined by all. Except the co-hare. Trickery? Loyalty? Stupidity? You be the judge. Continuing straight, marks soon were found re-joining the trail. At the next check, SESYB took true trail to the left. WHO went right and uphill off trail, heading straight for the quarry cliffs. There was a circle jerk that the pack enjoyed, and a small bushwhack that WHO enjoyed. But soon SESYB, WHO and the pack came together as they approached the cliffs. A “W” check was marked, and WHO came out to the second ledge where he found a bottle of Maker’s Mark (Hooray!) and the hare (Boo!). He was drinking. To excess.

The whiskey was broached as they took stock. Oozing? Slowed by his aching knee (cadaveric ligament: guaranteed good for ten years or 100 hashes, whichever comes first), he was still on, but considerably behind. Bondo? Ha! By this time he was looking for flour at the opposite end of the woods, at the memorial called “Nine Men’s Misery”. (A good name for a Bondo trail, come to think of it.) The group sang a few songs, and flicked their headlights off and on to tease the hare. The hare was worried about someone seeing the lights, and was behaving like a little girl. (Or to use his own words: a “f**kin’ Sally!”) The whiskey level dropped. Oozing arrived. Oozing tripped over a wire fence. No blood loss this time. The co-hare took off to set the trail.

After ten minutes they resumed. SESYB led straight east, bushwhacking along the clearly marked trail. This time, Basket was right as he turned northwest on the trail and led as they avoided a second cute girlish circle jerk and turned north. But true to form, he soon was foundering and at the next check, Amish and G@GH took the lead. They came to a strange mark: two adjacent circles with central dots. Luckily, the more experienced hashers arrived. They explained the venerable and sacred “Tit Check” concept. It was further pointed out that a nipple was not, in fact, a teat, and therefore Basket taking his shirt off would not qualify. Now here’s the one Boston tradition we could do more of! But when SESYB and Dick Doc arrived, they weren’t enthusiastic. (Dick Doc does claim that she flashed a nearby squirrel while the lights were off her. It had to do. Although we’ll never know.)

A falsie at this check led Basket back out to the cliffs. But there was another wire fence. A cautious Oozing crossed it so slowly that he alone noticed the false mark on the far side. They all reversed to follow east on trail behind SESYB and Dick Doc. A brief jog on the trail slightly downhill, led to the school cross-country trail, where white painted arrows and marks confused the pack for a while. Basket is not one to pay any attention to any marks, real or imagined. And fortune favoring the handicapped yet again, he found trail north.

Fortune can only go so far. They came to an arrow directing them across the field. On the far side, no marks were seen and they milled about like a herd of mad cows. The hare finally called them into the woods and across Monastery Brook. The cohare was waiting. It was the Beer Check. Bondo was still missing. All that was needed (and missing, unfortunately) was a piece of wire for Oozing to trip over. Beer was opened and songs begun. The hare resumed drinking. To excess. But drawn by the noise and fresh from “Nine Men’s Misery” came Bondo. The BC became “Eight Men’s, Three Women’s and Two Dogs’ Misery”. The rest began to drink. To excess.

Trail out led south. Most cooperated and stayed on trail. With the cohare. And SESYB. And Dick Doc. Could be significant. But Amish, G@GH, WHO and Bondo ignored the trail. The lights from the library were clearly visible, and both Bondo and G@GH had beer in their vehicles. The perennial choice: beer vs bimbos. One must live with one’s own decision. This is the hard and thorny reality of hashing. They came out to the cars. They shared some beer, and waited.

The hare finally arrived and told them that the circle was back on the trail. They hopped into his truck, and he drove (while drinking. To excess.) them back to where the rest waited, just inside the bushes at the edge of the road. The circle was formed. Ratings for the run included the fact that this was virgin territory (NOT), had minimal pavement, a whiskey stop and three bimbos. But, Bondo made it to the BC, there was minimal shiggy, and no one was arrested. Total +0.69. Hashit was given to Oozing, because yet again he was just begging for it. Tripping over wire never grows old.

The circle finished, they convoyed off to Tuck’s, all present except Dick Doc who was either lost, or too smart to spend any more time with the hare. The effects of whiskey and beer proved more than a match for his half-mind. He became loud. He became profane. He stopped drinking. Too late. He became obnoxious. Nothing new, here. But word is, the next morning he was found naked and drooling on some clean laundry in a strange man’s bed somewhere in Cambridge. Could just be a rumor. But I don’t make this stuff up.

On On