A Series of Unfortunate Events Hash

Run #1043, March 27, 2006

Hare:  WIPOS

Location:  F. Gilbert Hills (“F Gilbert Hills!”) State Park, Foxboro/Wrentham, MA.

Weather:  High 40’s, clear.

Present:  Async, Dr WHO, Amish It Head, Great at Giving Head, SESYB, Basket Boom Boom, Bondo Jovi, Fuwangi Boner, Dry Foot Fairy, Oozing SD, Seamus, Ben. Visitor: He’s a Lesbian (Ben Franklin Mob H3/ Philly).

The Run:

If you are interested in stories with happy endings, you would be better off reading some other hashtrash. In this hashtrash, not only is there no happy ending, there is no happy beginning and very few happy things in the middle. This is because not very many happy things happen in the lives of the Rhode Island Hash House Harriers. Async, Dr WHO, Amish It Head, Great at Giving Head, SESYB, Basket Boom Boom, Bondo Jovi, Fuwangi Boner, Dry Foot Fairy, Oozing SD were unintelligent hashers, and they were annoying, and pathetic, and had unpleasant facial features, but they were also extremely unlucky, and most everything that happened to them was rife with misfortune, misery, and despair. I'm sorry to tell you this, but that is how the story goes.

Their misfortune began one day at F. Gilbert Hills. This particular evening it was dark and chilly, which didn't bother the hashers one bit. When it was hot and sunny, trail was crowded with tourists and it was impossible to find a good place to drink one's beer. On dark and chilly days, the hashers had the woods to themselves to do what they liked. The hare, a walking misfortune if ever there was, had decided to set trail in a tired old spot, north of the border in Foxboro, Massachusetts. This unhappy park is frequented by hooligans, muggers, thieves and, all-too often, the RIH3. I would recommend that you skip the hash the next time trail is set here. Or the next time this hare sets anywhere, for that matter. But that’s just the way I feel.

As the group gathered in the deepening gloom, the hare broke out some “beer” to try and cheer up the early arrivals. But Bondo and Basket were there, and immediately started squabbling. Async chose this ill-advised moment to return to the hash, and incredibly chose to dress like the hare in multiple protective layers. Dr WHO showed up with a festering sore on his lip. Amish attacked Seamus, and lost his car keys in the bushes. Fuwangi picked his nose. (It would be his last chance for several weeks, but he didn’t know that, just yet!) G@GH tried some pick-up lines on the exceptionally uninterested SESYB. The visitor watched, amazed and depressed that he had decided to come. I would think you would have been depressed, too.

Finally, six-thirty rolled around. They headed out, south from the Radio Tower on a path. It was immediately apparent that there had been a sale on baking flour at BJ’s. Every rock, stump and fallen branch bore witness to the hare’s passage. There was no shiggy. So a line formed, with Async and Fuwangi in the lead, and Bondo bringing up the rear. The first check led to a long well-marked trail culminating in an “X” at the edge of a cliff. WHO got there first. He contemplated ending it all by continuing straight, but instead called the rest on, as he sneakily circled back to the trail in the bushes. Unfortunately, no one else decided to continue straight, either. I’m sorry, again.

Trail continued briefly south. After a brief time on a dirt road, trail continued east into a maze of checks and poorly cleared paths. But it wasn’t what you’d call shiggy, not by any stretch! Async, knowing this area like the back of Basket’s ass, pulled further and further ahead, and probably was already at the beer stop by this point in the narrative. [That didn’t do him any good at all. This hare may be dumb, but he knows how to hide his beer. Even he himself couldn’t find it, when he arrived later on. But I depress.] And to make things even worse, Oozing and Dry Foot had arrived, and were on trail back near the start. There were hashers all over, on rocky outcroppings, in bushes, on and off paths, and deep in valleys (or depressions, as they might as well be called). The hare tried to call them together with his horn. But it blew the same note as Bondo’s Conch shell, and Basket’s bugle. So everyone went the other way. And still missing was any sign of shiggy. This made them all very sad. I know they all expected more from this hare, who has usually been very creative with swampland. But it has been an unusually dry March.

WHO was the first (since Async, who had passed this way 30 minutes before) to find trail turning north. Only to come upon Dry Foot. They both were unhappy, now. But they called the rest on, and came over a rise to find the hare at a check on High Rock Road. Consulting the handy trail map posted there, they proceeded straight uphill, on a wooded path. Soon they came to a check, and WHO turned right, while Dry Foot went straight. WHO appeared to be on, as there was a sign, welcoming Hashers (or Hikers, or something. The light was very dim. As was the group. But I digress.). He called Dry Foot. But this also drew Oozing. Dry Foot was now very miserable. But they followed WHO . He had turned off his flashlight. He stood over the almost inevitable “X”. He dropped his shorts to provide alternative illumination to guide the others. But his “moonlight” wasn’t very bright. It was however, enough to make Dry Foot gag, and to make Oozing have some impure thoughts. I bet you think this couldn’t get any worse. Well, you’re wrong!

The trio went back to the trail and continued north. But right behind them was Basket, with Amish, G@GH and the visitor. WHO called “False Trail!” and doubled back. Only Basket was fooled. But it was a bright moment for the rest. Trail came out to some dirt roads labeled “Loop Trails”. There was more confusion. But still no shiggy. Most found the proper check left into the woods. But WHO followed the loop off trail, and ended up in the lead. He promptly lost this when he headed down the On Out trail. But the hare was calling from the BC, so he turned back. Southwest on Messenger Road, trail turned right. WHO came upon Dry Foot, Async and Oozing watching the hare trying to find his own beer, at a shelter in the woods. They all were depressed. But then the hare found the beer! They saw what kind of beer he had! Their depression turned to despair! Even the fire that the hare started couldn’t cheer them up. Personally, I wouldn’t have blamed them if they had roasted the hare on his own fire!

The rest of the poor unfortunates straggled in. To find that: in addition to the horrible choices of beer available, there were only eleven beers. For twelve hashers! Fuwangi went into the shed to recheck the hare’s knapsack. Empty-handed, he turned and smashed his forehead and nose on the eaves of the hut’s low roof. Luckily, the hut was stoutly built, and suffered at most, a minor crack in a two-by-four. And Fuwangi’s appearance improved immeasurably, once the bleeding stopped. So everyone was cheered enough to sing a few songs. You see, even the worst experiences have their good aspects!

After dousing the fire (only Basket had any urine to contribute on this fearfully dry outing), they made the short jog west back to the cars. Basket found that he had left his car keys in his door lock. He found his wallet and cell-phone missing. You see! I was right about the hooligans, muggers and thieves! But the circle must go on, and it did. The run was rated. Comments mentioned the lack of shiggy, the lack of lost hashers (especially Basket and Bondo), the non-virgin territory, and the beer choices. But no pavement, Fuwangi’s new nose job, and Basket’s lost billfold enabled the hare to salvage a -0.69! Hashit was given to Oozing. Why not? The visitor was questioned, the backslider punished, and the circle closed. I think they all were ready to move on to get some real beer, don’t you?

Bondo as always took off early, while Oozing lent Basket his phone. Basket called Dogmeat, and you could hear her yelling clean through Basket’s head to his other ear. But just as he hung up (and in Glendale, Dogmeat started cancelling credit cards), Bondo returned. He had found the wallet in the road. With all the cards in it. Ha, ha! And now Dogmeat’s line was busy. Ha, ha! Another unfortunate event that turned out for the best. Don’t we all need to get rid of some of our credit cards? I think Basket would thank the thieves, if he had the chance.

Off they went at the hares direction, to Chieftain’s on Rt 1 in Plainville. Now, they hate us at Chieftain’s. We’ve been thrown out of Chieftain’s, more than once. There are no pitchers at Chieftain’s. But the hare insisted. He wanted some clams. (Even though it’s too early in the season, and they still taste of winter sewage.) So to Chieftain’s they went, ten of them, and had expensive food, fecal/hepatitis-laden steamers, and bangers-and-mash, washed down with Guinness and Black-and-Tans. They tried a few songs. They tried to reach Dogmeat. They tried to figure out if they had enough money to cover the exorbitant bill. The visitor tried to figure out if they would buy it if he said he had to pick someone up at the airport. And the evening ended, as all evenings do. But I don’t think anyone learned their lesson, do you?

On On