That Cold Spring Hash Where Glutenless Came Out<br/>
Run #1512, March 23, 2015<br/>
Hares: Luxury Box & Hairy Krishna<br/>
Location: Franklin State Forest, Franklin MA<br/>
Weather: 30F and light at the start, a very cold 28F at Swing Low<br/>
Present: Dr. WHO, Basket, Glutenless Maximus, Beautiful Bondo, Bondo's Bitch (Smells Like Fish), Fuck Buddy,  O'Boner, WIPOS, Sleepin' Booty, Oozing, Crotch Tiger, Gay-lick, Crisco and POP[1].<br/>
Hashit: GMaxx<br/><br/>
 
Get ready, because this is a looonng confessional and your reading of the whole sorry thing means a lot to your humble scribe. If it's too long, fuck you and get Oozing to do it next time - since when is punishment for not doing it not doing it?<br/><br/>
 
So I arrives at trail at precisely 6:36 PM on the dot to find all the overachieving FRB wankers gone without so much as a how-do-you-do! Also, some *extremely clever* wanker had parked his/her car over the chalk talk and trail start directions, so I could tell it was going to be a special night. Glancing acrost the snowy oval, I seen Oozing limping off to the right (pretending not to see me) and Garlick Rustysnaps or whatever zooming away on the left. I quickly entered the woods, cleverly splitting the difference, and found... no trail. Not even a path; I was on a thin, shitty crust of snow and kept falling through. Eventually made it to a path and headed after Oozing because thought I'd be able to catch him. However, he was but a Will o'the Wisp; I never found him, nor any trail mark. Hmm. OK, I headed back the other way to find Gingery Rustbucket. Eventually I came upon some marks left by Fuck Buddy, but was able to avoid them even as I face-planted in the snow after turning my ankle in a frozen posthole. Bravely, gamely, I got up and proceeded onwards, and found that the untrodden margins of the trail would -- mostly -- hold my weight.<br/><br/>
 
Eventually I followed the orange marks and came upon the pack, who showed their concern for my feelings by shouting "Overachiever" at me. Did Rusted Gaybucket get this treatment? I wonder.<br/><br/>
 
After several checks, I came upon the titcheck. Huzzah! However, none of the choice bimbos were still there, and apparently I missed the goods Booty put on display -- a rare enough pleasure at the RIH3, where underboob and sideboob is generally the order of the day. I'm not one to complain, especially after O'Boner took care of us (!) at the Blitish Haus later, but at the time, all I saw was Bondo, Bondo's Bitch and Fuck Buddy. But a titcheck is a titcheck and I was gonna see me some boobage, so I attempted to coerce Bondo into showing his moobs. No go, the big little guy was bashful.<br/><br/>
 
After more checks, and an apparently no-fail check where both paths ended up on trail (good on ya, hares!), we got to a BN with a nice set of marks leading to a frozen pond on the aureole of which was the B all were seeking! But just the mark, so then we really started seeking. And seeking and seeking. Where the F was the beer, Jimmy? Booty, Glutenless, Basket, Boner all separately approached the same very likely snowy tree roots, but it wasn't there for any of them. Crisco cleverly went out looking for the freshest prints in the snow, meaning he was following Snappy GingerGay all around the perimeter. The hares just stood around looking smug. Finally Gingery GayRust drug the sack out of the woods and we got a'drinkin.<br/><br/>
 
The singing began half-heartedly, but enlivened up a bit as the watermelon beer sunk in. Buddy made his usual attempts at taking down the hoomans, and Basket tried to dig a hole into the ice and maybe drown us all. For the gluten incompetent among us, there were four (4) 40's of Green's Endeavour Dubbel Dark Ale! This is a highly alcoholic delight for someone who mourns his loss of a nice Newcastle or Murphy's lo these past long twelve months. It is here where I begin my confession -- I only sipped at this tasty beer. Oh, I wanted more, but I could not have it. I simply held the bottle. Why? Read on.<br/><br/>
 
It was noted that Oozing chose not to partake in the Beer Stop, and for that matter, nobody had seen him for quite a while. We tooted our collective horns, whistles and Basket even farted (risky!) but no sign of that wily character. We couldn't even give him the "Asshole" song because he never showed -- clever!<br/><br/>
 
After songs, drinks and gluten-y orange foods, we made our way to the cars along a wide, easy-to-follow out trail. I began with the pack but stepped aside behind a tree. It was here that I committed abuse -- alcohol abuse! I sadly, and with great shame, poured out this paragon of gluten-free beers into the snow! You gasp with horror -- rightly so! I commend you on your good sense. I then, burdened with guilt and the empty bottle, continued up the road -- most of the way in the questionable company of WIPOS.<br/><br/>
 
Circle commenced with false starts due to the ongoing outgoing and incoming search parties. As Oozing continued to be missing, many headed out to find him. Some of this group were faster than others and soon the groups were split. On receiving the text message that Oozing was found, some of the searchers found their way back to the parking lot. Whereupon Oozing determined that the other searchers were lost and went off to find them, and possibly re-lose himself. At this point Basket introduced the rule, er, regulation, er, social construct that we always have circle and perhaps on-after *before* searching, didn't we all know that? "Taking care of business," he calls it. Good to know. Ultimately everyone (almost?) returned and we got on with it.<br/><br/>
 
Rating: Bondo gave 12 fucks and Fuck Buddy gave 2 (big) shits, one buried. Overall, the post holes recieved a lot of attention, along with lack of wetness and a nice BN with deeply hidden beer. Booty rated twice, such stamina! I mention that Beautiful Bondo wouldn't show his boobs and all hell breaks loose! I mean, look, when someone is hesitant about showing their ta-tas, shouldn't we encourage them with nice words? It's for the good of the team, dammit! He was being shy and it was a titcheck! I mean, aren't bitch tits tits? And for this, I get Hashit? WHO computated the rating but there was so much hubbub WHO only knows what the rating was. I think it was positive or negative. Hares sang and drank.<br/><br/>
 
Virgins/Visitors: none -- they were too smart to come out to Franklin.<br/><br/>
 
Two-Timers: Veteran RIH3 Hasher Crisco was called out as a two-timer, subjecting Booty to ridicule. Such fun! And an easy accusation.<br/><br/>
 
Backsliders: Bondo's Bitch aka Smells Like Fish aka The Cling-on, in spite of Beautiful Bondo's protests that he's been suffering from heart attacks, the diabetus, the clap, scurvy, lumbago, scabies and dyspepsia, he was able to answer all of Bondo's questioning with "I don't know." This is a sure sign of tertiary syphilis -- don't say you weren't warned, ladies! The Bitch, however, entertained with a disturbing rendition of "Sodomy" from the 1968 musical hit Hair. It sounded like the demented mumbling of a terminal syphilitic, but was, in fact, music. High Five to the Klingon! (This piece was a continuatuion of the now-weekly revisitation of the dirty records I discovered in my youth -- initiated by WHO's rendition last week of Tom Lehrer's "The Irish Ballad." I memorized that entire album 35 years ago and it did something weird to my brain to suddenly hear it again! Good weird, though.)<br/><br/>
 
Hashit: So many offenses! Bondo leaving circle to take a piss, Oozing getting lost, requiring a search party, finding himself and then going out to find the search party. Search party leaving before taking care of business. People making rules about circle (Basket) and other things they wouldn't admit to being rules (Rusty). I got it for complimenting Bondo and his rack, which is apparently more than the Hash can handle. Hashit was voted on and the ayes had it, but then Oozing offended [badly!] by singing "La la la la..." instead of what everyone knows should be "Na na na na na..." -- Oozing gets it! Whew!
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But Basket, in his role as Martyr-Scribe, stepped in and called out Oozing for never writing the Trash (cf. Rumney, Super Bowl Hangover, Church, First of the Year, &c.), and so, with all the logic of the Hash behind him, laid the Hashit [not the real thing(s), because WHO knows where *they* are!?] on the shoulders of Glutenless Maximus. And it was so. Basket kept checking, "Really? Are you really going to write it? Yes, I will. And it will be long. Because that seems to piss everyone off. (Yes, I head the muttering,  you drunken illiterates! Fuck you, I'm making it long just for that!) I know how reading is a challenge for RI Hashers... We're number 48![2] We're Number 48!<br/><br/>
 
I sang a song I've been trying to get to for months, "On Top of Old Sophie," which apparently only Basket knew, and he didn't have any other verses. The last time I tried to sing it, I got confused, and the pack "helped" me by substituting Sophie into "Dinah," which sucked, let me tell you. The song landed with a thud. And it was over. I drank my down down and emptied my beer over my head. But now you know even this was a crime, as I had just drunk an empty beer! Yes, I simulated drinking. Oh, none but I knew how deeply I deserved Hashit that fateful evening. But, you ask, why should an apparently faithful hasher be resorting to such dastardly behavior? OK, it finally comes down to it: I had a small difference of opinion with Rhode Island's finest after a holiday party (and not even the Hash Christmas party!), and now I have a little friend in my car who makes sure that I am of sound mind and body whenever I go out for a spin. I should be back to normal Hash behavior around mid-May. It was an awkward topic to bring up ("Oh, hey, I have this embarrassing thing going on! Want to hear about it?"), but I didn't really want to keep it a secret either, so now I'm happy to have this opportunity to come out to you. On-On! And sorry for spilling out that super-special beer the Hares so considerately got for me - I'll never do it again :(<br/><br/>
Announcements: Dragon Boats and it's not even a joke! Per WHO, the race is September 6 (per Pawtucket Arts Festival, it's Sept 12 so we'll see how that goes...) and Pissonya is marrying FloBanger that day, so the plan is to keep on stroking after the race and arrive at the wedding somewhere in MA/CT/wherever. More incorrect details in future weeks, I'm sure.
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There was some whining about the fine seegars to be had around the circle. My primary comment on that is that you should bring enough treats for the whole class. Next time I'll take them and keep them in my desk until June, misters!<br/><br/>
 
After we swung low and carried on to our on-after at the Blitish Beer Company, I was on the way home, when I realized I hadn't seen WIPOS at circle?! He is apparently still on the out-trail after turning off to investigate an imaginary lake. Knowing he's always equipped for a polar expedition, and his car doesn't start anyway, I think it'll all be fine, as long as we run next week's trail in the Franklin State Forest and pick him up then. Or maybe wait until Next Week's 420 trail, which will keep us WIPOS-free a bit longer!<br/>
 
That's all I got!<br/>
-Glutenless Minumus<br/><br/>

[1] POP wasn't really there, but since Basket keeps putting him into all the writeups where he isn't (man-crush much?), I thought I'd perpetuate it for him.<br/>
 
[2] http://www.providencejournal.com/breaking-news/content/20140108-education-week-annual-ranking-gives-rhode-island-mixed-grades.ece