POP's Lincoln Woods Hash
Run #1517, April 27, 2015
Hares: Passes On Pussy
Location: The Lodge, Lincoln
Weather: Rain just before, then ~58
Present: Basket, Bondo, O'Boehner, Glutenless Maximus, Booty, Hairy, Crotchy, Assy, Fecally, Kiki (Just), Just Josh
Hashit: Glutenless Maximus
Gentil friendes -- or fiendes as itt maye bee:
Whan we reach'd ypon the day, the 27st of the fourthe monthe of thys yeare 2015, gather'd we yn the lotte behindst the ynn yclept 'The Lodge' nearabout ye Wodes of Lyncoln onne the Breaknekke Roade.
As Aprille with his shoures soote, the droughte of March hath perced to the roote. And bathed every veyne in swich licour of which vertu engerndred is the flour! A fyve pounde bagge of the flour makest quyte the biquitte.
The kennel crowdered 'round and begane the worshippe of the younge Bacchus in hi' prime. We made a gange of menne younge, middling and veery olde, and notte a fewe o the fairer sexe. These blushing winsomes did delight. A spraye we made as welle to preven the tickkes wych bite.
The clokke had reach'd half sixe (nicht half sexe) and the hunds were awaye as the hare remain'd to the reare. Acrosse the Providence Waye we ranne and avoiding carriages clymb'd the firste and onlye hille. Notte much ado as we founde trayle shorte and sadde with nary shygge nor runnynge streame nor wetnesse of any type. Scarce foure checkes, wi' falses twain ere we founde ourselfs nere bere.
Withnot delaye we set aboote to uncovre the rukkesakke of the brewe. We drugg it to a place in the wodes whiche thenne be'came the bowere of Cecilia, sainte of the sweet musick. Here we founde ourselves with sich pleasing jugges. And bere was to be hadde as well, praise Silenus!
O'boner cudde barely speake after caming down with the thrushe from spredding itte around at ye hashes all'over the nordeste thys past monthe. En contraste, our yongge virgin perhaps on his chastitye too much relyed. The seedes of his downfalle were sowne by the sirene songe of the brewe.
We sangge and drinkt until the bere was drain'd and with a pisse and a farte we made our shorte waye backe to the taverne. Whence we cam upon our longloste Bondo an his doltish friende Fukke Buddye! They hadde made a march welle valorous if feebleminded.
In the glade uppe and awaye from the lake we gather'd. Ful weel we soong, entuned in the nose ful semely.
All were ben holden to give word of the trayle and its qualityes. Our lusty gentilmen did argue over the fulnes of the lenth of the
event. Was thisse shortyr or was Hary's on the same spotte? Or mayhap Fecale held his endaurance to be the leaste? But the gudwyves and gyrles made clare to the round that notte one of us menne could showe his length to satisfy! As't happned onlye foure fucks were giv'n and the rating summe camed to sixe with nine of ten partes, alle belowe zero, a shameful shorte runne.
Fecale did make question of the sliders backe, and a right messe was made of the jobbe. Juste Kiki on faylyng to know any songg did falle back hereself, smylyng ful symple and coy, on her other major talents, syze gee or tryple dee were theye. Hire over-lippe wyped she so clene that in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.
Bootye was nexte and ful weel she broughte questioning to the virgine. And ful pleasaunt an amyable she spake but the wastrel was nary sensyble. Graped at the boy she did and lusty Basket he did kiss'm. He did give confessioun, dranke a drafte and ful swately sang aboot a rainbowe.
Assquakke hadde brought the Hashyte from the Island, wyth complimentes from hi'wyfe Crabbye the Shag. Ich mak the claym that our partie should never hae accept'd it withnot a clenely wrytn trash as the price of o'conveyensse. But accypt it we dyd, mor the fooles we.
Ich hadde made a gud runne in towne and Basquet called uponn me to make penaunce for mye behaviour and so it was; Hashyte became mye duty. Ich sangge of a market in Chicagotown and of a lady wanton nayles.
We partake at the inne and greet chiere made our hoostess everichon. And to the soper sette she us anon. And served us with vitaille at the beste: strong was they wyn and wel to drynke us leste.
Juste Joshe hadde to call out to his wife thrice to lete her know he was a'drunk, mais like ye goldfishe for whom the castle ist new everye tyme, he forgat he had already called, leding to a little sadde hilaritye.
And then homeward we lyft, each of us, with god-speede. O'Boner at the helme of Juste Joshe's steede and myeself following behind, Warwick-ward and then back ere the night to ende.
And that is alle I ken.