Run # 1754, Oct 21, 2019<br/>
Rusty Pleases the Old Pharts Hash<br/>
Where: Rome Point, Chaffee Nature Reserve, North Kingstown<br/>
Hare Rusty<br/>
Hashers Rusty, Crotchy, WIPOS, WHO, Tinker, Sir Snott, Ass Quack, Donkey, Pubic Housing, Just Doug and Zeppelin<br/><br/> 
Weather: Dark with warm breezes<br/>
Hashit: Tink<br/><br/>

This was billed as <b> "Rusty has something planned to entertain the RIH3 and his daughter too"</b>
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In honor of a couple Old Pharts joining us this week, Rusty is laying trail in virgin territory at Rome Point (aka Chafee Nature Preserve), Rte 1A, NK. And has promised caviar, crackers, wine and of course The Captn's Daughter along with udder cold beers from The Island. 
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Expect warm breezes from the bay, scenic views from the point, no bugs (so no worries about infectious diseases) and a plethora of shooting stars, as it will be dark at night...oh, bring a flashlight so you don't get hurt. 
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What really happened. 
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No promised caviar, crackers, wine, and no Japanese schoolgirls to serve it. It's NOT virgin territory without Japanese schoolgirls. There were four old pharts, already well stuck into the piss by run time. They had formed what they thought was a comedy team, "The Survivors".
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Snotty: "After my prostate exam, the doctor left. The nurse came in later, with a worried look on her face, and said the three words I was dreading to hear. 'Who was that?"'
Tink: "I had a hip replacement, but the hospital won't let me keep the bone as a souvenir. They've got joint custody."
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Basket: "I asked the doctor how long will I be in the hospital for the open heart surgery? He said, if all goes well, about a week... if it doesn't, about 30 minutes."
During this display of senility, WHO took his beer, moved slowly away, and lit his thirtieth ciggy of the day. 
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With two minutes to run time, and no other arrivals (except one infectious mozzy), the Survivors decided to move the run to the OnOnOn venue, the Carriage Inn. There would be a Zimmer Frame start twenty feet away from the entrance. Four beer stops on the way.
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But then others came filtering in, and the hare called "On" - but not before taking the precaution of locking the circle beer in his car. And the post-caution of marking the trail anew after we'd passed by. Good thing, becoz a latecummer, Just Doug, needed all the help he could get.
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And so we went on into the plethora of rocks, roots, snags, and bullbriar, the FRBs solving most checks as if this were not virgin territory. Before long, there we were on the shore of Bissel Cove, where in our younger days we challenged life. But, alas, today RI Hash are no longer swept out to sea.
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No showers of shooting stars, but as advertised, there was the scenic view of Quonset Point, and the heady smell of the mud flats (or maybe Zeppelin had been eating bread). 
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The hare dove into the shrubberies and pulled out a bag full of cheesy beer stop snacks and "The Captn's Daughter along with udder cold beers from The Island." Then the revelry began, with Donkey stealing songs from Basket's repertoire.
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 "Hark! A light!" WIPOS blew the horn, and Just Doug appeared out of the starry night. (Asshole, asshole, etc.) A quahog snuck into the circle, was considered as a dinner guest, but was rescued by someone. Maybe Pubic?
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When the revelry died down, the hare instructed the pack to file up the beach until "You see a large rock. Take a right."
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Eventually WIPOS climbed a rock, hoping to gain some elevation so he could see the big rock. Crotchy pointed out that this was the rock. 
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We turned right, and shortly were back at the car park. Shortly after that we were at the circle, beers were popped, the run was rated RI-Hash-style, as either a positive 6.9, or a negative 6.9. (Could one be positive it was a negative?) Backsliders were recognized, then the Hashshit debated. Tinker won for trying and failing to mimic Sir Snot with a Brit accent. He did remember the song of the week, "Wayyyy Down in Barcelona", but got no credit for that. Bastards.
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Announcements.  Something by Basket about contributing to his wake, and misdirs to the O-O-O venue with instructions from the hare to ask for a table booked under the unique name of "John". Pots on the ground, "Swing Low", troop back to the car park, Pubic, Donkey, WHO and Assquack beg off, and the rest (sort of) convoy to the Carriage Inn. 
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Ample food, good beer, excellent service, and a bit of history about the Inn's charred timbers from 1770. For non-Rhodies, a complimentary dessert: Grapenuts Pudding.
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Another shitty evening in paradise. Thank you, Rusty.