The Hash Goes Shopping
Run # 561 March 3, 1997
Hare: Basket Boom Boom & Short Peck
Hashit:: Oozing Syphillitic Dick-ta-Phone
Offering further evidence that the fruit does not fall far from the tree, the Hash was a father-and-son affair set by Basket Boom Boom and Short Peck. Short Peck was responsible for the first portion: It began at the Lincoln Mall through which passed the hares with Oozing Syph, Hopeless and your scribe pro tempore, the former Double Dipper who whiningly suffered the indignity of being renamed . Async, anticipating the younger hare's course, took the long way around and caught up later. Notably absent was Deep Throat who once again relied on Basket for directions; she never did catch up.
The first part of the course was clean, interesting, and safe, taking the small but thirsty pack directly to the Catamount Amber. Back to the fruit-not-falling far-from-the-tree theory: That Short Peck was thoughtful, kind and civil in setting the run left no doubt that he inherited the genes of Dog Meat.
The second part of the run, set by Basket, would have been pitiful were it not for a patch of oozing orange shiggy in which the elder hare found himself in a Hopeless embrace. Before the shiggy, however, flour marks led the lads through what must be Rhode Island's last active manufacturing facility wherein a rent-a-cop with nothing better to do watched five witless wankers actually follow the hapless hare THROUGH a stream when they could have take the driveway, 30 feet away. The shiggy was such a refreshing relief that the hare led the lads through it a second time, and once again the lemmings actually followed him through the orange ooze.
On the subject of ooze, Oozing Syphilitic Dick Ta Phone is wearing the Hashshit once again; this time for twice uttering "r-a-c-e" in referring to the Hash. To make the offense more grievous, he tried to cop the well-worn schizoid plea, protesting, "I didn't use that word. And neither did I." Retiring to the Friendly Tap, Ooze and Flaccid occupied themselves with paper cut-outs while Async, Hopeless and Basket reminiced like three old farts and Short Peck ogled a big-butted lass stroking the balls of a pool table. Do we need to get a life or what?