Run # 632 July 6, 1998
Hare: Async
Write-up by:
Double Flush, Newport H3
The Start:
West Greenwich
Hounds: Jake
(RIH3 Esteemed GM who has no balls but is still horny, God
bless him!)
Basket Boom Boom
Bondo Jovi
Oozing Syphilitic Dictaphone
Lick It (Returnee/Visitor from San Diego)
Evil Bitch Ripta (NH3 Esteemed GM)
Double Flush (NH3)
Live Bait (NH3)
Betty Buttkiss (NH3) a.k.a. Fisherman's
Bitch (RIH3)
Ian the Slut (NH3, formerly of Creek H3)
WIPOS (Worm Infested Piece of Shit) (RIH3)
Beyond Hope (RIH3)
It was a dark and stormy night. No, wait, that's
another story. This one starts with a short trek to West Greenwich
and
a turn onto a dirt road off Rte 3 clearly marked with a beaming Basket
Boom Boom and a big HHH sign. Down
the dusty, muddy, bumpy road we went
with our pristine black cars, while Oozing
carefully (typically?)
avoided the wet spots along the way. At the end of the dirt,
road Async
was patiently waiting with flour-caked hands. Preset? Yeah,
whatever.
The run was awesome. A good run to me is one that does not involve
the
evil flora - Poison Ivy. A great run to me is one that has no
Poison
Ivy and good beer at the beer check. An awesome run has those
two
qualities and more. This one had the makings of an awesome run.
The bug-sprayed hounds were off into the woods for a
shiggyfest in the crocodile-infested swamps and forests of the Big
Beaver River. With horns blaring and on-on shouted, all the crocodiles
seemed to vanish as we moved along the trail. Over the river
and
through the shiggy toward the beer check we hashed. I would talk
more
about the trail but I decided that the beer check would cum a lot sooner
if we followed the hare. Besides, a suspicious-looking camp site
was
nearby in "Deliverance Country" so we shortcutted through different
shiggy (the shiggy without the leeches), with
brand-new-white-aerobic-shoes-wearing Live Bait whining the whole way.
At last, the beer check and, of course, Live Bait
and I
were first in with the hare. There was more whining about the
lack of
water so the ice chewing commenced. I was happy to find some
nice
frosty Black and Tans in the cooler Async
retrieved from the woods.
Gee, what else could be hidden in those woods? How 'bout a canoe!!
And
oars!! And even life jackets!! Async donned his sea-kayaking
life vest
(complete with a shark-killing knife, flares, nose plugs, and who knows
what else). The canoe was launched, oars and cushions were loaded,
beer
was consumed, mosquitoes were swatted, and we waited... and waited...
and swatted... and swatted... and waited... and swatted... that's enough
of that! I'm sitting in the canoe where the mosquitoes were fewer
and
the waiting more bearable. Ok, I was whining a wee bit about
the
mosquitoes. Who knew that they would completely ignore the two
layers
of bug spray and one layer of spandex to get a couple of CCs of blood
out of my ass! At last, the pack arrived. Jake
was a bit warm and
wanted a swim. In he went. The only way to the run's end
was a short
canoe ride down the river underneath Rte 95. Several trips were
required to get the hounds across. So we paddled the first launch
with
Lick It at the bow (spilling his beer
as he paddled), me next (trying to
paddle to keep the boat straight and complaining because Lick
It kept
switching his paddle from side to side), then behind me was Cleopatra,
um, I mean Live Bait, enjoying the ride,
as well as Ian the Slut and
finally Wilderness Boy Async paddling
at the rear (ok, stern). Finally
we approached our destination and unloaded the thirsty bodies from
the
canoe. Off Async went to retrieve
the other wankers left behind but not
before he retrieved yet another cooler from the woods containing more
beer.
So there we were, alone in the woods at the on-in. At
least we had beer, good beer, Sam Adams Cream Stout. Did I hear
more
whining about there being no water? Alas, there was one 16oz
bottle of
spring water in the cooler, followed by more ice sucking. Lick
It and
I, being two highly-trainined military individuals, proceeded to use
this time productively and gathered wood to make a fire. The
next
launch brought the two late cummers Evil Bitch
Ripta and Betty Buttkiss.
They brought with them a story about two fishermen trying to enjoy
a
peaceful evening of male bondage, uh, I mean bonding. EBRipta's
version
of this story is as follows:
"Betty approached a lake where two "charming"
fishermen
were fishing and enjoying the peaceful, rustic scenery of West
Greenwich. One of the fisherman, upon spotting the vision of
lovliness
approaching, stood up in his boat, his outstretched hand (reminiscent
of
Michaelangelo's Sistene chapel) was totally bathed in a glowing radiant
light from the parted clouds, he pointed at Betty
and loudly proclaimed
'Bitch!'. Henceforth, Miss Betty's
name at the RI hash, now and
forevermore, has been decreed to be 'Fishermen's
Bitch'."
Anyhoo, eventually all the hounds were gathered together
once again and after listening to several anecdotes of the various
hijinks along the trail, the fire was lit and the down-down's commenced.
We christened a new sacred vesicle, a brass horn which was highly
conducive to shotgunning brewskis with no problem at all. "Just
stick
your tongue in the hole, dammit!" I teased, but all the poor horn got
was a lot of fingering. Lick It
drank for being a returnee, Betty
Buttkiss drank for being a RIH3 virgin, Oozing
drank for forgetting to
bring the Hashit yet again. Yours truly Double
Flush drank and EBRipta
watched for wearing matching shirts (we were sporting our snazzy tie-dye
shirts from last year's Martha's Madness). BBkiss
was officially given
a RIH3 hash name "Fisherman's Bitch".
Swing Lo was reverently sung.
On-On!
Being only one steep hill away from the run start, we
went back to our cars to change into clothes not soaked with beer and
shiggy. Then back to the fire with the hash hash we started cooking,
and singing and drinking. The hash hash consisted of delectable
spare
ribs with sauerkraut and potatoes. It was quite delicious and
I'm
getting hungry just thinking about it right now.
After listening to Basket, on Saturday
night,
complaining about why not many breasts hash with RI, a few Newport
Harriettes were there in good form and spirit sporting eight of them.
Jake was his usual horny self and was
trying to hump little froggies and
they scampered by. Both Basket and
Bondo provided a continuous flow of
their melodious/harmonious voices but were surprisingly low-key during
this event. This is the first RI hash I've attended in a long
time
where I haven't seen a naked man. However, penises were ceremoniously
released from their confines to properly douse the fire before we left.
Being a Monday and all, I couldn't tell if they were wanking or peeing.
I can only remember Oozing shouting, "Hey,
wait a minute, I'm not
finished yet!"
~ Double Flush, NH3