Run # 641 September 7, 1998
Hare: Basket Boom Boom
Write-up by: Basket Boom Boom
The Start:
Slatersville Reservoir Fishing Ramp
One o’clock is pretty fuckin’ early for a Rhody
Hash, but that’s what the hare called for and though many were called,
few were chosen. The Boston contingent numbered 3, and included Shine
One, Nipple Slasher, and a cutie with a civilian name I can’t think of
at this moment. From Newport, Double Flush graced our shores along
with Cheap Licker and son Quincy, both of whom decided the pool was a much
safer bet than swimming with shiggy with Basket. Rhody’s familiar
faces included Oozing, Short Peck, Bondo, Strokes his little nightstick,
WIPOS, along with virgin Derek and the non-running fucks, Dog Meat, Mrs.WIPOS,
and Linda.
The start was scheduled for 1:28:23 to coincide
with Baskets birth, not that anybody cares, but Snot Twat did email me
from South of London to tell me I was barking up the wrong tree. “Everybody
knows you just had a birthday celebration in December. You’ll not
get a fucking thing more from anybody, and that’s that.”, he told
me. Well fuck him, and everybody who didn’t bring any presents, which
by the way included everybody....FUCK!
The trail led down the road to the power lines
and you could guess where it went from there. After a half mile of
scrub high briars along the “Should have been trimmed Power Line”, we hit
a check into the farm. This led us out to Route 7 and the Beer.
Bondo was shortcutting along the PL, arrived at Rte 7 way before the rest
of the pack, and knowing that is van was at B, he long cutted the trail
to the end. Where he sat and sat with no beer waiting for the pack to arrive....We
Fucked Bondo! We Fucked Bondo!
The beer stop was atop a sand pit overlooking
the road. Many songs were sung, and everyone enjoyed many beers but....you
guessed it.
I am sure Bondo was having fun skipping stones
across Slatersville Reservoir in the rain...Did I say RAIN? It started
to pour just as we were leaving the beer stop, and the lightning arrived
just as we were knee deep in shiggy with water running through our shorts.
It was the best of both worlds.. The gods were blessing our trail
with lightning and thunder, and the devil was telling us, “If we
run with Basket, there will be shiggy..” We have been here before.
This is a run off from the Western Sand and Gravel Superfund Site, and
as long as we had no open wounds on our legs, we would be OK...so does
anybody have any scratches from the thorny protuberance from, let’s say....POWER
LINES?
The trail continued around the Res and ended
at the trestle. Here all would have to swim, so Basket left a life
vest for our non-swimming Pakistani bastard. He was just about to
throw caution to the wind as Bondo finally found true trail and the canoe
placed upon my truck. Oozing was saved, and we all adjourned to Baskets
house for the circle.
Emerald Isle beer on tap, was enjoyed by the
masses and many songs were sung with great joy and satisfaction.
Down-downs were given to the hare and sinners. The hashit was unanimously
rewarded to Oozing for his slippery effort no to swim, Virgins received
DD’s, visitors and non-runners alike all drank beer. Food was soon
called for, and after a blessedly short circle and Swing Low, we enjoyed
the fruits of Dog Meats labor...no not Short Peck Pakistani chicken (how
appropriate), and lasagna. The pack finally dispersed after the sun
had set and Basket finally had a chance to have sex with Dog Meat.