Run # 771  February 19, 2001

Occasion: President's Day: "Show us your staff" Run.

Hare:   Shine On

Scribe:  The Slasher Dr W.H.O. (again substituting for the absent
Oozing, who has either wanked himself into a coma, or who is still
circling Lake Charbaungagaugmagaungagogamungagaug, looking
for the hash according to Shine On's directions).

The Start:   Wallum Lake, in Douglas, MA

The Weather: 25F, and partly cloudy.

Present: Basket Boom-Boom, Bondo Jovi, WIPOS, Gaping
Festering Hole, The Slasher Dr W.H.O., Just Nate, Just Sonya,
Just John, Jake, Ben, Baxter, Just Parasite-in-Bondo's-Beer.

Visitors: Funky Diva

Unfortunately, the weather for this hash was good. But, then again, the directions were not. Shine On, in characteristic fashion, posted directions which sent most of the seventy or eighty hashers who had eagerly planned to attend this night's hash off into the darkness of central southern Massachusetts, without a clue as to where to gather for the start. As a result, only nine arrived, and those only because they knew to turn right whenever Shine On's directions said left. I have heard, on CNN, that forty five people were apprehended in eastern Connecticut for disorderly conduct on this same evening. Twenty were dressed as George Washington, seventeen as Abraham Lincoln, and, inexplicably, eight as Rutherford B. Hayes.

The run began. The run almost stopped immediately when it was realized that Shine On's hash marks where invisible to all but the super-human. Apparently, in an effort to avoid putting flour on the snow covered ground, she had decided to use her vast reserves of rouge, kept in her secret make-up shed (much coveted by the teenage daughters of Dr W.H.O.). She picked a flesh-tone, guaranteeing total confusion. I am sure she found the results acceptable. The pack thought otherwise. Even with the aid of Dr W.H.O.'s light (Torchzilla) little of the real trail could be seen. 

The pack headed west and then south, following trail almost only by instinct. Lake Wallum was reached, along with what appeared to be the end of the trail. Just John, hungry for sustenance, decided to fish using his feet and legs for bait in Lake Wallum. No bites, and he decided to rejoin the pack. A mark was found. Then another. The trail, if it could be called such, moved northwest through the woods, off path, in a swamp which in warmer weather would have provided most gratifying shiggy. As it was, it was merely annoying. The pack vocally wished that Shine On would henceforth keep her bush-whacking in the privacy of her own home, where it belonged. 

Trail was re-established on a wide, boring trail: an obvious circle. But Shine On, knowing of the invisibility of her marks, still had a few tricks up her sleeve (or elsewhere on her person). Basket Boom-boom took the lead, and carried it further and further, until it became clear that he had access to Shine On's secret-of-secrets.  I mean her trail. No, really. The rest of the pack came to a major confluence of trails, with no clear evidence that they weren't totally lost except a single rouge mark in the snow, in the shape of two buttocks, with no indication of which way to proceed. The Just crowd suggested turning left, immediately indicating to Bondo that right was the way to go. So, Dr W.H.O. went straight. WIPOS was camping out at the intersection. When all had regrouped, using almost uncanny orienteering skills, Bondo was followed into the dark night.

After a while, the sounds of orgasmic dogs were heard in the distance. The pack followed the trail for a while, knowing that the security of their automobiles was not far away. But, the siren call of the beer-stop lured them away from security, and they plunged down a hill, into thigh deep drifts, in search of the horny hounds. The jeers of the unworthy SCB's served as a guide to bring the pack through the holly and rhododendrons to the beer-stop, where a suspiciously urbane Funky Diva greeted the group, saying: "I say, chaps! Why are you so red in the bloody face?" Shine On refused to reply to the Navy accusations of communistic sympathies reflected in her choice of trail marks. Basket, obviously employing secret electronic C.I.A. technology designed to detect the "widgets" in cans of Guiness, declined to answer the question of how he had managed to find the beer before the rest of the pack. Nevertheless, there was beer, so the raging pack was calmed. One song was sung, although if the ultimate decision as to whether Incest, Bestiality, or Necrophilia is best was made, your scribe cannot recall.

On-on into the night, although the trail from this point on gave mundane a bad name. The cars were reached, Bondo-brew was poured and the circle was joined. The hare, in the circle, received the dreaded "Lovely Run" from Bondo. And it was downhill from there. Just-Sonya (or She-who-must-be-named) said that it was a "fun run", sealing Shine On's fate. The hare was forced to sing, given the lack of interest in her "ring", and soundly performed an Irish curse, visiting venereal infection upon all present. All inspected their jewels. After a cephalosporin injection from Dr W.H.O. for some, the group was ready to proceed to the next item on the agenda: the Namings. Just-Nate, suffering from weeks of confusion with Just-Brian, announced his sex change, and was temporarily designated Just-Loretta. This would not do. After a rousing recital of "Yukon Pete" by Bondo, it was clear that nothing less than "Big Ass Lil" would allow this confused young squid to blossom in the hash world. As for Just-Sonya, (or Sonia) all, including Shine On, agreed that it would be nice to Cumonya. I mean that is, to name her Cumonya. Goes without saying, after all.

The On-in was marked by the same thoughtful and painstaking attention to detail that marked the rest of this run. In other words, none! The remnants of the pack that had not packed emergency provisions in their vehicles, fearing another version of the horror at Donner Pass, headed into Uxbridge, to Hannah's, where they where informed that the "kitchens were closed". Rather than eating Basket, they sent him off into the wilderness, where he miraculously procured pizza. The pack was satisfied, although all agreed that as punishment for the trail set, Shine On should be required to wear mirror sun-glasses with the darkest tint for all Rhode Island hashes during the winter and spring seasons in the next year, and her flashlight be limited to no more than 2 Candlepower during the same timeframe.

On-on

Dr WHO