Run # 779 April 16, 2001

Hare:   Snotty (in absentia) /Basket (in dementia)

Scribe:  Dr Who Slasher

The Start:   Tarkiln Pond North Smithfield/Burrillville

The Weather:  45, partly cloudy

Present:    Oozing, WIPOS, Dr. WHO, Basket, Async. Lame Sods: Tinker, Short Peck. Visitor: Trail Hoover. Virgin: Just Dave.  Authorized Representative for the GM: Baxter.

The group gathered on the banks of scenic Tarkiln pond, anxiously awaiting the arrival of the visiting hare Snot Tw*t for new introductions and old reminiscences. Unfortunately Basket arrived (with Short Peck as chauffeur). He informed the group that due to an unfortunate exacerbation of his "Mad Cow Disease", the Snotter had wandered, in his delirium, onto a plane bound for the west coast, humming "Californication" by the Red Hot Chili Peppers. The ague had struck, Basket explained, during the setting of the trail, explaining why some of the trail to come might not be up to the usual standard of RIH3 incompetence. The consensus was that this represented both 'excuses' and 'whining'.

At any rate, the pack set off with a light heart. It was to be an A to B. Or not to be. Spring was in the air. Bondo was trapped in a beer vat in his basement. Shine On was taking on Brookline. What more could anyone ask. The trail began to the west, crossing a charming field of broken beer bottles, undefined car parts, and cinderblocks; and coming out onto Tarkiln Rd, where a check sent Dr. WHO back to his car for an aspirin, for the headache inspired by Basket's choice of blue shamrocks for trail marks. On into the woods, northwest, then west. The terrain was remarkable for its lack of shiggy, although it was noted that it was all-uphill. WIPOS periodically stopped to adjust the hermetic seals on his space-age environmental armor. Oozing shepherded the virgin Just Dave, ensuring that he too would always take the wrong trail. Up the sides of Den Hill, then down slightly. Async led, where there was no trail. Basket, utilizing the retroactive trail setting techniques so well demonstrated by Oozing in Lincoln a few weeks ago, set trail following Async. Dr. WHO and Trail Hoover followed Basket, taking notes on this new hashing system for the future.

The trail led to a ranch house, with terrified owners in evidence only by the occasional rustle of a curtain. Through their yard, and to Smith Hill Rd. they ran, encountering another hill and a check. Again uphill, again into an innocent's back yard, and again the pack was confounded by a lack of flour. Finally back on track, they descended southwest to come upon a track with a "BN" mark. Heading right, the trail was blocked by a large fetid pool of standing water. [It was later proven that Basket, ashamed at the lack of shiggy on the trail, had brought up his inflatable "Power Rangers" and "Barney the Dinosaur" wading pools, camouflaged them with leaves and filled them with his garden hose using the contents of his septic tank. But, I digress.] Ultimately, all ploughed through the water, the call of the beer too powerful to resist. All that is, except Oozing, who chose to wank his way through the poison ivy along the path. Even Just Dave was ashamed.

Tinker arrived in time for a beer, and a holy water sprinkling from Baxter in his (large) capacity as substitute religious advisor. Sam Adams IPA was had, and the virgin had his first exposure to the magnificent RIH3 choir, as well as the joys of coed public urination. Thank God Shine On wasn't there.

The remaining trail was back through the same water (make do with what you've got) and then uphill, to the west. Little can be said about this except to note that the layers of ancient flour, like the rings in the cross-section of a tree, bore witness to the popularity of this approach to Snake Hill Rd. Even Dr.WHO could not get lost. Chez Basket was achieved, and  Dog Meat welcomed the crowd. The circle was formed. More beer was brought from the cellar: Trinity Brandywine, which brought a gasp from the already pale WIPOS, whose last encounter with this brew had spawned legends in the East Providence P.D. As the circle proceeded, there was a particularly heinous and unforgivable event: a delay in the filling of the glasses, almost resulting in a DRY down-down for the visitor. In her embarrassment, Trail Hoover showed us her ring. This was fine, but it unfortunately inspired Just Dave to show us HIS ring at his down-down, which put the pack's appetite off for some time, and may!
 have inspired Dr. WHO to write a new chapter in his four volume epic: "Coloproctology through the Ages."

The Hashit was present in two incarnations: the dreaded burnt toilet seat, and a new, bacteriostatic and conveniently suspended portable bed pan, thoughtfully provided by Dr. WHO, [who had been awarded the same through rank envy and prejudice the week before during his run, which I might add was an exceptional run in all ways, and if Oozing doesn't get off his butt and do the write-up for that run, Dr. WHO will refer all his chronic pain patients to the aforementioned Oozing, so there!] The crime of beer rationing assured Basket one of the hashits; the second was provisionally awarded to Dr. WHO as a stand-in for Snotty [If someone can explain that one to me, I would be grateful.] Fortunately, Trail Hoover made the mistake of criticizing WIPOS's fashion sense, and hence received the dishonor. She accepted in good grace, and even ate dinner from the bedpan, ensuring a fine crust of savory spices for the next recipient. After religion, into the house for an excellent dinner of P!
ea Soup, Bread and a spicy version of American Chop Suey. A fine evening was had by all.

P.S. If Tinker really wants Dr. WHO's shiggy shoes, they may be had for a price (after the inoculations, of course).

On-on


The Slasher Dr W.H.O.