Run # 800  September 3,2001

Hare:   Basket Boom Boom

Scribe:  The Slasher Dr W.H.O.

Where:  Bella Restaurant, Burrillville

The Weather:  70's, clear

Present:    

RIH3: Async, Bondo, Oozing SD, Dr. WHO, WIPOS, PW, Tinker, Little Neck, Short
Peck, Just Susan, Bill the Beak, Just Big Sh*t, Dogmeat.

RIH3-Boston AC-DC's: Shine On HM, Trail Hoover.

RIH3 Renegades: Deep Throat.

RIH3 Management: Ben, Jake, Baxter, Zoe.

Boston H3: Wintoes 69, Snoreplay, Cums Alone, Mrs. Robinson, Creamwhora, Mr.
Rogers, Just Kim.

Newport H3: Nip-olean, Cumonawanaleiya (?sp), Little Debbie, EB Ripta, Creamy
Wheat Female, Granola Balls, Double Flush.

Hartford H3: Priscilla, Swamp Bitch, Garfield, High Bush.

New Hampshire H3: Peckeroni.

New York H3: Lunch.

Yuma H3(to Groton): Surfin' Compusex.

Virgins: Murph1, Murph2 (the Smurphs).

Commemorating: 

The 800th Run of the Pre-eminent Hash in the civilized world:
The Incomparable, Oft-Imitated but Never Equaled Rhode Island Red Cocks Hash
House Harriers. (For Newport: September 3rd is also the 66th anniversary of a record-setting in bowling: 2652 points in 10 games bowled by Andrew Varipapa. For Boston: Sept 3, 1981 was the date of the Longest game in the history of Fenway Park, 20 innings Boston v. Seattle. Guess who lost.)

The Run:

As per the hare's instructions, the day began with the Opening of the Keg Ceremony, promptly at 11 AM. The keynote speech by former Secretary-General of the United Nations, Mr. Boutros Boutros-Ghali, was a heartfelt and emotional tribute to the brave hashers of Rhode Island. President George W. Bush, simulcast live via satellite from the parallel ceremonies in Austin TX, was heard to resoundingly endorse the speaker's words and to make his own congratulations by offering the services of the Bureau of Alcohol, Tobacco, and Firearms to the Rhody Hash at any time. After the 21 gun salute, the ceremony was over and preparations were made to greet the numerous visitors, who began to arrive soon after the dignitaries had left, at about noon.

The hare's d'erections had stated that the run would start at Bella's restaurant at 1 PM. Therefore, most of the hashers showed up at 290 Snake Hill Road, hoping perhaps to avoid the run and get a head start on the keg. When it became clear that Dogmeat was not about to start any &#$@! cooking until the *&@#$! hashers got off their #$%&@! arses and did the @%$#&! run, the group reluctantly got up and walked or drove over to the restaurant just in time for hash instructions. Instructions for turkey and eagle trail alike were shouted out in a most unintelligible manner by the hare in the center of the circle; about the only thing clear was that the marks were to be "H3"'s for the eagles and shamrocks for the turkeys. (Nothing but sparsely set shamrocks were seen for miles to come, confirming the expected incompetence that the RIH3 counts on from our hares, and suggesting that anyone who willingly set out on this trail was a true turkey.)

The run started heading west on the Bronco Hwy, crossing the branch river for the first and dryest of the estimated 17 river crossings of the afternoon. Then trail led north briefly on Joslin Rd, turned west through the gated driveway of the Glendale Sexual Prosthesis Factory and into a briar patch. Northwards the pack ran, into Branch River Park through poison ivy, over fallen trees, and along cornfields (stripped bare hours earlier by the rapacious and ever-frugal Bondo Jovi for the meal following the run). The group led by Oozing SD encountered a river crossing where the hare had thoughtfully provided flotation devices in the form of styrofoam Surfboards to ease the crossing for some. Oozing and Dr. WHO paddled across the mighty seven inch-deep flood comfortably on their bellies. Surfin' Compusex showed his form, hanging eleven downstream on a high curl until he ran into an abandoned shopping cart, flipped over into a pool of fetid mud, and disturbed several small trout into swimming up his shorts where they thought they saw an even smaller companion. "Kowabunga," he said.

Async was so enamored by the Branch River that he spent much of the run going upstream and downstream, pointing out the clever submerged "H3" marks to whomsoever would pay attention to him. This was too bad because as a result, he missed some of the only mud on the trail, which provided minutes of simple pleasure for the rest of the RIH3-ers who rolled about in the warm muck making unusual noises and rhythmic pelvic motions of uncertain significance. But where the RIH3 GM (Jake) leads,

the rest follow. From the mud, a falsie was straight, and true trail was discovered to the right, entering a warren of shiggyless trails ultimately leading back to the river, crossing, crossing, ever crossing, crossing back to an abandoned mill foundation, at last to the river where the final crossing was made in water up to four feet deep. Suspicious warm patches were encountered yet again near Async and the hare. In addition to the "H3" marks under the water, the dastardly hare had submerged several attractive "scratch-and-sniff" stickers, which, at a depth of three feet resulted in the tragic near-drowning of several Boston Hashers.

Trail now led west, crossing roads, and passing confused property owners into a portion of the Black Hut Management area. Going up hill, a unnamed harriette was stung by a mud wasp, prompting a rapid and complete physical examination by the crack RIH3 medical response team. When asked if she reacted to bee-stings, she replied that she had never been stung before, proving her allegiance to the Newport Hash. At the top of the hill, the turkeys, led by Tinker, had been making serious inroads in the beer at the beer check as the eagles straggled in. The beer check was formed around an ancient and mysterious ring of stones wherein was carved in Nordic runes still faintly visible: "Eller spørsmål kan til redaksjonen" (or, loosely translated: "Basket's a dope"). Songs were sung: the RIH3 pondered how to get their rhubarb to rise, and provided visual aids for the Wild West Show; and Shine On continued to show her wistful fascination with necrophilia.

The beer was finished, and the hare gave instructions for the return to the on-on-on with admonitions for the eagles to turn left at the 'T'. Down the hill, heading south they went on trail for a short period. Half the Bostonians became lost, as following the hare's instructions they went looking for the subway station, searching their jock-straps for tokens. The rest struggled out of the woods near the Burrillville Middle School, crossed Bronco Highway, went through a homeowner's prized dahlia patch back to the southeast. They passed a large man in his underwear tending his tomato plants, and the quick-thinking hare explained that the runners were sufferers of an unusual form of "running somnambulism" and that he was a researcher with a substantial federal grant to study this disorder. "Whatever you do, DON'T wake them up!" expostulated the hare. "They don't look like they're sleeping," said the man. However, he became convinced when the hare pointed out that when running, a snore comes out sounding something like "on on!"

Crossing heartbreakingly dry mud, Victory highway and the last remnant of the Branch River, Snake Hill Road was followed to #290 by runners at risk of being run down by hashers returning from Bella's in their cars, many of whom showed savage disregard for others by speeding, not wearing seatbelts, improper use of turn signals, and speaking on cell phones while driving and performing self-abuse at the same time. The first arrivals jumped into the pool while awaiting the down-down ceremony. The hare stated that he kept his pool exceptionally cold in order to better view the nipples of the few brave harriettes who had jumped in. Dogmeat, his wife, provided a more rational explanation: as Basket would inevitably end up naked, the pool water would limit the damage done as a natural effect of 'shrinkage'. Now we know why his rhubarb refuses to rise.

The circle was joined around an ice throne, immediately occupied with glee by the hare.

 Comments were generally favorable given the festive nature of the occasion: 9F from Bondo, 'not enough shiggy', 'too much pavement', 'lousy weather', 'too much nudity', 'too little nudity'; the overall score: +0.69. After a almost completely tuneless rendition of a song written especially for the occasion by the hare: "My Own Marvelous Toy" sung by the RIH3 "Tone-Deaf Sextet", the hare moved on and called for the renegade/backslider Deep Throat.

 She assumed the position on the ice, although refusing to accept the risk of having her skin come in contact with the toxic residue left by the ice throne's previous occupant, she kept her shorts on. Another new song for the "ramblin' b*tch", and it was on to the hashit.

Dr. WHO, yet again a victim of unseemly jealousy and rank envy from his hashmates was placed on the throne to choose the hashit (where, by the way,  his clydesdalean and fiery hot hindquarters threatened to make short work of the ice). Choosing the obvious victim for the hashit was quickly accomplished, seconded and finalized. WIPOS took his seat, protected by thermal kevlar and thinsulate hash armor as always, for the simple crime of coming dressed for action and not making the actual run.

 Next came the visitors. Seeing that with visitors in the center almost no one was left in the outer circle, this did not last long, so the cermony proceeded to the virgins: Murph 1 and Murph 2. These identical twins had thoughtfully provided a way to distinguish one from the other: one wore a heliotrope wig while running. Unfortunately, since they both gave only their last name, it was of no use ultimately. It was decided to treat them as a single organism, provisionally known as Smurfs. And, after a few minutes on the ice, parts of them began to reach the appropriate purple hue. Oozing asked questions: They got their names confused, chose incorrect favorite colors, thought the square root of 69 was 8.3, and their favorite sexual position was 'cheek to cheek'.

After 'swinging low', the group moved on to the on-on-on with pasta, chili and other delectables provided by Dogmeat,  and corn (provided by Shine On and the impecunious Bondo). Numerous breaches of the peace followed with ice bombings in the pool, Wintoes 69's interesting experiments in underwater hat propulsion, and Basket Boom Boom's effort to scandalize and humiliate the long suffering Dogmeat by parading around naked in front of his children and mother-in-law. Your scribe would apologize to our visitors on behalf of the RIH3, and invites all to return at any time, although you'd better not expect any improvement on Basket's part because he, through years of self-abuse, Bondo beer, and poison-ivy inhalation, has a short-circuit in his brain and that's just the way he is, God love him!

Congrats to the hare, his wife and the RIH3 on an outstanding event!

On on

The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.