Hares Bare All on the Beach Hash

Run # 828 March 10, 2002
Where/When:  W.Harwich 3-09-02>
Hares:  2 bods (Deep Throat and Everready Smelly Beaver)and a cod(Cod the Animal).
Temp: upper 40s with a brisk north westerly wind lowering temps close to freezing, Sunny/clear
Present:

Newport H3: Semen mixer, MaryKay, DoubleFlush-others halfway across the Newport bridge contemplating whether to go forth or return to the Island for a bowling match.
Ottawa H3: Penis-cillin, EatMe and @£$%^&*.
Kansas H3: er...
RIH3: Basket, Baxter, DrWHO Slasher and Oozing SD
Boston H3: Call me 1-310-949-4526 and I'll tell you as there were far too many. Rumour has it that there were more Boston hashers than native cape-coders on the islands that day!

The RUN:

You may be wondering as to why this write-up took so long. I've been glued to the computer each day for 3-4 hours straight trying to write something nice to say, but alas! The run sucked! But here goes anyway...

The event was dubbed the 1st annual Cape-Cod hash. For the record,the 1st Cape-Cod run, which was such a success that no-one has dared to follow it up as an annual event for fear of cumming up short, was hared by TrailHoover, Cod and yours truly.

People woke from the night before with blurry memories, wet pajamas, no clothes on, puking and the taste of urine in their mouths, to the sweet smell of bacon and eggs as the harriettes treated the lot to hot breakfast.

Some hashers drove in that day incl. boston contingent ShineOn, PencilDick and CumsAlone. The latter was trying to drive and insert a vaginal diaphragm with spermicidal ceam but instead poked her eye with it!! Disabled as such, she enjoyed the pity from others. but soon the horror descended upon the hash: if she isn't running, she can't scribe. What?! No CumsAlone write-up? OMIGOD. This was a weekly event the BH3 cherished as much as their 30-odd emails/day; as much as George W. his 3 death sentences per week; as much as Basket disrobing twice per hash; as much as Bondo uttering F@£K 50 times/day...well, you get the message. So with sad hearts the hash commenced.

The trail was pre set. The hares chose to further make this event memorable by inventing new marks that looked like space-ships, vaginas and crabs as interpreted by a 5 year old clearly influenced by Pollock.

The hash set off down the road, and stumbled on one check after another as the trail remained on road. It was to be a brilliant strategy as the hares carefully avoided the acres of shiggy/woods/grass all around by keeping them on narrow, serpentine roads that were poorly marked by the municipality, and could have been easily lost had it not been for the FRBs TrailHoover and DrWHO. PuffN'Stuff also kept in the lead but kept falling behind everytime he sniffed urine on some lampost as he was cleary having difficulty withdrawing( and Lube Me In had decided wisely to leave earlier). Compost would also have been in the lead had he also not left. It was rumoured he drove to Woonsocket and both he and Bondo were seen commiting unspeakable acts of sadomasochism on each other with Ben and Jake-now fallen from disgrace from the GM position-joining in when they could. Shine On chimed in with the local birds with her dainty "on on" every now and then.

And just before the hash was going to abandon trail and explore the acres of shiggy/wetlands Harwich had to offer, they stumbled onto the BC. It was here the hash found their most stimulating/exciting moment of the day:Finding the BEER. Alas there was no beer to be found at the beach unless it was swept away to sea. The hares arrived, with the beer soon after, unable to understand how the pack could have navigated itself thru such a cleverly laid trail. Beer was consumed and the temp dipped-indicative of what was to come. Songs were sung by all, and everyone enjoyed Basket’s German song so much they demanded an encore. DrWHO regretted not packing his colonscope with which he would have happily examined Basket’s larynx.

Realizing just how exciting the hash had been and fears of demands of money being returned, the hares decided to strip. Cod was upset that Bondo or Async wasn't around to appreciate his physique. The two bods however, bracing freezing temp and winds, stripped to their bathing suits. The low temp ensured there would be little stirring in the lads’ pants, however nothing stopped Baxter from getting excited, but unable to ascend the steps, he ascended the vertically challenged friar’s dog. Deep had forgotten her own brassiere and like the poor girl in the song..."she let those bastards swing swing swing!"

The trail now ran across the beach for about another mile to the 2nd beer check where Olympic stone throwing was won by the Scandinavian Bib Oozing. Beer and songs consumed, the hash retreated back to the house.

The circle up commenced with the hares called in for another striptease and down-downs. Virgins/visitors were called in and said nothing memorable. Back in the house, the hash enjoyed a meal that improved from the day before a thousand-fold, including soup, Portuguese sausage and salad. Great grub, girls! One by one, late into the eve, the hash left the cape with few memories...not that it wasn't a good run, but because of good beer for once at the Boston hash...

ONON.

Oozing