The Hash House Hillbillies

Run: #834 April 22, 2002

Hare: Raging Queen of Beers
Where: Great Swamp Management Area
Scribe: The Slasher Dr. W.H.O.
Temp: 40, rain

Present: Async, Dr. W.H.O., WIPOS, Oozing, Puff 'n Stuff 'n friend, Raging Queen

Latecummers:  Tinker, KRO, EverReady

The Run:

[Sung to a possibly recognizable tune]

Come and listen to the story of Raging Queen, the hare
Who came from Connecticut, his hashing trail to share.
He promised the RIH3 a shiggy-sort of romp
So he loaded up his truck and he headed for Great Swamp.

 

[Spoken, with a Tennessee drawl and a chaw in the left cheek]

Muck, that is
Prime Shiggy
Deer ticks.

Well, he set the start along beside the mighty Pawcatuck
It was mighty far from Glendale, but he didn’t give a f*ck.
He hid some beer in bushes (Thank God it wasn’t Bud!)
And he drove to Great Swamp Monument to prove he was a stud.

Phallic, that is
Large Erection
Obelisk

He left his truck and set off east, beginning to lay trail
He knew his “A to B” course soon would lead him to the rail.
He hoped to go through prime shiggy before he reached the train
A pity that the bastard has not even half a brain

Hasher, that is
Drank into insensibility
Presenile dementia

Meanwhile, on back at the start, right near Biscuit City
The hashers were arriving and their moods weren’t very pretty
O where was the hare? It’s well past six-thirty!
Looking for some flour marks, they started to get dirty.

Scouting hash, that is
No marks
Found the beer, at least

Async first, and Oozing, and then WIPOS, always true
Then quite late, the ever-wanking Slasher Dr. W.H.O.
Puff-n-Stuff and his only friend (I can’t recall his name)
Came all the way from Boston (cause their trails are always lame).

Idiots all, that is
Optimists
Doomed to disappointment

After half an hour, in the chilling evening mist
They looked northeast along the trails and started to get pissed
A waving figure running towards them, could it be the hare?
Almost seven thirty and the bastard just got there!

Sweat-soaked, that is
Muddy
Dripping blood

The hare said: “This is sure to be you wankers’ greatest trail!
“Just go up a little ways, right along the rail.
“There will be a little mark, turn left to shiggy-heaven
“It’s somewhere near a powerline marked: 156-47.”

Yeah, right
Trust the hare
Morons

Async led the crew northeast, he was a kindly fella
Always shouting ‘Jump, assholes’ when he saw the next “Acela”
Oozing and WHO followed close with Puff-n-Stuff and friend
WIPOS walked back with the Queen to safely see the end

On On, that is
Miles to go
Deathmarch

After miles of running hard, the leaders found the pole
A path nearby led westward, which they followed at a stroll
For not a mark, no flour did the suffering hashers see
Just a maze of deer paths and some single-ply T.P.

Used, that is
Woods-potty
Does a hasher shit in the woods?

They all decided eventually that this could not be right
The hare had promised shiggy, but he didn’t promise shite
They headed back onto the tracks to see what they could see
A mile back, WIPOS and the hare, laughing heartily

Wrong pole, that is
Oops!
Come on back, y’all

They regrouped by a filthy mire, finally some luck!
The hare went in to find the trail, thigh deep in the muck
He disappeared into the briars and shouted: “Come along!”
The hashers dived into the swamp, and soon they were ‘on on’

T.P. at last, that is
True trail
Not for long

Mud and ticks and briars, poison ivy and swamp gas
Quicksand, vines and unnamed vermin crawling up your ass
In short, the trail was all that any hasher’d like to see
But soon the bloody hare was lost; there was no more T.P.

F*cked, that is
Back to the tracks
Shit!

Async slunk back down the tracks, abandoning the group
“It’s the birthday of my wife,” he said, “My dog has got the croup.”
The rest moved further southwest where the hare had seen a road
The craving for some beer had caused a judgment overload.

Dumb, that is
Even for hashers
Cretins

The road was found, the hare led on, his confidence renewed
I can’t believe the hashers didn’t know that they were screwed.
First north then east then south then west, the hare kept doubling back
Till finally the group came on… the f*cking railroad track!

Enough!, that is
Back to the cars
Beer.

Back they walked along the rails, they sang without a care
Of sexual perversions, and the dickey di do’s hair
They saw among their distant cars a flickering light unsteady
It was the Boston’s KRO and Rhody’s EverReady

Beaver, that is
Conveniently late
Couldn’t find a mark

They all drove to the monument to circle for a while
The hare said: “Follow this path for about an eighth-a-mile”
Twenty furlongs later, they emerged beside the stele
The beer was broached, “The monks…” was sung, the hare began his spiel

Excuses, that is
“How ‘bout that shiggy!”
“Trail of the year”

The ratings were remarkable, it was a “lovely run”
The RIH3’s short of hares, so they declared it fun
The visitors and latecummers, they couldn’t stand his whine
And so the final total was a gentle 6.9

Charity, that is
Ten o’clock
What damn restaurant is open?

On on they drove into the night to Mark’s or Mike’s or Mork’s
Not worried that they all looked like bedraggled dweebs and dorks
They settled in, had food, had beer, they finally quenched their thirst
The queen said “See you later.” They said: “Not if we see you first!”

End, that is
Another hash
Yawn

 

On On 

The Slasher Dr. WHO