Mammorial Day Hash

Run: #839 May 27, 2002
Hare: Basket Boom Boom
Co-Hare: Oozing Syphilitic Dick-ta-Phone (in symbolic form)
Where: Glendale
Scribe: The Slasher Dr Who
Weather: clear, 60's
Present:

RIH3: Basket Boom Boom, Oozing SD, The Slasher Dr. WHO, EverReady Special Smelly Beaver 7, Baxter.

Boston H3: Wintoes 69, Shine On HM, Friar F*ck, Zena,  Cums Alone, Trail Hoover, Kneeling Room Only, Little Bear, One Drunk Walking, Crème Whora, Deep Throat, SnorePlay, The Fat One, Cockpit, Mr. Clean, and probably others. (Get a life, you wanks!)

Newport H3: Double Flush, Evil Bitch RIPTA

Hartford H3: Follow My Tits
 

The Run:

The RIH3 as a traditional Monday night hash, has a long history of wonderful hash celebrations for all the many holidays that take place on Mondays in this country. Strategically conceived trails, exquisite beer checks, and gourmet dining are the hallmarks of these events, which draw thousands of (hundreds of) (well, maybe 10 or 15) visiting hashers from around the globe (USA) (northeast) (well, at least from within a fifty mile radius from Glendale). Memorial Day 2002 was to be no exception. The hare initially promised virgin territory. Upon closer reflection, he realized that this was impossible in Glendale. He settled for a “Best of” hash, combining elements of his previous trails, most notably the RIH3 800^th run and (with spectacular and commendable gall) his run #837 from two short weeks before. [This portion of the trail represented the symbolic contribution from the co-hare, who had made lame excuses two weeks earlier and asked the hare to take over his run on May 13, promising to co-hare May 27 which he primarily did by showing up early at the hare’s house to see if he could get a head-start on the beer. Are you following this?]

Early arrivals at 290 Snake Hill road included Oozing, Trail Hoover, Shine On, Double Flush and Dr WHO. Awaiting the advent of the hare, sitting by the pool with some food and beer, it seemed foolish to even consider setting out for the start. But the hare burst from the woods with such muck on his shoes, with wild eyes and torn shins, and with such a foul aroma to him that no one could resist the call of the trail. They piled into two cars and headed for the start at the fishing area off the Victory Highway on Slatersville reservoir.

At the reservoir, a substantial percentage of the hashing population of Boston was present, playing “chicken” with a parade of trucks backing their oil-leaking fume-spewing watercraft down the boat ramp into the pristine drinking water supply of northwest Rhode Island. [This water is the main ingredient of the legendary “Bondo-brew”. And some thought those pesky side-effects were from the 'live' yeast beer!] The hare produced some beer. A bag car arrived. The hare gave instructions for the hash signing in the international language of the deaf, possibly because no one ever listens to him anyway. The hash was off, entering the woods heading southwest in a verdant glen between Rt 102 and the Victory Highway.

By the second or third check mark in this pathetically small piece of land, total confusion reigned. Angry hashers were everywhere, swarming like furious Arabian red ants flushed from their anthill by a deluge of particularly foul-smelling camel urine. Little Bear had taken the true trail, but given up after eight marks of flour, thinking it some bizarre falsie and missing a 120° turn to the northeast. Oozing bulled ahead straight through the woods, terrorizing the hamlet of Nasonville on the Douglas Pike. Dr WHO, recognizing the need to cross the river, turned south and had to be forcibly restrained by EverReady as he tried to ford the stream and commandeer a canoe from some fisherman. The walkers and the hare proceeded calmly on trail.

After some regrouping, the FRBs (now DFLs) found and followed the true trail crossing Rt 102 north and entering the pastures northeast of St Teresa’s Shrine. Those in need of spiritual sustenance proceeded straight to the Stations of the Cross in the woods, until chased away by a group of prelates (interrupted from their special instructions to the boys choir). The meadow was lush and fragrant, a cooling breeze coming from the west. The well-marked trail led north through sweet-smelling clover and new-mown hay. It reminded one of the famous watercolor: "Hashing above Blue Hill Bay" by Andrew Wyeth. Nauseating. Fortunately, this pastoral scene was soon interrupted as an enraged gang of dirt-bikers was encountered, their only goal: the eradication of flour marks. [Sadly, the bikers followed the still clear markings from the run two weeks earlier, and ended up crashing into the powerline by Inman Road. But I digress.]

The trail turned west into the village of Mohegan, crossing the Douglas Pike. The hare’s horn became audible. Some children on bicycles greeted the hashers and pointed out where the trail re-entered the woods at the end of a street, suggesting that the guy with the bugle was "wicked weird". The pack marched through the neighborhood attempting to blend in by pretending to be a Memorial Day Parade: singing “Oh, Columbia, the gem of the ocean”, and tossing Tic-Tac's to the crowds. The bulk of the pack caught up with and passed the hare, heading southwest along the Branch River.

The river was running low, so instead of one deep crossing, the hare had elected to lead trail crossing the stream three times. Anyone with even a micro-particle of common sense could have realized that only one of these crossings was necessary. (That excluded the majority of those present of course.) But the water was a welcome respite from the heat. Wintoes 69 chose this moment to do his laundry, unwashed for at least two full hashing seasons. Trail Hoover decide to practice her breaststroke, until she was caught at it by Little Bear. Oozing had left Nasonville, and was briefly resting with an aperitif on the veranda of Wright's Farm. At any rate, the trail moved on southwards, and leaving the river with reluctance the runners came to the Burrillville Middle School where Crème Whora was leading a party of hashers trying to steal a softball from a group of third graders playing in the fields.

Crossing Rt 102, a "B" was encountered. The RIH3 is legendary for its beer checks and their ambience. A tower in Tiverton overlooking the East Bay. Halfway up a cliff in the Snake Dens. At the base of a gigantic, flooded quarry in Lincoln. On an island in Wickford harbor. All of these and more exemplify the thought and effort that goes into setting a beer check in Rhode Island. This beer check set perhaps a new standard: a sewage overflow ditch in poison ivy between Rt 102 and a used car lot. A quarter keg was found with an adapter fitting only the pressure-input valve. A team of mechanical geniuses led by Dr WHO, Trail Hoover and Crème Whora attempted to get the beer out like a group of chimpanzees trying to crack open a coconut, with little success. The hare arrived and upending the keg, demonstrated that the rules of gravity apply even in Glendale. Most of the hashers straggled to the check in varying states of disarray to refresh themselves briefly, but the surroundings did not lend themselves to a lingering enjoyment of their beverages, so soon they were off again, on a berm paralleling 102 briefly, then turning south.

The Victory Highway was again encountered and crossed, and trail traversed the properties of several resigned and fatalistic Burrillvillians (who had grudgingly granted the hare permission for this intrusion, feeling that the having 15 or so hashers crossing through their backyards was not too great a price to pay to avoid having the hare appear naked at their windows on a more or less regular basis. But I digress.) South through the woods with some pitiful mud a sad reminder of the drought in Rhode Island, trail led to Snake Hill Road, and to the home of the hare. The Fat One, Mr. Clean, Evil Bitch RIPTA and others were among the first to arrive, suspiciously urbane and free of shiggy. Others moved straight into the pool, to wash the toxins from their skins and to see if the water temperature in the pool could REALLY return their testicles to an intra-abdominal location. The hare was soon naked providing a graphic demonstration.

The circle was joined. Ratings of the run were brief and irrelevant. "Lousy Weather", "Not enough Shiggy", "Not enough nudity", "Basket, keep your goddam pants on, fer crissake!", and "Thanks for the Mammaries" were among the comments made. Numerical total was determined using the methods described by the famed Burrillville Law Firm: Dewey, Cheatham, and Howe, and totaled a positive 3. The hare was punished, and sang. Attention was turned to the visitors, and the circle became a very small square, with a very raucous interior. The down downs seriously depleted the beer supply, and after some brief but incoherent singing, hashit was nominated. First choice: Crème Whora for returning the RIH3 bugle to the hare. But before this could be confirmed by the thoughtful judgement of the jury, Oozing left the circle, yet again feeling the urgent need to go off by himself to have a bit of a wank in the woods. When he returned, the hashit was yet again his, with the added cargo of three carefully selected pubic hairs provided by Dr WHO. Religion finally ended the circle.

The food was provided by all the participants and was a surprisingly bounteous and varied feast which all enjoyed, especially the hare who didn't have to do any work, and Dr WHO who (Hoo, hoo!) didn't bring anything because he thought the bit about pot-luck was some kind of sick joke for Shine On's sake. Another great event, and the visitors are encouraged to return again (especially next week when the hare will attempt to prove that there are still mosquitoes carrying Yellow Fever and Dengue in the thorn-laden swamps of Tiverton, RI).

 On On

 The Slasher Dr W.H.O.