The Midway Micro-Hash

Run: #852 August 26, 2002


Hare: Raging Queen of Beers
Location: The Midway Trail, Arcadia, Exeter
Scribe: The Slasher Dr Who
Weather: High 70's, Clear
Present:
The Slasher Dr. W.H.O., Basket Boom Boom, W.I.P.O.S., Oozing Syphilitic Dicktaphone, Trail Hoover, Tinker, Bondo Jovi, Just Jake, Just Matt, Just Murph, Baxter, Ben, Jake.

The Run:

Raging Queen, the hare, is known for hash d'erections of extraordinary incompetence, even for the RIH3. It was with an uneasy feeling then that the group arrived following straightforward and accurate directions to the start. [Only WIPOS made a wrong turn. He went into Camp E-Hun-Tee. He was reluctant to leave when he discovered that this camp was the RI residential wilderness treatment program for troubled teen boys, aged 11-16. And what cute boys they are.] But the usual crowd gathered eventually. A surprise visitor, Tinker, appeared in full hash gear with headlight cane, looking ready for anything. Just Matt and Just Murph returned from CT to show their support for the hare, obviously using very poor judgement. Just Jake continued his streak. EverReady and KNO recalled the hare's previous efforts and wisely stayed on the Cape. Async had entered WankFest 2002 in the Female Impersonator Division, and was appearing in New Orleans as Rosemary Clooney singing "Come On-a my Hash" accompanying himself on the ukulele.

After all had a beer from the hare's new Rolling Rock cooler, the hare gave hash instructions. The marks were unashamedly shown to be worthless. Check marks could be represented by virtually any flour pattern that the hare's sick imagination could produce. False trails were never to be marked and could have as much flour or T.P. as the hare felt like at the moment. Excuses were made about getting lost and having to shorten trail. A short trail, domestic 'beer' and pathetic marks. The Queen had indeed been raging, and the evening promised to be special. Shrugging fatalistically, the crew took off.

First marks led south on the west bank of the Flat River. Just Jake, trying grimly to get this farce over with, sprinted ahead as the trail led away from the river. Turning west into the mild shrubbery, the Wood River was encountered and flour indicated a crossing was needed. Just Jake acted quickly. He entered the river and took an unwitnessed header into the water. Dr WHO followed the bank hoping to avoid the stream if a cute 'double cross' had been planned by the hare. The rest followed Just Jake. WIPOS found the same hole that had tripped up Just Jake. His swim was witnessed with considerable lack of sympathy and derision. All eventually crossed and continued.

They ran west and north along the Wood River, crossing again a few times, and ending up on the northeast bank. The trail bushwhacked to a road, crossed and moved slightly uphill. The sides of Mt Tom were reached but the hare, apparently running low on T.P. by this time ignored the steep cliffs of this mighty peak. The erratic trail was easily followed because of the excessive use of this substance, and the trail turned east, crossed the river once more, and proceeded uphill to the Beer Check. Did I mention that this was a short trail?

Bondo had ignored the marks altogether and rode his bike up the road directly to the Beer Check. He was still late, that's how short the trail was. Trail Hoover had found a mysterious shortcut, and FRBs Just Matt, Just Jake and Murph arrived early to discover a collection of two or three Harps, and the better part of a case of Rolling Rock. (Actually, the better part of a case of Rolling Rock is the cardboard box. But I digress.) Tinker heard the sounds of opening cans in the distance and turned back on trail with a shudder. By the time the rest arrived, there was only one choice in beverage. There were some unhappy hashers, I can tell you. These efforts on the part of the Connecticut crowd to bring the RIH3 down to their sordid and cheap level of beer consumption must cease. There could only be one response. A rousing chorus of "Singin' in the Rain" with special effects provided from the glass-lined tanks of old Latrobe. More suitable use has never before been made of a case of Rolling Rock.

After a brief attempt at "Singin' in the Hail" (using the ice left when the beer was gone) resulted in another eye injury to Basket. So they called it quits and left and ran the half-mile or so southeast on dirt road, back to the cars. Some of the FRBs changed into dry clothes. Then the circle was called. In the middle of the Flat river. The water was slightly cold so Bondo thoughtfully whizzed off about two liters off the bridge upstream, warming the group nicely. [Where he came up with this volume is a mystery. The rest were so dehydrated from the absence of Beer at the Beer Check, that they couldn't produce a drop. Your scribe believes that there is a secret store of Bondo-brew hidden in the frame of Bondo's bike. Why else does he always ride at hashes these days? Everyone else thinks he can't run because of his lumbago, but your scribe will be bringing a hacksaw and a straw to the next hash.]

The circle was joined with the hare waist deep, surrounded by bubbles of swamp gas or something else. Ratings were generally incomprehensible, because most thought they had only run the first half of a hash. Clear weather, lack of beer, short trail, Bondo and Basket at the BC; how could this run receive positive scores? It was only the considerate and charitable good nature always found in the RIH3 that allowed an overall -0.69. [And judging by the past, when the Queen gets lost setting trail, he will repeat himself the next time. This is actually a brilliant and innovative strategy. Why work at setting new trail each time you are the hare? Set the same one twice in a row! You can cut your work in half.  But I digress.]

Hashit was awarded several times, with mixed voting for the perpetual hashit Basket, or for the urinary bike hasher Bondo. It ended up with Oozing, for the crime of trying to divert attention from himself and trying to avoid the hashit. He was reluctant to accept the award. Thus Bondo tied it to his car, where it was dragged unceremoniously to the on on later that evening. Finally exhausting the possible sources of amusement found standing in a semi-circle in a river splashing each other, they swung low and made ready to go to dinner. It wasn't even 8 PM.

The on on on was at Mark's, the Cady's of Coventry. All attended except Murph and Just Matt, who felt that this place had too much class for them. The table was marked 'reserved', although the owners were disappointed that they had to throw away the bushel of grilled vegetables that they had prepared in anticipation of Async's presence. Hot Buffalo wings were ordered, in clear violation of the RIH3 anti-appetizer statute. Just Jake was inspired to order 50 of these 'Chernobyl-hot' buffalo wings as his main course, resulting in a temporary and provisional naming: "Buffalo Boner".  Naturally this provoked some singing, and the end result:

Buffalo Boner, Half-Mind Hasher
He is de Buffalo Boner
Lost on trail in Arcadia
Comin' from URI, he'll wind up in ACI
Hashing on arrival, hashing for survival

I mean it, when I analyze his stench
To me, it make a lot of sense
How a basket of hot-wings, make him do some stupid t'ings

And he was taken from Providence, got no common sense
Hashing on arrival, hashing for survival
Said he was de Buffalo Boner, Half-Mind Hasher
Buffalo Boner, in de heart of Arcadia

If he had just half a brain
Den he would never go hashing again
Den he wouldn't have to ask me
"Where the f*ck do you think I am?!"

He's just a Buffalo Boner
Lost in Arcadia
Can't seem to find trail, shoulda tried Glendale
Said he was hashing on arrival
Hashing for survival
Said he was de Buffalo Boner
Run de hash for de hot-wings

Dreadie, On on on, On on on, on on on on-on on-on on
(repeat)

was so depressing that this naming was judged to be void by all present. Apparently, white men can neither jump nor sing reggae. However, a woman playing with some balls (at the billiard table) came over several times with some requests for songs ("Do youse know any Simon and Gahfunkel?"). Many songs were sung, food was consumed, beer was mixed with malt vinegar or salt, and all enjoyed themselves, at least until the exorbitant bill arrived.

On On

The Slasher Dr W.H.O.