The Revenge of WIPOS Hash

Run #858, October 7, 2002
Hare: WIPOS
Location: Plainville, Wrentham State Forest (South)
Scribe: Async
Weather: 50’s, Clear
Present: Bondo Jovi, The Slasher Dr. WHO, Oozing SD, SESYB (Trail Hoover), Basket Boom Boom, Jake, Ben.

The Run:

It was not a bank holiday and the Dow was down, my back was aching, my arches were falling, and my wife finally finished her period (amazing how a period can last for so many years). I wasn’t about to hash on a night like this, when compound interest rates were fluctuating madly, but through my important and lofty position with Fleet Bank, I have my secret resources.  I have painstakingly recreated and account of the evening’s festivities for the sake of the completeness of the hashtrash. Corrections may be forwarded to me at any time, but as webmaster, it is likely that I will delete them soundly.

A small but confused group of regulars gathered in the waning light in the parking lot for the southern part of Wrentham State Forest on the right hand side of George Street (Everett Skinner Road) in Plainville Mass.  Bondo unsuccessfully attempted to get inside info (we, at Fleet, call this insider trading) from the hare. He left early at about the same speed demonstrated by Buddy C. walking to his jail cell. The rest, unburdened from the need to wait for WIPOS to change into battle gear, soon followed. Trail led southwest into the woods.

They encountered a river, the Old Mill Stream. Basket took off along its banks faster than we, at Fleet, could foreclose on an orphanage, and was soon lost as usual. Oozing and WHO crossed over and found themselves heading uphill going west. Bondo and SESYB caught up with them when they became confused by several contradictory checks. The hare stood by watching and unhelpful while the pack underwent what we, at Fleet, refer to as ‘accelerated depreciation’, and scattered over the hills in search of flour. But in an example of what we, at Fleet, call Bad Debt Recovery, all they found at first was Basket, who recommended that they all go back downhill. Only WHO refused to follow. Surprisingly, he was soon on trail, heading southeast towards the Dominican Academy.

Bondo, Oozing and SESYB now entered a prolonged period of aimless circling along the same trails, ignoring the ever-diminishing whistles from Dr.WHO. Basket grew tired of this and headed off west in search of powerlines. The hare also left and made his own way back to the road.  After a while (about 30 seconds) Bondo said: “the f*ckin’ hare has blocked our assets!” or words to that effect, and they turned back to the cars to search for the on in trail in reverse.  We, at Fleet, would call this a “hash partially in arrears.”

Much was happening simultaneously now. Basket was heading southeast on the powerlines, bullish from the hum in the steel plate in his skull. WHO had crossed the fields of the Dominican fathers and was bearish on trail, bushwhacking east to the Plainville Ball Fields.  Oozing, SESYB and Bondo had negotiated and formed a LLC. They went north where they found a “B” in the trail. But where was the beer? Was this only a promissory note?

Dr WHO was emerging from the woods where he met the hare.  They rejoiced at finally having some quality time alone together and exchanged sloppy kisses.  The good doctor and the hare eventually  continued on trail across the road and turning northwest along the Old Mill Stream, until they came to the Plainville Beagle Club. The owner, hoping to meet some more beagle-fanciers eagerly came out to them, shotgun in hand. The quick- thinking hare told the man that they were searching for their prize blue-tick beagle Ch. Basket’s Blue Bitch (By Ch. Blue Balls – Basket Boom Boom). Reassured, he waved them through the kennels giving each hasher a “Beagles are the Best!” bumper sticker, and a prospectus for an IPO of “Beagles R Us” and Co., LTD.

Oozing met them as they emerged on the road with a sad tale of dwindling capital and panicky investors at the beer stop where there was no beer (we, at Fleet, would consider this a potential fiduciary malfeasance). The stubborn Slasher, his nose on the flour like a noble beagle, insisted upon following the trail. He headed north on the road then turned left re-entering the woods. Back south briefly they followed the sounds of the slide whistle. The hare and the WHO finally arrived at the beer stop on a bridge to nowhere overlooking a swamp. They were greeted by the pack who railed at the hare. “You have reneged on your debenture!” or words to that effect. “Not so!” said the hare, who went up the hill a short way and produced what we, at Fleet, would call the tangible security. Basket was the only missing hasher, as usual. But like that Black Monday in 1987 (?Run #35), he crashed onto the scene, odiferous and unrepentant.

After finding that the aggregate supply of beer would not long meet the aggregate demand, the beer check was over, and the group ran back to the cars where they reassembled for the circle.  The ratings for the run were generally negative, reflecting a downturn in the market occasioned by the lack of what we, at Fleet, call liquid assets at the beer check. Nonetheless, the near complete failure of the hash to complete any substantial part of the marked trail was enough to guarantee a +0.69 for the hare.  Hashit was a bone of some contention and arguments flew around the circle like they do when we, at Fleet, debate whether to fire 50%, 75% or all of the employees of our latest acquisition just before Christmas break. The dishonor finally settled upon Oozing through open market decision processing. The group finally closed the circle and swung low.

The on on on was to be at Chieftains, and most decided to caravan back to route 1 after changing in the parking area. All relieved themselves of some Gross Domestic Product in the bushes, changed and drove off together. Unfortunately they found that Chieftains had instituted a policy to weekly check the RIH3 website,  fearing a recurrence of the horror of last May (Run#838). Seeing the hare and the location posted, they quickly adjusted their schedule and closed for the night. Not to be deterred, a rapid marginal analysis was undertaken, and they moved on to Box Seats, further south in North Attleboro. They ate and drank well of beer and other complementary goods. All things being equal (or as we, at Fleet, say: ceteris paribus) a fine time was had by all.

On On

Async