The SmallCox Spy Hash

Run #876, February 10, 2003

Hare: Basket Boom Boom

Scribe: THE Raging ‘Snow Hare’ Queen of Beers
Location: Johnston/Cranston or one of those places, just off 295 on the Plainfield Pike
Weather: Upper 20’s, Light Snow
Present: Dr WHO, Birdbrain, WIPOS, Oozing SD, SESYB, Bondo Jovi, Fuwangi Boner.
Hounds-of-spring-pulling-upon-winters-traces: Seamus, Jake, Ben.
Commemorating: The spy exchange of U2 pilot Francis Gary Powers for Rudolph Abel (although what the hell this has to do with anything, I’m sure I don’t know. Didn’t the hare know that this was also the anniversary of the world premier of “My Friend Flicka” on CBS? Much more relevant.)

The Run:

Consider the following words:

                Outstanding

                Incredible

                Brilliant

                Superb

                Well-conceived

                Incomparable.

NONE of these could be used to describe the hash of February 10, 2003. Well, maybe incomparable. But not in a good way, if you know what I mean. Try: incompetent, pointless, pathetic, worthless, unnecessary, or insipid (How do you like that one! I got it from my P-Chem text: “In the final analysis after all, ethyl-tri-chloro-acetate is at best an insipid catalyst…). This might give you the idea. The usual crowd gathered at a snow covered driveway leading to an old Elks (or Freemasons, or K of C, or whatever) lodge. The weenies got frightened that their wimpy cars might get stuck in the snow, so they parked in the middle of the unplowed road right next to the Plainfield Pike. I guess this was in case they had to flag down a Girl Scout or something if they got stuck. I had heard it was to be a Spy hash, so I wore my Alpenkorps camouflage and scouted things out before I joined the group. They all acted like they couldn’t see me for the whole hash. Fine with me. I hate when Bondo or Oozing tries to bum a Bud Light out of my stash.

After some worthless instructions to look for paper or footprints or whatever, they were off. WIPOS decided to use his cross-country skis, the rest were on foot. They wore ski masks, and balaclavas, and tried to look mysterious. Oozing managed to look a little crazed, like Bill Cosby when he’d really had enough of Robert Culp. Birdbrain looked like Matt Helm off the sauce. For some reason, SESYB looked a bit like Annette Funicello (in that one where she goes skiing in Sun Valley with Tommy Kirk, but Don Rickles decides she’s a spy or something). Bondo as always looked annoyed to be there, perhaps a vexed Fat Bastard. Dr WHO looked like a confused, overweight Hymie the Robot. (That’s like a trivia test for you wanks, you know!) But no one looked like a spy. Actually, Basket did look a tiny bit like an aging Mata Hari in a winter labcoat. But he doesn’t count.

They ran north on the driveway briefly, then turned right into some meadows. A small baby opossum or maybe a big mother rat blocked the trail, holding us up for a minute. I mean those things carry diseases and stuff. There were no marks. Footprints were all that could be followed. I led naturally, totally unseen, and tried to leave a bunch of false trails to screw everyone up good. Trail led along the shore of the Simmons Lower Reservoir. A quick falsie sent Dr WHO down into a gravel pit. This must be like his most favorite place in the world by now. He spends more time in gravel pits than Barney Rubble. Everyone else watched his flashlight down in the bottom of the pit. They commented unfavorably on his form as he stumbled and shouted: ”On TWO! On two!” The hare provided unfair hints for SESYB and Oozing, and they turned back northwest. WIPOS couldn’t take advantage of his speed on skis because he kept getting tangled in bushes. Bondo couldn’t take advantage of his superior hashing abilities, because he HAS NONE! (Ha, Ha! Some joke, huh!)

Well, if you were designing your RIH3 typical trail, what would you put in now? That’s right, a freakin’ powerline. Trail turned away from the Reservoir and headed northeast on a powerline, leading to a menacingly well-lit powerplant. The hare started to act funny. He started to pretend he was James Bond in that scene where he sneaks up on and jumps Pussy Galore in Goldfinger’s stable. Except for the snow. And there were no stables. And he jumped Bondo. And he’s no James Bond that’s for sure. But maybe he was just ‘shaken not stirred’ at birth. Birdbrain, Oozing and SESYB started to get into it, too. If the Hoover had just worn a long blonde wig and Oozing had gone Afro, they would have been the spitting image of the Mod Squad. Except LA doesn’t get this kind of snow. Lots of the other kind, though, as Async can tell you.

I was getting good and tired of this by now. I decided to take some long thin boards and make fake X-Country ski tracks all over the place. Poor WIPOS thought he could always backtrack if he got lost. Ha! That’s why I was voted most likely to succeed at oxidative phosphorylation in my Biochem class. The rest went east, over a giant, ice-crusted pile of gravel and onto Scituate Ave. The hare said the beer would be found in some Al Qaeda caves. Ooh, were we scared! We soon found that we were at a Cox Cable Building, undergoing extensive sewer renovations because of severe overuse. (I guess Bondo has been visiting Basket at work again.) Beer was found in a large pipe near a backhoe. They could hardly drink any ‘cause they all kept cracking up over stupid jokes (“Basket’s a Ho”, “Come back, Ho!”, “A Backhoe for the Crack Ho”, and on and on until I wanted to puke).

The beer was the usual swill: Trinity Barleywine. Barleywine and a snowy night! The hare obviously has something against WIPOS. Why don’t you just kick him with the poisoned knife hidden in the toe of your high heels, for cryin’ out loud. I stuck with my Bud Light, and waited with the rest for WIPOS to arrive. But who should show up, but Fuwangi, dressed as Derek Flint, even though he probably doesn’t have a clue what I’m talking about. He said he had seen WIPOS back by the factory, but thought some KAOS agents might have got him. Well, we only wait so long when we know the wanker has cab fare. They said, “At least he can always follow his tracks backwards.” I chuckled, secretively like a real spy.

Trail back led along the embankment high above Rt 295. It was pretty dull and straightforward once you got past the part where you were in danger of slipping down the slopes into the traffic. The hare backtracked a bit to look for WIPOS, but got bored and rejoined the pack as they turned west to the reservoir. The trails crossed at this point. Luckily, the trails were so poorly marked no one got confused by actually trying to follow trail. Dr WHO led across the ice, running fast so’s not to crack through. Fuwangi and Birdbrain chased him, so he started farting like crazy and trying to light the gases with a match. Obviously, he was trying that thing that James Bond did, where he lit the gasoline on the lake from his speedboat, killing all the bad guys behind him. Fuwangi gave up, and tackled Oozing instead. They shared a special moment. The hare was jealous and tried the same on Fuwangi a moment later, but the big mother rat tripped him and he ended up with his nuts in a pricker bush. (How many times has that happened this week!)

Anyways, they gathered in the driveway to circle up. But still no WIPOS. They started anyways, and I slipped off into the night because no one had seen me yet and I only had two Buds left. I figured they would try to steal them for the down downs. I heard later that they gave the run a +6.9 for beer (Yah, right!), weather and losing WIPOS (yippee!), but then downgraded it to –0.69 when WIPOS finally showed up. SESYB must’ve got the hashit because I heard she flashed the Mobil station, sending secret messages using her Captain Midnight  “moon-light decoder ‘ring’”. They rendezvoused for dinner at some cheap dive in Cranston known only by a secret sequence of numbers that the hare f*cked up anyways.  But you can’t lose hashers in search of cheap food and beer, so they all ended up the night with another bad case of indigestion and diarrhea and with vows to stop coming on Monday nights except when the Raging Queen of Beers sets one of his masterpiece trails of course when everyone wants to be there to share in the sublime experience (Got that one from Organic: “Carbon tetrachloride is some sublime kind of solvent…”).

On On,

Raging QOB