The Bondo Rehab Hash

Run #885, March 31, 2003
Hare: Bondo Jovi
Scribe: Raging Queen of Beers
Location: Behind the Fogarty Rehab Hospital, North Smithfield
Weather: Cold and Wet
Present: Async, Dr WHO, SESYB, WIPOS, Basket Boom Boom, Seamus, Ben and Jake.
Celebrating: Oozing being in Pakistan, so’s SESYB could play with the big boys.

The Run:

Boy, this write-up business sure stinks! Every time I turn around, someone is whining to me: “Where’s your write-up? We really need to keep up to date. Why can’t you be on time? Can you give me a Bud Light and not tell any of the other guys?” I guess I’ll have to do it, but I warn you, I’m not about to spend as much time on it as I did on my own brilliant write-up of my last fantastic trail. But this one was easy. Another Bondo re-hash that no one interesting showed up for. Here goes.

O.K. They gathered and the poor wanks were given d’erections by the hare. Honestly, don’t you think they would have figured it out by now? Bondo. Directions. Nope. It doesn’t happen that way. They were lucky he remembered to show up at all. And it was obvious that the marks would be worthless. But I guess hope springs eternal, and at least there might be some beer along the way, even if it didn’t meet my standards. My hashes have nothing but the finest American beers, in sterile medical-grade aluminum cans. But back to the story. They set off south along the old railroad grade at the back of the parking lot. What a surprise! I wonder if a power line might just figure into this sad tale?

Async and Dr WHO took off first, anxious to get this over with and not to let their flashlight batteries get dim. They went a short way south on the rail bed and followed an obvious check into the woods turning left. SESYB hung back to be with Basket (or perhaps with Seamus, who was particularly randy that night.) WIPOS adjusted layers and tried to stick with the hare. Somehow he knew that this trail was going to be a colossal screw-up. I wonder what tipped him off. I bet he was thinking regretfully about how much fun he had the last time I was hare.

Now the trail led to an area with lots of intersecting mountain bike trails. There were some hills. There were some puddles. Not enough to qualify as shiggy, though. There were flour marks all over the place. This was a bad sign. The hare had been thinking. (Picture that, if you can!) He was in an inventive mood. An innovative mood. And he was exceptionally lazy, even for him. He created the first new hashing technique since the dreaded Woonsocket “Single Mark Hash”: the Idiot- Moron split. (Or you could call it the Turkey-Turkey split, I guess.) This was an unmarked fork in the trail where either way was marked true trail and took you to the power lines. Trail then completely disappeared. There was no more. The hare had become befuddled again. And they say electromagnetic radiation from power lines has no effect!

Now of course, this masterpiece gave Async and Dr WHO the opportunity to spend more quality time alone together in the dark woods. So they were probably pretty happy about it. Up and down the hills and the power lines they ran, hunting for and splashing gaily in the mud when they could find it, and shouting “on on!” whenever they saw any flour. It was almost like they were hashing or something! The others used the dogs keen “beer sense” to follow the hare to the beer check. Where do you think the beer check was? On the power lines, about a mile away from the nearest flour mark! When they reached the beer, they stupidly sounded the trumpets and whistles every now and then to bring WHO and Async. What a bunch of retards! And all because the hare didn’t want to carry it back to his car. When I’m hare, I never have to contend with leftover Bud’s. They go like hotcakes, and the empty cans weigh next to nothing.

You know, I’m so good at these write-ups; this is almost starting to sound like fun. If you want fun, come to my next hash though. I guarantee no power lines, no cute designer beers, and I promise to get it right the first time, for once. Anyways, Async and WHO finally decided to follow the power lines to the Blackstone River, figuring they might as well visit a sewage processing facility so’s the evening wouldn’t be a total waste. But then they heard the sound of dogs humping in the night, and so they ran right into the beer check. Unfortunately, the hash was back together.

O.K. Well, after a beer or two, and some stargazing by the lonely SESYB, who had hoped she might get together with a real man this night, Oozing being gone and all, not that he qualifies as a real man or anything, and look what she got, you almost have to feel sorry for her, I mean, what would her mother think about her being out in the woods at night with these wanks, and a bunch of horny dogs, for cryin’ out loud, wait a minute, where am I? Sorry. I got lost in that sentence for a while. It must be those power lines again. They all turned back together, on trails blissfully free of those confusing blobs of flour. Basket blew off ahead. The hare led SESYB, Async and WHO by now knew these trails so well, they could have gone blindfolded. WIPOS got lost. Again. The RIH3 at it’s finest. If there are any curious virgins who somehow are reading this write-up, you can see that you’d better pick your hare carefully when you come to your first hash. I would suggest me, The Raging Queen of Beers.

When they finally were all out of the woods (so to speak, ha, ha!), the hare told them that the circle would be at his house, and they all eventually made it through the streets of Woonsocket to Bondo’s garage. The circle was brief and the ratings could only be positive for confusing Async and WHO, and temporarily misplacing WIPOS. +0.69 was given. Hashit went to SESYB for living in Massachusetts. (Actually, while I don’t think that’s a bad idea in general, these hosers better not try the same argument for Connecticut. I bet most of them can’t spell either state correctly anyways.) Down downs, swing low, yada yada, etc. They of course finished the evening upstairs with a bowel cleansing “Bondo Combo” of yeasty homebrew and chili left out too long. It’s O.K. I guess, but it will never compare to Bud Light on tap, and reheated frozen pizza in a smoky bar in Connecticut.

On On

The Raging Queen of Beers