Martin Luther B*tch Day Hash

Run #927  Jan 19, 2004

Hare: Evil B*tch RIPTA

Scribe: Anonymous NH3 Bowling B*tch

Location: Carr Point, Portsmouth

Weather: Clear, Low 20's

Present: The B*tch Dr WHO, Oozing B*tching Dicktaphone, B*tch B*tch B*tch B*tch B*tch B*tch B*tch, Basket B*tch B*tch, Snotty B*tch, B*tch-o Jovi, WIBOS, A-B*tch-Sync, Fuwangi B*tch, and visitor Granola B*tch (NH3).

Virgin: B*tch Just Ben.

Non-B*tches: Seamus, Ben, Jake.

The Run:

The Hare asked me to write up her run for her, as she injured her index finger  trying to snag a "baby split with a barmaid for company" last night. She's basically dictating this from her seat on the bench at Aquidneck Bowl-o-Rama, so you know its absolutely accurate, even if I don't have her gift for words. I have to take a break every few minutes anyways when it's my turn on the lane. By the way, the hare didn't explain to me why she wanted to skip out on the NH3 and hare for you guys. I figure it must have something to do with her name. Boy, you guys sure get a lot of mileage out of the word "B*tch". Give it a rest!

Anyways, the group gathered at the Navy Recreation Area at Carr's Point on the western shore of the island, and were given some limited instructions by the hare, who showed off her new snow marking experiment using lightly tinted flour on the snow. Since nobody could see her demo marks even with car headlights, they knew they were in for trouble. But being complete idiots they set off promptly at six-thirty anyways. SESYB*tch, Dr WHO and Basket turned left and went northeast on the RR tracks, probably mistaking them for a bowling alley. Async led the rest southeast across the road into an area with some dirt roads and paths, and even a few thorns. By the time the trio on the tracks turned back, and joined the latecummers Fuwangi and Granola, the lead pack had already just about made it to the Beer Check, about a half mile or so from the start, through a hole in a fence leading to the Bay View Apartments. Do you guys always have your BC's so quickly? I mean, do you have a drinking problem, or what? Oh well, you can always do what we in the NH3 do: blame it on the weather! Or you could B*tch at the hare!

Whoa! I just got a shleifer in the third frame! B*tchin'! I need to catch my breath. There! Unlike the runners that night, I am exerting myself here. Anyways, the beer check sounded like a total waste. A whole bunch of weird English beers, something called Mississippi Mud, and not a can of Carling or Pabst to be had. Yuck! I guess the hare was getting rid of some unwanted Christmas presents or something. But you guys had no problems putting it away I hear, and soon were back on trail running through the parking lots for the apartments.

The trail marks here were completely gone, and the B*tches were running every which way, probably making the locals double-lock their doors and call the cops. (Being Portmouth, that would give the runners at least three hours to run before any cops showed up!) Dr WHO decided to bushwhack down Lawton Canyon to the river to wash his feet. He finally found an arrow pointing into the spillway tunnel which goes under 114 from the Lawton Reservoir. The rest soon followed and ran the tunnel through a two inch torrent of running water to come out on the access road where there was a check. This led to a falsie right, a check-back left and up to another check on the path on the reservoir berm.

More confused milling about resulted. Fuwangi went right, calling all the others on a falsie. Granola went left, and missed virtually all the hare's marks, and turned back from the true trail temporarily. Basket went onto the pond. Unfortunately, the ice held. What a B*tch! Finally, they all got back on track, northeast on the path to a check, which led to some dirt roads in a field. There was a single line of RIPTA-sized footprints leading on. At least until the dogs, WIPOS, and Fuwangiarrived and began to mess up the prints. After mucking up the field until it looked like Gillette Stadium after the last game, they finally turned back onto 114, and headed up to Locust Ave, and turned southeast, following the hare to her house and the circle.

B*tch! I just blew a five-and-dime. You see, I just can't concentrate on bowling with this stupid write-up hanging over me. I better finish it off before I double gutter again. The circle was in the garage, and the beer was more of the same. At least there was some Pauli Girl in cans. But I bet RIPTA was hiding the Schlitzies somewhere in her house so's the wankers wouldn't get ahold of them! Ratings were pretty favorable but I bet you guys were just trying to butter up the hare and get her to set some more trails. (Maybe you could get her to have one starting from here at the Bowl-o-Rama. I'd be willing to sit out a few frames to run some, and have a few Buds. And bring some more B*tches!) The total score: 6.9

Next, the virgin was deflowered. He had no excuse for showing up, said someone named Iris made him come, and thought the square-root of 69 was 8.312 or something. He sang a vulgar song, which nobody knew. There could be some talent there, but I bet he only shows up at Newport hashes in the future, because of all the shiggy you guys had this run, as well as the weird beers. Not to mention all the B*tching! Hashit was given to Oozing because he advised the virgin to remove his hat, and because no one wanted to listen to another one of Dr WHO's songs. Backsliders (Snotty) and visitors ( Granola) were punished and religion ensued. They were caravanned back to Carr Point. They regrouped at West Main Pizza to finish the evening with strange pizzas, Harpoon, and visions of Snotty's backside being "alouetted". They used to say: "the sun never sets on the British empire", I guess it must be the Moon, nowadays.

Well, I'm up again, going for a four bagger for the team. On behalf of the NH3, I'd like to thank you wankers for crossing the bridge, but have to warn you that your temporary permit to hash on Aquidneck is now expired. If you B*tches come back without permission, we're gonna cover your cars with bowling stickers and make you drink some real beer.

Faithfully submitted,

Newport Bowling B*tch
(This is not my real name: Ha! Fooled you!)