Floundering in Woonsocket Hash

Run #966, October 11, 2004

Hare:  Bondo Jovi

Location:  Woonsocket. Duh!

Weather:  Low 50's, clear.

Present:  Basket Boom Boom, Tinker, Oozing SD, SESYB, Just Bert, Seamus, and visitor Flounder “the Cheesemaker”, Waukesha H3.
Not Present: Async, Dr WHO, Fuwangi Boner, Ben, and Areola (-12 weeks).

The Run:

Pre-lube: This hash was the Scribe's second hash with RIH3. And this hash occurred on October 11, 2004 and its hash trash written on April 13, 2005. It should go without saying that, while the best attempts were made to keep the factual record straight, don't count on it. Most of this account of RIH3 Hash #966 never happened. However, being that it was a Bondo hash, most would wish it never happened anyway. Hence recorded history will be better than reality.

The group of wankers was instructed to gather in the parking lot behind a hardware store off 146 and on 146A. Just Bert showed up early to an awaiting Oozing and SESYB in Oozing's car, obviously getting in a quicky before the run. Sadly, Tinker was there too, but that didn't stop the lustful libations. However, the fogged up windows in Tinker's car made Just Bert wonder who was getting more action. Apparently, WHO wasn't getting any action tonight, for WHO was not there. Then Basket arrived to restore order, and then Flounder from the cheese state arrived to restore chaos. Just Bert wanted to leave, but was too stupid to. The hare arrived, and they were off.

The pack crossed 146A heading north along the obvious power lines. Basket who has this territory ingrained in memory (and pees on every available tree to mark the territory as his) quickly took the lead and left the others in his dust. Up a hill, down a hill... blah, blah, blah. Trail bent westward and the wankers made it to Central St. and followed some inconsistent marks southward where the hare waited in his Vanagan parked in an industrial parking lot. An obvious and much needed beer check. Bondo made mention of a police cruiser, which was ominous forshadowing for next week's hash (see Hash Trash "Reservoir Dogs in Woonsocket"). Beer was savored, but Tinker was still missing.

Basket being Basket decided to go back and look for the lost hasher Tinker. Little that Basket knew, Tinker was still back in his car savoring the pornographic images compliments of Oozing and SESYB. Or, perhaps Basket wanted to join him, as anything was better than watching Flounder and Bondo engage in some intellecutal discussion about beer and cheese. SESYB feeling ill over the conversation between Bondo and Flounder sat alone and away from the others. Oozing made strange calls from his slide whistle trying to gain the attention of Basket and/or Tinker. Just Bert nervously drank his beer and just wanted to go home. Finally, the hashers were off again, heading south along Central St.

A check was reached at the corner of Rt. 5 and Rt. 102 (Victory highway). Just Bert headed east along Rt. 102 and forgot to look for marks. The hashers with brains (and the ones without) correctly continued south along Rt. 5. It did not take too long for Just Bert to correct himself, and he quickly came upon and passed the over-sexed and exhausted SESYB and Oozing. Just Bert wasn't sure, but he thought he saw an euphoric grin on Oozing's face, but it was dark out. He quickly came upon Flounder and wondered if this was a smart move. As a novice hasher, Just Bert showed the requisite signs of lack of judgement and absolutely no common sense. Surely, with these fine skills, Basket would take him under his wings (and/or under the table).

They reached a check at the intersection of North Main St, Main St, Green St, School St, and Railroad St. Oozing, SESYB, Just Bert, and Flounder must have spent 30 minutes wandering aimlessly about trying to find true trail, only to be circle-jerked by the hare. Finally, the hare (idiot) in his Vanagan drove by, and yelled out "The other side of the road!" Apparently, the hare (fool) set trail on his bicycle, thus all the marks were on the wrong side of the road. Well, right side of the road for the idiot running wankers. West on School St., north on Maple Ave., and west again on 146A to the cars. Thank God!

Basket was waiting with an euphoric grin on his face, but Tinker was missing. No more needs to be said. Circle was held. Comments on the run: nobody remembers, but the cumulative ratings equaled a +0.0000000069 mostly for SESYB's residual pherimones. Down-downs for the hare and visitor. Hashit went to... Async. Just Bert was in a state of shock, so he followed the others to Bondo's for the On-on-on.

The f**king hare fed the f**king hashers f**king chili, and he told them that if they didn't f**king like the so-called f**king food they could leave and go f**k themselves. And if they did like the f**king chili, the f**ks could still leave and go f**k themselves, because the f**king hare doesn't f**king care. Fortunately, Just Bert was still in a state of f**king shock, thus didn't really witness what was f**king happening. Flounder, being a f**king cheese-head, didn't eat f**king meat. Er, he didn't eat that kind of f**king meat, so he confessed. Nobody wanted further f**king clarification, thus thankfully ending the most f**king pathetic evening of their f**king lives.

Backwash: The Scribe (now Dry Foot Fairy) admits that the above recollection has been a recurring traumatic nightmare. His psychiatrist (who will be referred to by initials only, Dr. O.S.D.) told his patient Dry Foot that the only way to overcome this psychological trauma is to bring it all into the open and confront the nightmarish events. Unfortunately, Dry Foot re-visits this unfortunate and hellish experience every Monday night. Perhaps he should see another doctor. But WHO?