OK, so before starting the first trash of the new hash year, I would like to personally address a few things from the last trash, in sensitive and thoughtful fashion:

Ok, now that we’ve got that out of the way, onto the Hash:

I  escaped work and rolled into Drinker’s surprisingly early, to find that Big Tackle had beaten me there and was already half in the bag, waiting for the rest of the Mob to arrive.  As we chatted, the following usual suspects braved the cold to the bar:

Fire Thighs, Just Britt, Just Theresa, Deep Discunt and her virgin Just Alex, Dr. Squealgood, Fire Down Under, Jingle Balzz Hold the Sausage, Little Red Riding Wood, Mayor Quimby, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, One Night Only, Softcore Analyst, Son of a Goat F*cker, Tickle My Elmo, Two Clump Chump, Where’s My Vagina, Wonder Blow, Working Girl, Just Lisa, Post Ana Drip, and Sternum and Rectum.  Know who you don’t see on that list?  Go on, read it again, I’ll wait.  Got it now?  Yes? Yes.  Your brand-spanking new GM, Rear Engineer, rolled in fifteen minutes after straws had been pulled and hares chosen.  He promptly blamed it on Scooby Snatch, illustrating the qualities that make a GM truly great.  Relieved that they had something to do, hares Jingle Balzzz and Fire Thighs took off, gleefully laying a trail on brick sidewalks using flour tinted an attractive brick-color.

After Scooby Snatch gave his tradiational Long Version ™ chalk talk (Seriously, did we forget this?  Why did we vote for him again?)  the pack took off.  It was an unusually fast pack that zipped around Old City, right up until the point the trail hung a right down an alley that was a frigid, frigid, wind tunnel.  Hashers went tumbling backward like slightly-inebriated tumbleweeds, cursing volubly. Righting themselves, they followed a trail that wound through a few more wind-tunnelly alleys, then went straight up 2nd street.  And kept going up 2nd street.  Aaaaaaaand kept going straight up 2nd street, until it hung a right and went straight to Druid’s Keep.  A relieved pack poured into the bar and thawed out for a few minutes, then drank some beer.  Then they noticed that the hares had left and they probably should, too.  The Mob spontaneously decided that they liked Second street so much that they poured right out of the bar and straight back the way they came, the entire Mob beating the hares back to the bar. ( I guess they laid trail.  I know I didn’t look for it.)

Back at the bar, autohashers had arrived in the interim: Swollen Cockpit and his virgin, Just Greg,  Skin Fiddle, Heave Ho, and Fruit of the Clue.  The Mob rounded themselves up and descended to the basement where they pestered Rear Engineer for alcohol, stripped down to change, and generally made nuisances of themselves.  Finally, beer showed up and circle commenced:

Hares: Jingle Balzzz, Fire Thighs
First In, Last In: Wonder Blow, Jingle Balzzz, Fire Thighs
Virgins: Just Alex (via Deep Discunt), Just Greg (via Swollen Cockpit)
Visitor: Fire Thighs, and under the When One Hare Drinks rule, Jingle Balzzz
Cums Latelies: Swollen Cockpit, Heave Ho, One Night Only
Autohashers: Skin Fiddle, Mayor Quimby, Swollen Cockpit, Fruit of the Clue, Sternum and Rectum, Heave Ho, Just Lisa, Just Greg
Accusations:
Jingle Balzzz for his shirt, or, as Mayor Quimby thougftully accused him: "What the fuck is that shit?!?"
Just Britt, for thinking that wearing marathon clothing inside-out magically makes it non-marathon clothing.
Mayor Quimby, for overaccessorizing, also claiming that his corduroy jacket was suede.
Prior OnSecs(Jingle Balzzz, Two Clump Chump) for not posting trash and thus preventing Big Tackle from gettin down with his wife (yeah…I don’t know.) and under the When One OnSec Drinks rule, The Rash and Little Red Riding Wood
Big Tackle, for not getting laid because of the lack of trash.
Rear Engineer for showing up late to his own first hash, and under the When One GM Drinks rule, Big Tackle
Softcore Analyst for new shoes, out of his new shoe.

And then it was Where’s My Vagina‘s birthday, and she was summarily side-sided.

Announcements:
1. Next Week’s BFM is a FLASHLIGHT HASH.  BRING A FLASHLIGHT. IT WILL BE DARK AND YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE IF YOU DON’T BRING A FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT.
2. Cousin It, Phillies tailgate, etc
3. Philly Hash at Murphy’s on Saturday
4. Green Dress March 14th next month
5. Mayor Quimby is a shower, not a grower.

Hope this gets you laid, Big Tackle!

On On,
The Rash.

You know, I wasn’t planning to hash this evening.  I had just finished Dragon Boat practice and was preparing to rush home and scrub errant Schuykill River water off me so as not to sprout horns, but on the spur of the moment I decided to drop by at TA Flannery’s to see if anything was going on,( i.e. if there was beer yet.) Excitingly, it happened that not only wasn’t there beer yet, there was also NO mismanagement present  (in all fairness, Hold the Sausage had dropped off the flour, but responsibly disappeared to be on call for the evening) AND, there VERY few harriettes. Cunting Season‘s first words to me when I arrived were, "Thank God you’re here, it’s a total sausage party." 

And it was.  Milling around outside the bar post-trail were Anal Pro Boner, her friend (who’s name escapes me but who came to Hashtille Day and is a totally nice guy for being a lawyer), Cunting Season, Just Diane, Just Alice, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Lick Hymen, Son of a Goat Fucker, Fruit of the Clue, a visitor from Pike’s Peak, another visitor from somewhere else with "Bastard" in his name, Popeye’s Bitch, Three Balls, Dry Hump, 2 Clump Chump, He’s a Lesbian, He’s a Lesbian’s girlfriend, Nappy Headed Ho, Cousin It, Virgin Pimp, Jingle Balzzz, a guy in a green shirt, and another one with a beard, and a few other guys, plus a late appearance by Cause for Blindness.  (Um, I didn’t take notes.) So if you’re keeping score at home, that was 6 harriettes, and about 5,000 guys.

Trail was pretty difficult to follow, apparently, and a good part of the pack gave up and did an extended beer check at Bonner’s two blocks over.  So, um…yeah.  That was trail.

Back at the bar, Fruit of the Clue whined strenuously at being assigned the arduous task of Hash Cash while, more alarmingly, Cunting Season noticed that she and I were technically the most qualified hashers to run the circle.  Kind of like if there’s ever an epidemic of whatever in the US government, and suddenly the horrified realization dawns that the Secretary of Transportation is next in line for the Presidency since the guy from Housing and Urban Development is busy. (Although when in doubt, Alexander Haig is in control.) 

And beers wrangled, the circle was convened:
 
Hares: Anal Pro Boner, and friend
First In/Last In: He’s A Lesbian, Just Brian
Visitors: The Hasher from Pike’s Peak, The one "Bastard" in his name
Autohashers: Just Diane, The Rash, and someone else
Violations:

Just Diane: for eacaping her namin last week
Anal Pro Boner: something about bad trail again
Two Clump Chump: for being annoying
Fruit of the Clue: overstepping his authority, wearing banana hammock shorts with a race logo, whining, and running to the hash, and complaining about Just Alice flashing
Just Alice: for flashing, although this is not technically a violation, but rather a commendation   
Virgin Pimp: for being himself
Lick Hymen: where to start….?
He’s a Lesbian: for messing up the BC 4/14 from last week. (It really was BC 14, apparently.)
Son of a Goat Fucker: For being anal-retentive enough to want to correct a violation from a whole week ago.

Announcements:
Bruce-A-Palooza on Saturday
Lick Hymen has volunteered his place as on ongoing after-hash haven complete with Foosball.
Cousin It, Phillies Game, etc.

Eh,  that’s close enough.

On On,
The Rash

You know what’s in March?  National Procrastination Week.  It’s scheduled for the second week of March, but celebrated during the third week.  And in celebration of National Procrastination Week, I folded my laundry, called my sister the day after her birthday, and wrote this trash.  Tada.

So, way, way back in…..January, I guess it was, there was a hash in Manayunk at the Bayou Grill.  It was a small place, stuffed with preppy locals straight out of college, who were noticeably: 1. Disturbed by the entrance of the Mob, and 2. Drunk. 

Rolling into the increasingly packed bar were Nice Nuggets, Fat Ass, The Rash, Cunting Season, Just Arpad, Two Clump Chump, Soft-Core Analyst, Jingle Balzzz, with AMN, Tickle My Elmo, Scooby Snatch, Deep Flute, Little Red Riding Wood, Just Christine, Virgin Pimp, Tongue in Groove, Beagle, Hold the Sausage, E=My Cock Squared, Fruit of the Clue, Lake Flaccid, Up Her Ali, Eurpe’een on Me, Holy Fuck, Strap On, Mayor Quimby and three girls he’d picked up somewhere – Just Gina, Just Kulynn, and Just Christie, and of course, Stan.  And Just Kyle and Just John.  The Mob milled around aimlessly drinking beer and slapping asses until it was announced that Two Clump Chump had already set trail and we would be on our way.  After a lot of groaning, the Mob slurped down the rest of their beers and headed out into the dark, dark night, lit only by Cunting Season’s rave-style glow-sticks.
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I’ll be completely honest with you: I lost the notes for this particular hash.  I’ve spent the last two weeks trying to find them. In the meantime, I’ve found the following: 

1. My good screwdriver

2. Half a pack of gum

3. A really good recipe for wheat bread

4. A really terrible recipe for wheat bread

5. Every other sock I own

6. $3.07 in loose change

7. Aaaaaaand a copy of Alfred Kinsey’s “Sexual Behavior in the Human Female,”  which is actually quite interesting and which a few of you might want to borrow, if you get my drift.  And I think you do.

But, no trash notes.  So, here’s what I can recall about the hash: 
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So, today I set my stove on fire, which finally made me feel really at home in my new place, as well as being way more exciting than previously since I now have a gas stove.  And in fond memory of my eyebrows, I figured I’d write some trash. 

Arriving at Kellian’s in University City this evening were Hold the Sausage, Holy F*ck, Cause for Blindness, Pelvis Has Left The Building, Nice Nuggets, Fat Ass, Europe-en On Me, Scooby Snatch, Tastes Like Chicken, Just Kyle, Three Balls, Little Red Riding Wood, Jingle Ballzzz (official spelling) E=My Cock Squared, The Rash, Popeye’s Bitch, Skin Fiddle, Two Clump Chump, Fruit of the Clue, Plastic Pud, Beagle, Cunting Season, and Stacks.  GM Cunting Season made the rounds with her handful of straws and Plastic Pud was this evening’s lucky hare.  He took his bag of flour and was off into the night. 

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