By Limerick Her Butthole
Apparently this hash was themed RAW
But no one gave a fuck at all.
Despite our best guessing,
No one knew what to dress in,
‘Guess wrestling was below our bourgeois.
By Robert Frosty Nipples
A trail toward Camden the hasher rode,
Hoping to pass without ordeal
Biked quickly, and yet there slowed
Arrested by his scro’d
-tal sack lodged in his posterior wheel.
So cum with us,
(Preferably Not in our Hair)
No bikes here, only feet to carry thus,
Perhaps through parks and to a railroad truss,
Practice for a journey continuing on elsewhere*.
*Visit tourdehashes.com to follow his progress.
By Doc His Seuss
Who is this RA?
Calls himself Dix,
Speaks to the wall
Like a Garblenastrix.
Oh! A Goose! He speaks to a Goose!
Odd we can’t see him, this RA deuce.
But where is this Goose?
On the loose?
A kind of recluse?
Busy with some sort of substance abuse?
Absent today, entirely gone!
And the invisibility joke’s funniness not going strong.
Good thing Dix couldn’t keep it up very long...
By E.E. Cummings Too Soon
in Just’s
rail where piss-tint liquid resides--
quaff the ethyl
while trainman
whistles far and we
climb k9dixdpoundedgoats up
ladder aloft with lights and
wobbles and its
rail
when the world is puddle-wonderful
from sex toys’ frothy shit
as trainman whistles
far and we
watch wheresflash&hashflash
flash-flash and not-flash because
don’t
want
train
crash
trainMan whistles
far
for
we
By Matsuo Bash-a-Hoe
AssAssination
Like enraptured monkey mounts
His name [Redacted].
By Pa-Blow-Me Neruda
Here,
among the hashers’ mouths,
these vessels
from ice-brewed
tanks,
a liquid
ever promised,
fated
tipped to lips
--which lips?--
imbibed.
You are
my own ocean,
yellow turmoil crashed against
my shore,
prompting hash crashes
to the sticky floor.
Edgar Allen Hoe
Emily DickInSideHer
MasterYeats-er
John Done-With-Your-Shit
Maya Ain’t Ya Goo
Langston HugeAss
S’ill via Pilsners
Walt What’s-Wit-You-Man
Allen Gin&Tonics’berg
Wilfred Owening-that-Butt