I’m Pissing in the Rain Hash

July  4, 2004

Hares: Roadkill - No Jeep

Hashers: Golden Showers, TwoJugs, Oral Sox, Phart, ET, and DeepShaft

It is not my wont to frequent the endless and exhausting hash-runs set by Roadkill, whose sole pleasure in life seems to be the slowly killing and maiming of hashers with never-ending odysseys.  However, this seemed to be advertised as a joint Jeep jaunt, so on this American holiday, where I already had experienced the requisite fireworks and bangs in the matinal matrimonial lair and no more excitement seemed to be forthcoming for the day, I envisioned the backyard of the long not-seen Jeep and his lovely Ancaster home, where lounging in pool or hot tub while nibbling on gobs of ordered-in pizza pie are a longed for memory.  Alas! What nasty trick is played on our innocent little group - no Jeep or Hummer to be seen, as they are off on some imaginary roadtrip, and we are unsuspiciously left to the mercy of merciless Roadkill and the elements. 

Waiting at a deserted highschool parking lot, we peruse the threatening skies, but after a short introitus by the hare, we throw our fates to the wind, in the misforsaken optimism that all will turn well for the better, and that the gods of wind, thunder and rain will play their games in some other part of the universe. NOT!

No sooner have we turned our steps into the Bruce Trailian Carolinian forests, or the thunderous bangs begin and the heavens open up upon us innocent hashers, letting down the monsoon of the month or rather the 100-year flood of the millennium, making the trail marks, if there ever were any, hereon in invisible, and the paths treacherously muddy and slick.   Thus impeded ET wipes out, crashing down her tender backside into a simile of a mudwrestling moshpit. A brief respite under a small lumberlike shelter showing the conservationary map, trying to make out where in Hades we are.  Hemming and hawing from hare, who kind of knows where we are, but not quite.  Golden Showers whining that this is enough flood running and that he wants the shortest route home.  No such thing, because Roadkill has never ever found the shortest route, so after an hour-and-a-half of trudging, slopping, sliding, slomping and somping, passing the elusive Jeep house where no one is home to welcome us warmly - we finally arrive back at the chariots, and feebly fail to clean mud and slush off our drenched and drained bodies. 

Well a down down is in order for the hare who was accused of setting a hash that was too short, not wet enough, and not long enough

Down-down for Peeing on trail to Phart & DeepShaft, but how would you even know that the outpour was not rain but urinary ejaculation?  I guess the turning away from the crowd and the wide-legged stance against a tree gave them away.

A down-down for the mud-slicked ET showing the real definition of skid marks.

After some discussion of the upcoming hasher camping trip, DeepShaft gets a down-down for bailing out on this festive debauchery, while ET and Phart mumble a possible promise to attend.

There being no on-on offered - everyone puts their doggy-wet and damp drained bods in their chariots and head on home.

This hash took the prize for “The Wettest Oakville Hash in History”