It's October and here I have stinky old trash from July - doing some fall cleaning I guess, but since this journal pertains to Skewbic's Swan Song, I can't just dump it - So here you have it: It's the usual Skewbic run starting at the Arena, yaaaawn, although the mighty Mucky already in transit is missing. Fortunately there's lacrosse going on so the washrooms are open to avoid the dreaded pee on trail stigma. Skewbic confesses he had to set the run twice because of torrential afternoon downpours which almost kept us at home, but we did not want to miss his final adieu, so here we are. Knowing the lengthiness of your Skewbicness, yours truly and Toad/Canoodle requested a shortcut but this was the worst ffing shortcut I have yet encountered since it was creek bound, and there are gazillions of hungry west-Nile virus ridden mosquitoes feasting on our flesh - oh well, we finally get outta there, and your intrepid reporter ends up waiting gamely for the gang to emerge from their own via dolorosa through the woods. So then we cross the Lakeshore, and down a path onto the beach, and indeed he has a beerstop but is it worth the bloody effort, since we had to jump down into dizzying deepness to get to the beach and scramble up the same steepness, although mellowed by the mead. There was something about TwoJugs on the beach masturbating or pulling his beer, and Copulate dropped his cellphone in the water but the pager kept on ticking. Phart, who was lagging behind with Copulate and Oral Sox (what a combination!) never made it to the beach for beer but grabbed some as he saw it come by, and then on on it is, so that at the end there are varying finishing times. We are so lucky to have Rosaire proffering hash brownies to the happy finalists, but the party being very impatient wants to start the down-downs without waiting for the laggards.

So down-downs are initiated, of course for the hare, who has a flying pig wrist adornment; apparently he volunteered to put his hand up a hog towner's ass and got rewarded for this act.

For Black Widow and Bumsteer who dress alike - a pair of shorts and a condom

For Bumsteer for theatrics and spillage

For TwoJugs and SexToy for missing all the dirty/shitty stuff - their loss

For Roseh for sitting down with her legs open

For Glowworm for being lazy

And the list goes on, but I forget, it's so long ago, and the notes are fuzzy, especially after this bottle of wine I'm drinking

So here we have the samesaid Roseh who sings a women's song going from 1 to 10 deriding the male ego, I think it was called an itty-bitty thing, but girlfriend was it funny.

ET gets up and reminisces about the very first time that Skewbic came to the Oakville Hash, when we ended up in a noisy crowded bar and Skewbic picked up the tab for everyone and putting it on the Petrocan expense account, that was his one and only moment of glory; he has gone downhill ever since, but still we are sorry to see him and his lovely legal lay Mucky Dip go back to the barrens of Calgary or was it Edmonton, anyway some eastern outpost, for which emotional and wonderful speech he awards me with a little pink piglet, no doubt another Hogtown remnant.

Then we have a drink for the Pope, the devil knows why, except maybe he's coming, or is that against ecclesiastical law, and we accuse Sex Toy of pissing on trail twice.

And Skewbic leaving can no longer legally be the GM so we need a new GM and Phart says it is time to vote for a woman and so it is proclaimed that Scouse Bitch will be the new GM henceforth.

And HandJob loses her keys and Phart loses his horn on the way to the on-on, and he is so distraught by that fact that he freaks out, but the Grand Mattress being the woman that she is finally pulls it out, so Phart can go home happy.

 On-On you hashing freaks! 
Reported by ET