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The Lost Keyless Hare Hash - June 28, 1999
This hash being held by a Hare-in-absentia, hashers were misguided by the
heretofore unknown CunTel being in cahoots with Skewbic. Well, the first
screw-up was already the fact that someone didn’t know the difference between
Lakeshore and Lakeside Park, one of them not existing, but enough stragglers
showed up at the designated spot to make a quorum, if not whoopie, which would
have been time better spent because things were hot already, including Rosie’s
breast. So off we go on the usual slogfest, CunTel excusing the extremely shitty
markings by claiming to be a virgin hare; well between hares and bunnies I
haven’t seen too many that haven’t done it before. Plus it turns out that
Skewbic set the marks the day before against CunTel’s good advice (or so he
says) well let’s just say it sucked and it was endless, plodding over
podiatrist-provoking pebbles, across the customary fence which grabbed you in
the crotch, at least three times through the same bloody stream, and on and on
it went. It being claimed that this was an 8-km run, the last 6 clicks were
pounded along an endless road, most of it paved with concrete (does this guy
have a footdoctor friend who needs some business?). Although there was
presumably a wimp-out trail for the slugs (which consisted of not having to
climb the fence), we were all forced on the long 6-k march, regardless of speed
or fitness level. A suggestion by your friendly hashtrash to pick up the
exhausted ladies still hobbling along the trail was laughed out of the water by
this frontrunning bunch of beerguzzling speedfreaks not willing to let go of
their bottle under the motto that: "they’re all fucking adults!"
OKay....
Well yours truly being the highest ranking officer
present, it was my pleasure to administer libations, being aided by the Hashdray
who didn’t want to let go of his brew, with the first D-D to the above named
CunTel for claiming that the run was all someone else’s fault. Then we had a
nice young marine from Okinawa/Oakville, by name of Doc Canada, who insisted
that the hashes in Japan are much better, because they are longer, steeper, and
they drink before, during, and after, down-downs usually taking 2 hours. Well,
you’re wrong because OH3 is the best, and although claiming to be a medic, he
declined to fix my haemorrhoids, another point against you Doc. On to Brain, who
never showed up for months, because of being in the People’s republic, and
then he ends up coming in a People’s Car (flashy bastard). Well Martin Luther
already said Let My People Come, or was that the good lord, I say it is the best
commandment yet, but don’t come in a brand new car because it pisses me off
and besides it’s bad for the upholstery. And then we had the nameless Rosie
who was being christened with the holy water; her new name is Breastburn and if
you don’t know why you can ask her or just take a look. Next thing Birdie was
hawking her jugs which I felt should have been given out for free - it being our
due for honouring the hashes with our presence, but it was the usual Icecold
reception to that idea. So we might as well be off to the local pub, whatever
hole it was this time, I have seen so many, but the point was that no
reservations had been made by the absentee hare, who all of a sudden showed up
with his haress all dressed up, and it took a bit of evil eye to finally have a
table where we could drape our sweaty tits and guts over. From our final perch
we regaled the patrons with rowdy hash songs led along by TwoJugs who was
leering at young stuff which he claimed to know but not biblically, and CunTel
phoned long distance on his cellular instrument to his absentee bunny.
And with leftover grub under our armpit we went on-on
home, so at least it wasn’t a total waste of time.
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