Here it was the annual Labour Day Hash sponsored by yours truly Phart & ET in the lovely historic old town of Port Dalhousie and a small but enthousiastic group of well worn hashers had turned out for this stellar event including the some-time hashers No Name Bastard and Mephistoles, the latter missing a syllable as anyone who has read Milton's Paradise Lost can attest to, but the lovely cat person herself did not miss a beat. The meeting place being the East Pier Lighthouse dating back to 1879, it and an opulent yacht made a lovely wind-and-water blown background for the Hyena family group photo which no doubt will sow confusion and envy with the compadres down south, wààày down south. So off we start with the introductions and instructions, and ET announced that she would point out the various historical points in town (not counting Two Jugs), based on a walking tour guide exploring Niagara book priorly produced by NNB & M, and that there would be a test at the end, so that hashers could once and for all prove that they are not as stupid as they look, and books would be for sale, but the very first attempt to educate and elucidate on the historic past of The Port immediately was met with yawns and disinterest and disparaging remarks about yours truly's poetic ability (oh no not another fucking poem being declamated!) plus they were too goddamn cheap to even ask about the book for sale or maybe analphabetic. So on on we go, first off on a wilde goose more or less dead end false trail, then some forded a little crick while ET strolled over the road 1 m next to it, past the sewage treatment plant where No Name Bastard apparently spends a fair amount of time, no doubt trying to establish if Phart's or the locals' shit stinks. So on on over the bridge to Port, past the notable Lincoln Fabrics factory built in 1900, through the down town core, which mainly consists of very old buildings remodeled into bars, and what the hell here is HandJob with her sex toy having a beer, and wouldn't you know Hyena right in there to get his piece. HandJob having promised to catch up later, another female wiley lie, because who in his or her right mind would get their ass off a nice barstool in the sun to go trotting through this no doubt historic town, but there was at least 16 of us idiots who did. So continue on down a historic path and here we have a magnificent view of the Royal Canadian Henley Regatta Course, site of the first North American regatta in 1903. Well Skewbic Hair doing his own grandstanding got lost for a short period, and TwoJugs remarked that this path was marked in excreta. On on past a peaceful and quiet cemetery, which contained many historical figures, their ambitions now all for naught. Here is the site of a garage sale, and P'Nguin decided the headboard was too big for her, but how about the head. Old Phart had earlier on sent me on a wild goose chase to (a) bank, (b) beer store, (c) special brewing outlet normally open on Sundays and special holidays, but it turned out that only (a) was in action, thereby making the anticipated beerstop a pie-in-the-sky project. But wouldn't you know, the garage sale lady was also in charge of provisions next door, and thus we all had the pleasure of having an impromptu beer stop at the Port Dalhousie Lawn Bowling Club, plus having a lawn bowling demonstration by a 12 year old boy who was an expert with his balls. So on down the road after this refreshing pit stop, and your honest reporter, having driven through town discussing the course priorly, thought the next stop would be Henley Island, but thank the hare this was a scam because another 6 km, so we made a right hand turn instead, and fortunately there was a potty in the park, which I and some other people took advantage of, yours truly seeming to be the only one nailed for this desperate measure when it was time to get down down dirty. So on on we go to the shore line of the lake, and the lovely formerly cottages now expensive homes, including the hideous hideout of Paul Bernardo, but this was demolished and another one built, the exact location thereof being unclear. Some hashers went down the stairs to the beach, as proscribed by the hare's markings, but yours truly and a few die-softs stayed aloft, knowing where the next catchup would be. So it turned out that there was a revolution on the Beach because of overwhelming stench of algae, and only Black Widow and Skewbic Hair pressed on, dragging themselves up on the ramp at another lakeview outpost. So all who went down, and all who revolted, and all who didna go down at all, gathered at this particularly pretty point and got handed a ticket by ET yours truly, and what was this ticket for? yes, yes, it became clear very soon: a ride on the Port Dalhousie Merry-Go-Round, built in 1898, but still an affordable piece of fun at a nickel a ride. And after a short lining up period, pushing little kiddies out of the way, hashers planted their but on a variety of ungulates, Two Jugs getting accused of animal cruelty for putting his pounds on a very small specimen. And thus we went around the block a few or too many times. Next stop was the mother of all shortcuts, i.e. a boat ride from Pier A to Pier B, but due to boat limits "we could not get half in", which Two Jugs claimed was the story of his life in general. The captain of this little vessel still being drunk from last night’s party, it was a good thing we got across without a drop spilled, which could not be said of Skwebic, whose sleazy picture of dribbling sloth has graced our Website for a while.

So on to the down-down's and unnecessarily the hares were targeted, even though I wasn't even a hare in the sense that I had not dropped an ounce of flour, or any other ounces or pounds in the last couple of weeks despite being on a so-called diet, but so what it was beer and hard to get on the holiday. There was competitive running by Mucky Dip and Curly, but the young lad only got a sipofit, Mucky not wanting to despoil this young but true to life hasher. Then there apparently was a down-down for Hyena for dry humping his Humidor on the trail, but isn't it so that you want your cigar dry at all cost. And then they got it double for la madre Coffeebean being there; well I say, if you're in good with your mother-in-law don't stir the cigar.

So here we have a naming ceremony for the sometimes coming Teddyboy, who runs on the tips of his toes like a gazelle, and this movement apparently being called boinking, he will henceforth be called Bonker, although I thought boinking would be something else. There was an accusation by Skwebic Hair regarding Black Widow for being the only silly bugger to follow the trail, but then I thought Skewbic was hot on his smelly trail, and then it was TwoJugs, Oral Sox and our neighbour’s pseudochild having a birthday within the next week or so, so they all downed their drinks but the child being fastest. And keeping it all in the family, here's to Beatle for being away too long from the Hash without permission and now she wants to investigate us for free no less, and finally, thank our lucky stars we're off to the on-on, and there we see HandJob again with her SexToy waiting for her bro with a pizza, and a good thing we were as rude as to grab a piece of selfsame foodstuff, because this ScoreCard Harry's took a very long time to score, i.e. deliver the promised pizza and wings at a reasonable price, so long so that Two Jugs en famille had to buzz off totally pissed in the mad sense of the word, and it took a historic fucking long time before we gots our food, and by then we were too pissed in the historic sense of drunk to enjoy.

On-on!!

Streetsville Spawning Hash - September 9, 2001

Yours truly your intrepid reporter was not participating in this one for a reason which escapes me now, and hindsightedly rightly so, but nevertheless will present a short voir dire account below since the old Phart did participate in this limp-limbed event and came home with dirty socks, a booze breath and tales.

- nice weather, good turn out, but

- another fuckup job by hares Black Widow and Nipple Ring

- Hashers were forced to ford the crotch-high Credit River several times

- spawning salmon were observed in same river, illuminating the long held French idea that orgasm equates la petite mort, but here it turned out to be the Big One, showing what length a male will go to get their rocks off

- A surprise appearance at the beer stop by the badly bruised Woodpecker, but as the song goes: "She's still standing"

- Barbie brought his wife, but will she be back?

- Phart being wrestled for the chalice by HandJob decided that this was not the hand job from HandJob he was dreaming of

- On-on in a homey hangout provided beer and wings at the reasonable price of $10

And that's all folks!

Reported by ET - Octobers 11, 2001