So here hashers find themselves in Hazel=s Hellhole on the day of the Lord, and it was noticed forthwith by your roving reporter that a capacity crowd attended, including a large mob of young bucks and buckettes having temporarily abandoned Sex, Drugs and Rock & Roll, to replace it with Another Sweaty Physical Activity, Beer, and Hash Hymns. Fab-O!. Being an old Crone I do remember dear that at one Hash we had 6 bodies show up and only 12 trotted up for last year=s Tanksgiving Turkey Trot, so new blood is good, knowing full well that soon the sap will be rising, Vikings will be fucking, and young hashers will leave the scene, having to see to squalling brats and poopy nappies, and not coming back till 10 years later when they need to get outa the house, for fear of throttling troublesome teenagers of the type they themselves are today.

So the Saturday weather outside being frightful, hare had to set the hash on selfsame day, and a pitiful effort it was. Having only gone a short distance, hare left us, left us phuckless, witless and rudderless, the usual hasher state. However, he did whisper an address in some earlobes where an ad hoc beerstop was being held, and to which he rushed off to deposit the amber fluid, but no somozas because P=NGuin phucked off on a dirty weekend so he had to do it all alone, as most hashers do, so get used to it and get yourself straightened out. Plus he said the trail was easy: Ajust follow the marks, and if there are no more marks, your on the wrong trail, and should come back, but most hashers just keep on running whether there are marks or not@. So we got to the beerstop, some sooner than others, making others worry about getting any. This was supposedly DeePhuk=s house, but we were not invited into the pristine palace, because he doesn=t live there any more and is building a house in Wonderland, but maybe he still owned the driveway and I just hope we threw lots of bottle caps on the lawn. After having established with girls in the know SexToy and Mrs. Robinson that our Webmaster is Breast Obsessed, we went on-on to the second 4/5^ths of the trail, and isn=t it amazing that one little bottle of beer can weigh each leg down by 10 pounds. So here we pass all these halfa-million dollar mansions, only distinguished from one another by the fact they either had a Porsche or a Mercedes in the double-garaged driveway, although one house had a stone Indian. No Ad@ because hashers maybe homophobic but otherwise politically correct and if you=re telling me you voted for Mike I=ll arrange a down-down for youze. So on through the woods, and I have often wondered what was in these woods, having driven by a hundred times, well it was just trees and dog shit, but I still hope they don=t cut it down to make room for more of this soporific suburbia, and finally we reach the end of the road or the rope, and this is where we realize that we made a mistake by appointing Clot as Dray, because he is waaaay to slow, and we had to wait for him to hobble along to open the treasure trunk and in that case 2 bags of chips don=t go very far and we didn=t have Hyena to help us with a coathanger and finally Clot arrived and couldn=t get his spout out.

So on to down-downs, for the hare of course, for the young university maidens being invited to drink beer or show a body part (good try TwoJugs), for Lubricunt for showing bladder control and this time not pissing on the trail but he told GM to hurry up he had to go, for Clot for hashing with a surgical appliance for which A Solemn Song for the Sacred Truss was pulled out, for Dyscount, Bullet and Scousebith for joining the Hash by an unauthorized route but there was spillage by TwoJugs and Scouse didn=t get any, for Headmistress for giving a manual demonstration of last night with Mañuel and she had the guff to wipe the chalice for foot and mouth disease, but Scouse and E.T. already had this dreaded disease, for E.T. for having had her 100^th run two weeks ago, and where are those damn statistics on the web, for Black Widow for having his 100^th this week, so again I am passed by a young buck but he has probably no life although he has Amy, and that=s it, even though under accusations Lubricunt tried to finger yours truly for beating the train to piss in the parking lot, but he wasn=t slippery enough, plus I got later told by Phart that I shouldn=t have burped, because wimmin don=t burp, but of course and they don=t phart and sweat either, but I thought it was appropriate and in Saudi it=s the custom.

So on we go to the Muddy Moose and I don=t know whose Idea this was, having nixed Moosnicki=s for being too pricey, well this was $15 a pop, and despite the constant negotiating with management by TwoJugs, and the fact that they employed child labour he got us a bad deal, he shoulda left this to his assistant who knows the trade well, but it was also probably because some people ordered separately, thereby concentrating the common denominator, so listen up: Next Time No Shirt, No Service and No Specials, and I don=t care if you are Hogtown harlots and want a bowl of rice and raspberry tea: Everyone vill eat schickenfüsse und drink das Beer oder else Raus!

And so I was told by an old fart at another unrelated wing-and-beer swill that in olden times the hare appointed someone to write the trash, and if he/she did not deliver they were to bring a case of beer next time, of course neither of which happened, so I think that for all my hard work I should at least be presented with a case of beer once in a while, but no forget that, beer not being my cup of choice could have fooled you, so how=s about one of these fancy Golden fountainpens lawyers use on their bill before they stick you with it, oh no, forget that too, it now being the Computer Age, so why don=t you present me with a laptop you cheap bastards, so that I can be on-line at the on-on, plopping out my pearls of wisdom with the chicken bones. And that=s my ultimum verbum!