Rowdie Red Dressh Hash

May 5, 2002  

Well here I finally find my footnotes on the favourite hash event of closet cross dressers, this one being set by the of late Lubricunt, He Who Has Now Left For Foreign PetroCan Fields.  It was noted that, with the retentive analism of the engineer, Lubricunt had designed a flour dispenser on a stick to mark trail, a good use of Petrocan Research money, and it would not be surprising if a liberal slush fund from Chretien had been applied to this project as well.  Now that  RCMP and AG are digging into the misapplication of liberal largesse, Lubricunt has left town without any notice, leaving no trace of his stick.  However, on this sunny Sunday afternoon he’s still here to annoy us, and  the crowd of louts is  hanging around admiring apparel until everyone has cum, including Dead End, parent of Small Potatoes,  who screeches into the lot and wastes our time by draping her nakedness in the required red.  This Hogtown hussy came a long way to hash, apparently in search for a Man of a Certain Vintage, well good luck, it took me 20 years and he now turns out to be a grandpa.  The most striking (as in blind) outfit seemed to be Phart’s, who was wearing an antique cotton-pleated red empire-style ensemble, with hand-embroidered flowerets and ecru lace inserts, accessorized with red leather purse, orangey-red running flats and jaunty headscarf, complemented with  red-and-glitter facial adornments applied previously in the day by a kiddie face paintress at an actual running race.  Also of note was the cutesy little airline attendant suit adorning the limber limbs of HandJob (No. 2 Hash Trash lady, so I’d better not diss her) and the flamboyant headdress of Mrs. Robinson, which had been recycled from a previous Halloween bash. Some other fetching Value-Village outfits were noted, but some Men did not seem to understand the concept that you do not wear the same dress to the same party twice. As ever organized (did I say he was an engineer) Lubricunt handed out small leaflets to be given out to enquiring passers-by, stating that A. We like to dress up like dicks and B. this is a Charity Event?.  Charity begins at home but whose might that be and in the bar he was able to beggar a few bucks from besotted bashers, which presumably he has matched and sent to the C-society, but again, he has left town in a hurry, and no way of checking where he found his traveling money.

 It being a lovely day, the streets of downtown were packed with strollers and walkers, and our motley crüe received a large amount of attention, stares and guffaws.   Fortunately we dove into a bar to see how much beer we could consume within the allotted five minutes.  Not enough apparently, since we dashed out too soon after.  On-on we went along the busy main drag, and having got a bit behind because of potty demands, fortunately helpful bystanders told Oral Sox and meself that Athey went thataway?.   This turned out to be Robinson Street, where the Missus did an obscene thing with a pole, and on-on to the next beerstop which happened to be under a viaduct the usual venue for empties whether they be flasks or heads. Finally back home, where Webmaster took a final Group shot and on to the down-downs. Of course for the hare and that other Petrocan person, for setting such a shitty run, for TwoJugs for having stay-ups (he later received the Prick-of-the-Week award, having now got it twice) .  A Bevvy of Beauties were told that they were all-right but a little flatchested.,  HandJob, the suppository for ET, got a down-down for gravel on her knees, or was that grovel (I can’t read my steno-notes, since it interfered with my beer drinking).  Bumsteer did not get a DD for pissing on the trail, because he was not on the trail at all, arriving late, presumably for getting a speeding ticket on the way.   Black Widow was accused of stupidity for coming with new shoes, but if he did not come with new shoes he might not come at all, I haven’t seen NippleRing for a while.   I could go on and on about the down-downs, the accusing, drinking and singing but it gets repetitive, and it was only good for them that gots to drink the beer from the chalice.  It should be mentioned that ET had spring-cleaned out her closets of all runner rubbish and handed each hasher a baggie, containing carbo drinks, gels, socks & motivational marathon tapes (but no hash), all in the mistaken illusion that hashers are actually or sometime real runners, which is true for some.

On-On was held at the King’s Arms or the Queen’s Ass, one of these over-inflated establishments where drinks and things are sold at jacked-up yuppie prices, and another beef about the bar event was that some wankers had changed outfits before drinking.  This particular watering hole was chosen because it sported a VCR where Beetle could show off her Hash video project, and indeed it was excellent, although an apt title would have been: All about Skewbic? .  Movie Director family members also received excessive airtime, incl.  TwoJugs claiming he is running because of A Beer Pressure?.   Well we ordered three of them, at the lowly cost of $5.00 even though I personally was not in it, but delivery seems delayed, so why are we waiting... could be masturbating.  Did you ever notice that Hogtown sings....”could be fornicating”, which apparently makes OH3-ers a lonely lot.  The other difference is their mode of comsumption, in that Hogs Do Their Own Thing at the bar, making it difficult and more expensive for the OH3-ers, who are much more socialized and slurp up their beer and wingers in total unison, making it easier in the end to tally and generally cheaper too.  It is now evident why HogTown is more affluent, since it seems some of theirs left without paying their half jug,  and the Kings Arms turned out to be the Kings Ransom for the rest of us and Phart being Wingmaster had to apply extensive arithmetic to get to the final reckoning.