Toad’s Toddle-0n - May 15, 2000 Well, it’s Spring and along with dandelions, noxious organizms such as hashers fill up the city parks with their useless presence and it’s Toad’s turn, so once again we have a hare who doesn’t know which end is north, thus taking considerable time before we all congregate on the right corner, but wrong from the compass point of view. Well, it’s next to the same Loblaws where last year I bought an environmentally benign brown bag with 1,000 ladybugs, and I thought I should count them and give them names, but shit, they all flew away and never came back, so what’s the point of being good to the world, I might as well start with myself and accept the chocolate Her Hareself was offering before the Hash, so as to placate her tribe before sending them off on their travails, although I did not ask to borrow her vibrator shaped like a flashlight, me being just married and all. Introductions to the circle produced some newlings - to me at least - and sticking to a marital theme their names was The Hump, Deephuk and Weaklink. So off we go on a sparsely marked course with no false trails to be seen, through the bucolic Erindale Park which I remember from last year being gripped in the icy paws of Father Winter. But Prima Vera has arrived and we see lovely sightings of lilies of the valleys and billions of trilliums, and a very old cemetery. Down a very steep slope with Deephuk on my ass which reminds me of the time Braindead fell on top of me down such a decline, so I tell him to back off, although shortly after I need his services to push same ass up the Berlin Wall, while being pulled over by The Hump. Checks were not held, to the Toad’s chagrin, but we haven’t got all night waiting for her and her Canoodle holding hands; no, it’s past the palaeontology building and other universal houses in the woods we trot and back along that endless road to the parking lot, where beer and grapejuice await, and where Scousebitch puts her Liverpudlian paw in her mouth by asking : "did you have a good Phuk, DeepRun?" Well the rest of us put beer bottles in our orifices, except The Hump who gets to drink from his CSA-approved boot, hoping the cooling properties of beer will sooth his blisters, and Roadkill downs one because of carrying an extra appendage, but shit, it’s shandy, or so he says, and ET gets to take head on behalf of Phart, who still is sober, so what’s the point of being a hasher in that case. So on-on we go to Kelsey’s where we meet Brightfucker, who leads us in the singing of "Hash-Man - doodeedoodeedoodee" but my memory is muddled at this point, except we sing the ubiquitous "Swig Low", a song our GM apparently cannot live without, which the establishment’s serving staff promptly bastardized into "Serve Slow", so when the last swig is swung and the final bone is bit at an unearthly late hour, I says "Hit the Road, Phart, we won’t be coming here no more, no more, no more!"