Niagara Gorgeous Hash - September 6, 1999

So I should have known from last week that hashes are hazardous to my health, but only having done a pretrial of the upper part of this course I didn't think much of it, and decided to subject the old bod once again to unknown tortures. A fair amount of like-minded nitwits attended; for God sake, haven't you got anything better to do on Labour Day than labouring your ass on the hash. Well, Wendy knew better, but there was only one store around so the shopping pleasures soon wore off. As said, the upper part of the run which took us around the back of the Niagara Golf course was passable and collectively we found 3 golf balls and an American nickel worth 15c, and no one got hit in the head, although you probably wouldn't have known the difference. And then we have another descent into a gorge, this time to the depth of the Niagara Cataracts if you can imagine, and what goes down must come up eventually. Well, Phart called it a challenging hash, the understatement of the year. O.K. going down was not too bad, I've done it many times and you learn to like it. But then there was that hour-long scramble over rocks along the whirlpool, the only entertainment being a jetboat full of screaming idiots getting their jollies and whiplash in a river raft. But as said, we had to come up eventually, and this was the tricky part, because the hare got lost, his Niagara Glen guide having departed long since, leaving Phart in the woods. Well you nitwits, there are arrows all over the bloody place pointing up, even a child could find it, and Phart eventually bribed her to get him out, the more intelligent of us having found the stairway to heaven long before that. Yelling "run to check" from the top of these 84-step stairs evoked heavy breathing snarls of "Sod-off" and "Bugger-off", such language for ladies! I don't care how hard you're panting. 2Jugs' misery was mitigated by getting pissed upon from above, while other half-hashers had to stave off heart- and panic attacks on their own. But we all eventually scrambled out of the depths only to be confronted by a police officer who demanded what the sheet with "directions to the hash" taped to Headmistress's back window meant. In particular the free margaritas proffered by BadHyena were questioned because it wasn't clear if this feline had a hash and/or liquor license. Well, Headmistress set cop-boy straight for sure, and off we raced to ET's and Phart's domicile, since down-downs in the park's parking lot were not advisable, and good thing Clot had a cellphone because it took him a hell of a long time getting to the beer, having gone left rather than right but what do you expect from someone with such a name.

Well' I've had bluejays and crows in my backyard, but vultures this year were new, and the food and drink just couldn't come quick enough, leaving my own desires in the lurch, but I did attend the D-D's, and a few were given out, incl. Phart for a thoroughly pins-in-the-spine-rattling experience. And here's a double down-down for 2-Jugs and Oral Sox, who had to share the chalice for having double birthdays coming up, it being determined that they are both Virgos intactae, so Black Widow was indeed an immaculate deception, and Beetle a product of the milkman, and consequently a lot of the good stuff was spilled by the happy pair in a orgy of onanism upon my good lawn which led Clot to remark that it would help Phart with the mowing because if you spill that much beer the grass would come up half cut. And Clot's Big Brother got christened Deep Venous or is that Venus, the spelling not being as clear as the asteroid. An attack on Phart's chili ensued, which he spent the whole weekend cooking giving me some much needed peace and splatters on the stove, and other foodstuffs which disappeared as quickly as beer down a hasher's throat, including Mucky Dip's rice ex machina, and a very helpful and domestic girl she is and will make a good wife, but perhaps this is still the trying to make a good impression stage well it worked for me. And after giving Dr.Geep some castor oil for his key-hole the whole hasher gang took off, leaving the neighbourhood once again safe for little children