SH₃ Hash Trash

Well, here we are again - covering for the missing scribe. We hardly know you anymore, Nuclear Semen, but we hope you enjoyed your trip through Europe while leaving us with all the work. Anyway, turning to the business at hand, the Socorro Hash House Harriers came like roaches at night for the seventeenth hash. SEVENTEEN hashes?! You know what that means….

ONE MORE TIL’ SHE’S LEGAL!!!

Still whining from the previous hash’s beat-down administered by Padre VLA and Just Jason, hares and hounds alike straggled in to our trusty beer pub for a nice patriotic event. Naturally, a dress code (we take any means necessary to hand out down downs) of red, white, and blue was enforced. Needless to say, Father Snowball showed up in an inside-out “r” shirt, but it didn’t get by our watchful eyes. Shamed, he went home to change into appropriate attire (and saw the hares along the way!) while quite a crowd rolled in. We had the usual repeat offenders, Nothing’s Hung Like a Deere, Wet and Hairy Banana Fairy (sporting a smooth face, but we know where the hair is hidden), Secondhand Dyke, Virtual Clinton, Just Kim, Just Steve, the pair of aforementioned previous hares, and even Seven Inches Shy (He’s come twice in a row! What endurance…).  We also had a good showing of our new recruits: Hell’s Fairy, Just Diana, and Just Evelyn. Finally, for good measure, Secondhand and Nothing made Virgin Rheda come while Just Steve (not for long!) made Virgin Anan come.

And it must be noted that a person whose name sounds like “On On” can’t be all that bad. However, it became very clear that Just Steve didn’t quite give Anan all the details. He was under the impression that we were following a trail of flowers… Now now, do you think this is a hippy hash? Half of us blow things up for a living!!

So count it: FIFTEEN! Pretty soon we can become a political force here in Socorro! I can see it now… Dedicated Hash lanes on the roads, actual fines for Use of Wanker Names, but I digress once again. The important thing was that we had three people to name, and Virtual Clinton repeatedly bemoaned the idea of being stuck in the brew pub until midnight. That’s not my idea of a problem, Virtual. Upon realizing the need to name Justs Jason, Kim, and Steve, the pack immediately entered deep thinking, at least until the first pitcher showed up.

After loosening up the beer drinking muscles, and giving the hares a fifteen minute start (which apparently wouldn’t be enough, based on their pleading and comments on expected Pack checks), the pack gathered themselves and walked outside for the important chalk-talk’s words of wisdom (mostly directed at the virgins but a few of us need, ahem, reminders). Running 20 minutes behind at this point, the pack quickly tried to find the first beer near. Within a minute the pack reached the Mission, where some near the back noted the beer-drinking-delaying pack check. After calling (almost) all of the pack back towards the photo opportunity, we proceeded to make a ruckus and have our photo taken. All of which apparently displeased a woman peering out of the church. I guess it is official – All of us, Fairies included, are going to Hell.

Post-picture, the pack caught up with Just Steve and Anan, who were such FRB’ers they didn’t even hear the call to return to the mission, before continuing on. It was an interesting cross of confusion and worry on their mugs until they saw us approach.

Soon it became very apparent that the hares were very interested in leaving a near-continuous trail of flour. Excessive blobbing, perhaps? It should have been a down down for waste of such a precious commodity. Continuing northward the hounds followed the trail into the maze of buildings known as Zimmerly Elementary School. Here, the vast majority took the leg that required a nice hop up and over a fence before running through the playground and up over ANOTHER fence (apparently the hares like to make the hounds work). At this point the pack was mostly back together and did a little ditch running along Middle road until reaching another check at College avenue, where we eventually found that a true trail continued straight up College.

When we finally reached campus (What, another institute of learning to sully with our ways?? Note from hare: yes, there was a theme that night!) it became apparent that we would fare poorly in a West Virginian country hash. Now I don’t mean dodging banjo-wielding Wankers (that’s a double entendre if I have ever seen one) but finding flour in tall grass. Stumbling like the drunken fools we are (and we hadn’t even sniffed out a BN yet!) we finally found the trail and continued westward until entering Workman.

Ahh, nothing like following a trail of papers proclaiming, “ON ON.” I can only imagine what negative thoughts people thought as they walked over them the other direction. Up and up we went until we reached the third floor, all the while hoping for an illicit Beer Near in someone’s office space. Alas, we then proceeded back down the stairs or via the elevator (now is that technology on trail??) to reach the daylight. At this point some of the DFL’ers took the opportunity to completely avoid the rigors of Workman and proceed down the trail. Very shortly after the Workman, the pack got quite a chuckle out of the sight of local statues proclaiming the correct direction of the hash. Naturally, photographic proof was necessary to document the insightful method.

The trail finally spit us out from campus right in front of the VLA’s buildings, home to the worklives of Nothing…, Padre VLA, and Just Jason. Fortunately, before getting any closer, we all veered towards the Macey Center. If only we had known that the hares were nearby, crawling along the golf course ground to avoid our sight, we might have had a little flour-dumping fun. Alas, we kept going until reaching the fountain. Working up quite a thirst, the Pack Check in front of the fountain proved too tempting to pass up for some our hot hounds and also for one who apparently needs a job. As always, the Hash Flash strikes again:

About 23 cents in hand, a few pair of soggy shoes later, and after the cell-phone-using-technology-on-trail-toting Hell’s Fairy showed up, we were off through the child’s park (another one!) and into the wilderness called Turtle Bay. Steering clear of the slightly flowing water, but not the angry ducks, the pack found themselves running back along a fairway towards the NRAO building yet again. Due to our close proximity, the flour blobs were a little more erratic as the hares fled from the pack. Despite the brief loss of the trail, the pack emerged through the parking lot and ran to Lopezville road and the down Bullock, towards the city pool. At the pool intersection we found another check, this one featuring a YBF to the left while the true path was straight ahead. Desperately needing a beer, the pack’s hopes began to pick up as we neared a potential beer near spot at Brian and Tiffany Briggs home on Sunset. “Shaw ‘Nuff”, the BN was found and we filed in for tasty beverages.

So let’s review while we recall fond memories of sweaty beer drinking… At this point we had already accomplished quite a few things in the hash:

Desecrated a Holy place with flour and pink chalk -

Pissed off a church lady and probably God –

Ran through an elementary school and playground –

Ran through Tech and disrupted the learning process (we hope) -

Critiqued local sculptures in our own unique way –

Scared ducks so bad they actually dared enter the water at Turtle Bay –

Ran through a golf course –

All Right!!

All in all, a pretty good day at the office, but we weren’t satisfied yet. At the beer near we decided to sing a few crude songs (Virgin Rheda was most definitely the soprano) not only to ourselves but also the young neighbor girl in a nearby backyard. Oh well, nothing like providing good fodder for her “What I Did This Summer” essay.

After thanking the hosts for their hospitality, we bolted out after giving the hares another 15 minute lead (we needed the time to drink). Running through more beautiful Socorro neighborhoods we wound up at the El Camino Real and College intersection again. Careful investigation led us in the right direction; down College towards California street. After this long haul and a check by the Tastee Freeze (this author was the lucky one who followed the false trail behind Smith’s and next to their odiferous dumpsters). Despite the tempting desserts we persevered through the check and found the correct path along California Street.

At this point the spread between the DFL’s and FRB’s was fairly large, so no confusion was shown by passing cars (not even a honk this time, guys? Where’s the love?) since it takes clumps of runners or red dresses to cause such bewilderment. Because the correct path “down down” California could clearly be seen, some missed the split through the car wash, which was a dirty shame. Upon reaching the Otero intersection the trail turned east and after a long wait at the stoplight we marched on. After a check and then the nose-numbing blast from the local water treatment plant (thanks hares!) we found ourselves at a great Pack Check. Because of the hares requirement for photographic proof, we enjoyed the rest as I, Nothing Takes Pictures Like a Deere, set up the hash flash for a truly group shot. Please do take notice of the No trespassing sign, practically a prerequisite for a good trail! And Just Diane, while shimmying did you get any splinters where no splinters should be??? It looked painful…

After losing a petered-out Virgin Rheda (you mean you prefer beer to running through mosquitoes and gnats?), we mounted up again and ran further east along Otero until reaching a hash-first (at least in my short memory); a BOOB CHECK! Sorely missing Virgin Rheda at this point, Just Diana and Just Kim took up the slack of determining the correct direction. It must be noted, though, that Seven Inches Shy joined in on the search, a true crime on trail. Shortly after the ladies and questionable man set out, we heard an ON ON cry from Just Diana so we followed her lead. Not much running later, we found the next Beer Near, and a pair of hares jumping on a trampoline. It was such a fascinating sight that Father Snowball had to join in.

In what must be described as a strange backyard (where else do you find a trampoline, gazebo, bizarre dollhouse, and a defunct water slide/fountain?) we relished in more beer and a tasty variety of treats. After drinking and digesting for a while, we declared an ON IN and saddled just about everyone up for the journey back to the brew pub.

Do you see the waterfall thing back there!?

Seven Inches Shy likes to play with his “doll”

Once at the pub, hungry hounds and exhausted hare (probably from the trampoline jumping…note the use of the singular in this case. Just Evelyn did not come back to the pub and left SecondHand at the mercy of the pack) ordered food and filled their mugs. Virtual Clinton and Seven Inches Shy commenced religion by asking for crimes on trail. In addition to Father Snowball drinking a whole lot (what else is new?), the following were accused:

Just Kim, Virgin Rheda (who came back!), (who else?) : Use of Wanker Names

While Father likes her, Virgin Rheda gives Just Kim headaches…

Hell’s Fairy: Technology on Trail

*Note (I suppose Nothing… is guilty of the above charge anytime he whips out his digital camera)

Virgins Rheda and Anan (An! An!) and those who made them come, Nothing…, SecondHand, and Just Steve shared a down-down.

The hounds were asked to comment on the trail, and a confused mixture of response ensued, including the following:

“It was too long” (wah, wah, wah) “It was too short” (more wah wah)

“ Not enough shiggy” “Too much shaggy”

Note from hare: there is no pleasing you people!

And SecondHand was made to drink her share (and her missing co-hare’s share) of down-downs. (You just wait Just Evelyn…you’ll pay.)

The pack then moved on to the naming of the three Justs, with Just Jason going first. After delivering a compelling five minute monologue which included details that proved too good to pass up (Rapid City native, Canadian girlfriend who is really German, data analyst as a career…) the pack decided that Anal Cyst must be part of the moniker. It was a close vote, but Rapid Shitty Anal Cyst won out over the simpler Anal Cyst and the usual incomprehensible crude suggestions from Padre VLA.

Just Steve (who earlier in the evening tried to avoid being named by claiming to be on only his fourth hash—for shame) was next. The pack latched on to one key detail Just Steve shared: his penchant for speaking in a Scottish accent. Forgive my clouded (by then, down-down induced memory) but we somehow settled on Mac Haggishole  or is it Mac Hagasshole? Should we vote next time? Should we figure out what Mac prefers and declare it the opposite?

Finally, on to Just Kim. Seven Inches Shy offered his two cents, declaring “this woman just can’t say no,” Father Snowball repeatedly offered up “Hot for Teacher” (oh, really? Down-down Father) as a name and Wet and Hairy suggested “Pet the Teacher.” The pack played some more with the teacher theme and just couldn’t get off of “Mizz Schaeffer, Can I go to the bathroom?” While this name is hard to shorten, (I suppose “Miz” might work), the pack liked the fact that this name lends itself to a call and answer (The pack must respond to her stated name by correcting it with a “MAY I go to the bathroom”).

Next Hash: August 5th!!!!

Hares: Father Snowball (note to Father Snowball, don’t forget your key this time! Especially if the BN is at your house) and Mac Hagasshole

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