Marin Hash #5
Useless Tool & Ball Buffer

False advertising. That's all I'm saying: it was false advertising. First, the gullible pack was told that the hares for the latest installment of the Marin Hash were Useless Tool and Ball Buffer. Only Ball Buffer hasn't run in about, oh, 5 months, leading him to spend his entire time in front of the barbeque grill fondling hot dogs while studying naked pictures of Tithead riding a pony. That left the pack with yet another lame-ass excuse for a trail set by Useless Tool, and this one, apparently, looked an awful lot like his usual Tuesday night training run. Dipshit spent most of the afternoon trying to get Pokahumpus to follow him down to the nude beach, saying, "Don't worry about the marks; I know a really good shortcut around here," but she was too smart to fall for that line . . . again. It's a good thing they didn't go, because McTaco and Eager Beaver were already down there examining his strategically placed tattoo of the Transamerica Pyramid. Dr. Kimble couldn't be bothered to go down to the beach because he was practicing animal husbandry with the goats he passed on trail. Thinking they were sheep, he even brought out his Velcro mitts to get a bit more, um, thrust, but found them useless, and had to enlist the aid of Cuming Mutha, who has vast experience with a variety of barnyard animals. Meanwhile, some hashers were still running. Suffering from a severe case of erectile dysfunction, Reverend Itchy ran closely behind Mind The Gap's behind in the hopes that the view would stimulate some semblance of life in his organ. The right Reverend had been uselessly lighting incense and leaving offerings for the singularly inappropriately named Fist of Steel in the hopes it would make him as virile as Captain Organ. In the end, though, all it took was Love Monkey's reminder that the kids were out of the house for a full week for him to look as though he had stuffed a couple of turkey dogs down his shorts. Bitch's Bitch, a dedicated vegetarian, and Broken Trojan, who's a bit insecure about his sexuality, wouldn't go near anything shaped like a phallus, so they stuck with the special 3-day chili cooked up by Colonel Klunk. The good Colonel swore that soaking the beans would reduce the incidence of flatulence by 90%, but was proven heinously wrong within only minutes, much to the dismay of the wedding party next to us. Thurston Bowel The Turd saw (and smelled) nothing wrong with any of this, saying, "What's the big deal? It smells just like home to me. How do you think I got my name anyway?" Just Doesn't Get It didn't get it and had to ask Glory Hole for an explanation, which, as usual with Glory Hole, was some unintelligible Welsh garble that included an invitation to experience "brig, sodomy, and the lash." Hummer was abused for misusing the internet: apparently he's been spending time looking for a company with a name that matches his civilian name instead of downloading porn like Dead Dick does. Just Pat was so revolted with Hummer's new t-shirt that he threw his dog in the nearby stream in disgust. Unfortunately, his dog doesn't know the doggy paddle and had to be rescued by Wankee Doodle, who was once again a selfless champion of the underprivileged, working tirelessly on behalf of the masses. And if anyone doubts that, talk to me before the next hash trash.

- Wankee Doodle - 9/02