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Hash Trash |
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Marin Hash #6 It's a sad, sad day when the scribe can't criticize the trail in the Hash Trash, but I'm afraid that's the painful reality. Despite popular expectation to the contrary, Cuming Mutha and On All Fours actually set a decent - nay, a very good - trail. It was good enough, in fact, to finally shut up Dispshit, who for once didn't bore the pack with his relentless comments about how the hares "should have taken the third left after the oak tree, stopped by the waterfall that no one knows about, gone over the ridge where you get a view of South Dakota, down into the valley with the Depression-era concert hall and the secret brothel where Bag Lady still works for a little extra spending cash, and then on in past the bar that gives free beer to all hashers over 53 years of age." So for that alone, we should thank the Hares. The trail was good enough, in fact, to bring out some long-absent faces. Tongueless cancelled his trip to the Goa Interhash just to run this trail. He made up some story about being denied a passage to India by the not-so-friendly skies of United Airlines, but it was clear that he was scared to run in the brutal heat of Goa. Instead he got to climb about 3000 vertical feet on broken rocks over the Waldo tunnel in the blazing sun and 95-degree heat of Marin. Fits In was smarter about making that ascent: she saddled up her mighty steeds and hitched a ride on the backs of Whippet In and Whippet Out. The overachievers who ran the Bridge-to-Bridge race earlier that morning didn't have such luck. Deflowered looked deflated when she realized where she had to go, and saddled up her mighty steed, Thurston Bowel The Turd, who was freshly crowned that morning as the Marin Village Idiot. Nothing Down Under left his saddle and riding crop in the bedroom and could only mount the stout aluminum shaft of his bike frame. Fortunately for him, Son Of Shit had brought along a vat of lubricating jelly that he was smearing on Chamberpot in preparation for a game of "Hide the Fist of Steel." The climb over the tunnel wasn't the only challenging part of the trail, however. The steep descent into Kirby Cove was too much for poor Glory Hole, who complained that he was "too top heavy" to navigate the trail, completely missing the irony of a seaman without enough ballast down below. Wankee Doodle was even worse, bitching that he "doesn't like to go down," and thereby forever ruining his chance for a date with Screaming Orgasm, who has turned conservative after only 3 months in NYC. She showed up with a new haircut, plaid pants, a button proclaiming that she's a "Proud member of the GOP" and a chauffeur-driven SUV. No, wait, that was just Motormount setting himself up to use the carpool lane on the way home. That's all I can remember at this point. The beer killed off the few brain cells that heatstroke didn't get first. - Written by Wankee Doodle 10/02 |