SF Hash Trash
                         Hash #1194, March 20, 2006

                  Oh Where Oh Where have the FRBs gone?!?!?

      A touch of January weather in March was not enough of a deterrent for
the myriad FRBs that frequent the Monday night social scene.  Sure, there
was some light rain, or “hail” as the out-of-towners call it, and the
temperature dipped into the mid-40s … but every single FRB of note was at
the West Portal Playground r*n start extra early in eager anticipation of
another fascinating and provocative live trail by the ever-reliable Who’s
Your Oyster™ production team.  With the late afternoon sun warming the
substantial and formidable pack, the hares were bid adieu and last seen
heading south into the manicured loveliness of St. Francis Wood.

      The enormous pack, growing nearly exponentially with each passing
minute, was chomping at the bit to hit the trail.  But the FRBs, a
veritable army of self-described world-class hounds, insisted on finishing
their stretching and limbering exercises, all the while chattering
incessantly about how easy the task before them lay.  The pack, now
irritated beyond words, ordered the FRBs to cut the shit and get the fuck
moving, and quick as a whistle they were off.

      At first check, the FRBs split into 3 patrols, each headed by an uber-
hound commanding a committee of faded stars, hangers-on, and wannabees.
Company Alpha, chaired by Cuming Mutha, lead Fucker, Straight to Hell, Dr.
Kimble, Udder Moron, Chromosexual, Oral Roberts, Useless Tool, CumGuzzling
Cock-a-holic, and Shit Eating Grin up an alley toward Mt. Davidson.  They
were never seen again.  Information on their whereabouts or next of kin
were unavailable at press time.

      At the second check, deep in the heart of Balboa Terrace,  Little
Willy bravely took Jizzard, Pump Fake, Zydeco, Just Doesn’t Get It,
Snakeless, Roto Rooter, Bitch’s Bitch, and Ball Handler southward in search
of God only knows what, and soon vanished from the face of the earth.  They
will be missed.

      At the third check, with the pack showing signs of fatigue and a
growing ennui,  Captain Organ boldly blazed northward from Stern Grove,
taking Been Round the Block, Three Fingers, Motormount, Rogue Cow, Bag
Lady, Shaft, and Skidmark  to an undisclosed location.  A google search and
extensive reviews of satellite imagery have revealed nothing, other than
the fact that they missed the beer check and down-downs.

      With the pack now reduced to the core group of true San Francisco
hashers, for whom actually following trail marks is so … um, … de classé,
the remainder of the night’s trail was ignored and everyone bee-lined
straight to the beer check.  Okay, bee-lined is hyperbole.  In truth, it
was Muff Daddy who, with map in hand, managed to over-shoot the beer check
by a mile, and out of nowhere saved the “turkey” pack’s desperate ass at
the last minute.  To their credit, the turkeys lead by Crabs, Candy Ass,
and Glory Hole, were not actually on any trail when their savior appeared.

      The other turkey pack, with trail-hounding stalwarts Rhythm Method
and Titless at the helm, managed to mistakenly take the “eagle” trail,
before losing it, also.

      However, justice (and seven or eight rain showers) prevailed, and the
hares were blamed for everything from global cooling to the Iranian oil
bourse.  Beastie Boy administered the requisite down-downs, and all was
right in the world once more.

      Oh Shit! drank for alleging that he’s moving to New York (for which
the sky cried).  Raspukin drank for nothing in particular.  Hoseblower and
Huevos Verdes drank for the usual Brokeback nonsense.  Rocky Mtn Oyster and
Who’s Your Daddy drank for setting another in a long, long line of shitty
trails.

      Banana in Public and Princess Slut announced that next week’s r*n,
sharing the unfortunate trait of R*n #1194 of starting in the wrong
(southern) half of the City, will feature acres and acres of hot, naked
asses, in a vain attempt to convince some FRBs to return to hashing.  Which
begs the question:

Where, oh where, have our FRBs gone?

In related news, No Hands is scheduled to return to SF later this year, and
a semblance of normalcy will return.  There will be much rejoicing.

Muff Snatcher
(in absentia)