SF Hash Trash

R*n 1246 Grace Church, February 12, 2007

Valentine's 'Ass-acre' 2007

 
"Love sought is good, but given unsought is better."  - William Shakespeare

This Valentine's r*n was full of unsought lovin', some of it good, not all of it better.  On the better side of love's ledger was the trail itself.  To celebrate their engagedness, Stroke n' Blow and Men's Whorehouse treated us to a genuinely compassionate trail which was so easy-going that, despite starting atop a hill, miraculously felt like it went downhill both coming and going.

While on trail somewhere past Union Square our hares surprise-treated us to candy kisses in a darkened back alley.  No doubt such oral pleasure in a seedy location was deeply appreciated by those hard-up single hashers who usually must pay for the privilege. 

Propelled by the sugar rush, the pack charged on through Chinatown and its surroundings.  In no time it seemed we were upon the BC which had delightfully morphed from Beer to Bubbly.  This sweet movable feast continued back at the start where delicious cupcakes were available for all.

Now, when it comes to Valentine's activities, most romantics are accustomed to having such pleasant food and beverage followed by light and heart-warming entertainment.  Of course this being the hash, the entertainment proved to be more horror than romantic-comedy.

In part one of our story we learned that Captain O had cruelly taunted Eat My Pussy by flashing a fleshy moon.  For Part Two, that established mental image of male dorsal nudity was compounded by the full frontal type when it was revealed that Joe Pubic Hair had undergone a "Boyzillian."  And to cap off this triptych of horror, we were asked to imagine Splat wandering the Sunset the afternoon after the previous Full Moon Hash.  When asked what he was doing so far from the East Bay, he admitted that he had just spent the night. At Voyeur's.  

Also at Down-Downs:

--Bitch's Bitch drank for being DFL and for kicking over his own beer.  

--Muff Snatcher and Whose Your Daddy faced off in an on-their-knees, armless drinking competition.  You may wonder as others did, "What was the crime?"  Well, there wasn't one, but of course one is unnecessary when it comes to getting men to compete.  WYD won by the way, and this was novel in its own way since, as we later learned, it's been so long since WYD has done any competitive running that this may be his first personal victory since the Nixon Administration.

--Dead Beat drank because he couldn't pay anyone to run for him, though he has means.  

--Just Lina, who clearly should aspire to a medical profession so she can best leverage her skill of fitting a first aid kit up her rectum, was named Back Door Lambada. 

--Rocky Mountain Oyster drank on Thurston's behalf in punishment for inspiring a flood of restaurant-recommending emails.

--Our Japanese visitor Beep-Beep (?) impressed the crowd by hammering a full beer with efficiency and good cheer.  After witnessing such industry, is it any wonder that our foreign trade debt is up to our eyeballs?  Americans, we must recommit ourselves to working harder, and drinking harderer.  It's the patriotic thing to do.

--Finally, Dirty Spooge made Just Colleen cum, as did Cuming Mutha with Just Todd.

The pack On-on-on'd at the Front Room, grabbing grub and heavenly-priced $5 pitchers.  May S&B and MW get engaged more often so we can enjoy similarly shitty trails.

On On

Huevos Verdes