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Previous Hashes

So...we circled, we drank, we sang, we hashed, we drank, we circled again, we drank, we sang.
Here's some stuff that may or may not have happened.



Saturday 03/28/2020 #1624

Green Dress R*n @ Alton, IL

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!

    Attendance:


Wednesday 03/25/2020 #1623

Dewey! @ ???

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!

    Attendance:


Wednesday 03/18/2020 #1622

Maybe It's Methamphetamine @ ???

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!

    Attendance:





Wednesday 02/26/2020 #1618

GladHeAteHer @ Watershed Nature Center Edwardsville, IL

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!


Saturday 02/22/2020 #1617

Maybe It's Methamphetamine @ Watson Trail Park, Sunset Hills

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!



Wednesday 02/12/2020 #1615



Wednesday 02/05/2020 #1613






Saturday 01/11/2020 #1608

Hareraiser Under Duress Hash @ Benton Park West

Nobody has written the Hash Trash yet...WHY ARE WE WAITING!?!?!


Wednesday 01/08/2020 #1607

Fatliner and Just Sean @ Maryland Heights, MO

Hash Trash:

Cold, thirsty, and full of malice, the hares "Just Sean" and "Fat Liner" posted themselves in a Maryland Heights parking lot. Cackling over the backed-up, whole grain, sometimes pink log off hash-shit they have just laid for their supposed friends to discover.

As the clock struck 6:30, however, the hares began to panic as the realized that in all of their conniving and trickery they had forgotten to clarify the crucial step of telling people where in the hell they actually should be fucking going to start this circle. In a last act of desperation "Fat Liner" ingratiates himself in his brilliant stretch of hindsight by posting a starting location on the Facebook event page. Being that, of course, everyone loves to use Facebook and instantly will check it while they're driving regardless of their position.

As the first woefully hashers arrive, "TSA" distributes a bounty of beverages that can only be described as bath water temperature. The taste of said beer was comparable.

As the hashers arrived so in kind did the hash hounds. "Just Frankie" sported a glowing sweater and a propensity for butt scratches whilst "Just Oscar" sported an operatic talent that he very graciously delighted the pack with for nearly 3 hours. Truly an outstanding.

The trail symbols were explained, and quickly forgotten. Amongst the symbols was said to be a True Trail merge, a sort of "Cumming together" which, dear reader, I can only describe as some sort of Ancient Grecian symbol combining a vagina and penis and hash arrow. Perhaps an elusive symbol for love? The pack wondered loudly in delight at the strange hieroglyph before them. A flutter of joy took to the heart of the older hashers as their crusty hearts began to hope again in much that they did in the virgin days. What they were not aware of however was that the true meaning of the symbol was "I'm going to hide this motherfucker so you get lost for fucking days"

With a dusting and a thrusting the hares were off. They B-lined for the nearest building amazing the pack as the went with such speed and commotion. However, the immediate Zig was then zagged…..right into a car…..

Autohashing is deplorable.

The pack eventually set off, following the original trail of the hares before their mysterious journey in their car. It went around the building, down the parking lot, by the highway and right fucking back to the circle. 10 minutes in we have lost the trail. A muggle in his house asked if he could assist. The anti-socials among us parked back their intended purpose placing the homeowner at ease.

Eventually a trail was found….for a while. It crossed through neighborhood and highway, and over hills. It sported not one but TWO walker runner splits. Before the first split a journey through the park. "What fun!" The pack yelped aloud. "A park, like where we probably should've fucking started in the first place!" Now it seemed that there were wheels on this trail after all. It was at this time, dear reader, I introduce the villain of our tale. A mere man of the park law, who took an oath of office on the park constitution to serve and protect park citizens against park bandits. Such power had begun for him as a responsibility, but as the years wore on the heavy head that wore the crown of park sovereignty struck with such indignation and authority that he was blind to his own park power. "Folks, I'm afraid the park is closed, right now there's a material out…"

Our heroes protested. "But we only want to run through here!" "What if we just go over there?" "Did you find beers that I can slam in public?"

"It seems in his blind rage the Park sovereign had mistook Pillsbury bread flour, a luxury amongst the park peasantry, for dangerous narcotics. It was his belief that somebody in West County St. Louis was dumping wads of cocaine of fentanyl in $10,000 increments just to be a community nuisance. After pleading with the officer, offering a sacrifice of the hare, and through sheer luck the man's heart of stone cracked and the hashers were allowed to leave out the park gate where they rejoined the walkers by listening for the siren's song of Oscar the dog.

At this point both trails turned into a neighborhood where the hare's next trick was laid. A series of blowjobs, and walker's/runner's trails overlaps. After 20 minutes of running down the same back alleys that would have been actually cool to hash down it became apparent that the hare had laid his trail adjacent to a blowjob that "Hebrew Hammer" had already called out. When we all began to wonder aloud why we were no going BACK on the walker's trail….The symbol of mystery appeared in pink chalk, to alert us all to the Siamese fuckery that was dribbled onto the sidewalk.

I would like to tell you, reader, that our trail ended shortly from here. But no. Alas we ran through the woods wherein thorns greeted our faces and a myriad of seashells hanging from trees in a sort of West County fever dream greeted our nightmares. Then more thrones. Then more pain. After a sad beer halt; the be-dogged and be-babied hashers returned to the road to use "Humping Iron's" GPS home. Not even a hundred yards later the happy go lucky hares sat on their throne of lies to dole out waters, beers, and a soulless void for us to yell at.

The way back from the beer stop was actually pleasant

Upon return to the circle truly the council of the wisest hashers greeted us with tales of Margaritas, Chips, and immigrant child labor. The circle convened with much wailing and gnashing of teeth as a litany of crimes that demanded punishment were laid before the feet of the right honorable "Quarter Pound me". "In all my years of judging I have never seen a case of such tom fuckery." the crowd wailed: "Give them the axe!' "Stone them!" "We want Barabas!"

"I sentenced you to meet you fate with the axe." The hares chugged….and the council was adjourned to eat $8 large pizzas at Syberg's.

-- Vomit Comet



Wednesday 01/01/2020 #1606


Big Hump Hash House Harriers - St. Louis, Missouri - Established 1999
2020