It’s November, and we were as cold as the beer as we gathered in the Global Foods Market lot in Kirkwood, not really knowing what to expect since the day was full of random messages from the hare: “Tail is between 2 – 8 miles”, “Actually it’s a Notta Trail”, oh and we’ll be drinking “BLAZT” (which I think is the hash cousin of Blatz beer). Oh, and one more thing: “bring a lampshade”. Seriously? Who the hell is the hare? Well, just as it was about time to circle up, the Big Hump’s happiest (and smallest) of hariettes arrived, all smiles and topped with her lampshade covered in foam feet (I think she just looted a pedicure station): Welcome to PMS’s Lampshade Hash.
There was definitely a colorful array of lampshades this evening: Big Bush was first with his dandy apple green shade, Trainwreck had a dainty polka-dotted shade, Fake Bake kept getting lost inside his shade, Blind stole his out of a Kirkwood child’s bedroom, Bend Over Granny still had the 50 cent sticker on his from the yard sale he hit earlier, 2:19 had a lovely French whore house shade, Free Mustache Rides had a Frank Sinatra inspired look, 59 Minutes was all lit up, Postage had on a horned Rudy shade that said “Don’t Tag Me” (and it took Postage a minute to remember what the fuck that even meant – “must be Facebook related”), and I had on such a large shade that I almost fell over backwards downing a beer.
We definitely attracted a virgin who was brought by her friend who was brave enough to give hashing a 2nd go. PMS joined the virgin in circle to show her the ways of the trail with her flour-filled condiment bottle – how clever! The hare can easily make dots and letters with a nice, firm squeeze and it just cums right on out in a nice white spray. I was impressed until we actually got on trail and off of the well-lit main streets and where were the dots? They were as tiny as the hare! And not only were the dots hard to find, but so were tits on trail, despite the many chick checks. Sorry dude, sometimes no matter how hard you try, it just ain’t happening. Well, not tonight at least.
After about a mile of checks and whatnot, we found ourselves at Beer Stop #1: Bar Louie. Now I think this might be a good time to share that our beloved happy-go-lucky Canadian hariette, Shits Jemima, had been having a rough week between the cancelled New York Marathon and a possible deportation (quick side note: 3” King did offer his hand in marriage to erectify this situation, but Girl Shits declined as he is from Minnesota and that is much too close to the border). She started her evening off slamming beers Bluto Blutarsky-style and next thing we knew, she was extra angry, extra Canadian, and extra funny. So by the time we arrived at Bar Louie, we found Locknut wearing his early start for the Christmas season shade, and shivering like a Chihuahua due to his complete lack of body fat these days, and he was late to the hash due to his previous work-out of 3 spinning classes and running a half marathon. “You’re like an anorexic 13-year-old ballerina!” snarled Jemima. Holy shit, eh! At about this time, Fake Bake had found an old friend and veteran hasher who’s name escapes me and all of the seasoned hashers fully embraced going down on Memory Lane for a bit.
But enough about that, let’s get back on trail! Walkers away – oh shit – there’s a train! Locknut sprinted over the tracks (racist), and Trainwreck toyed with doing the same, but then gave that up as a bad idea (something to do with whatever past experience earned him his name). So another beer later and we walked down to Ice & Fuel. 59 Minutes, not wanting to miss out on the beer due to having a hash dog on trail, was suddenly blind, and brought in his Seeing Eye dog, “accidentally” feeling up a few hariettes on his way in. And it was then that we all found out Just Jamie’s dirty little secret: She stuffs her bra because she cannot bear the idea of having to drip dry on trail. Oh Just Jamie - you are so BUSTED!
So after a plethora of beers, snacks, Rumchata shots and Canadian Margaritas, it was time to wander the 20 yards back to circle. And a lovely Postage-style circle it was, long enough to lose half the hashers (including the virgin & her friend), and down another ten beers each. As you may have already guessed, there was a naming and Just Jamie will forever be known as Drip Dry. We also had some significant runs to celebrate: Trainwreck with 25 & Shits Jemima with 50. Blind was either sporting extra pheromones or was just extra sweaty, but after extra marinating that cranium band, Shits Jemima couldn’t get over the “sweaty ball smell” (eh?). In fact, she made everyone at On After smell that wretched thing, and poor Laryngyna was really wishing he had brought TSA to take one because that band was rubbed all over his face so much that he felt as if he had just had been completely defiled by Blind and left that night a little ashamed and nervous that TSA would suspect a man-on-man rendezvous had just transpired. But who the hell am I kidding – TSA wouldn’t expect anything less from a night of hashing!
Your beloved hash scribe,