Cliff Bangher - Whiney 600th BH4! @ River des Peres Area
Hash Trash: Old Mother Bueller,
Went to the cooler,
To fetch her poor hashers a beer
But when she got there,
The cooler was nowhere,
And so the poor hashers had none.
The pack gathered on Wednesday, the last day of January, 2007, for the Big Humpís 600th runniversary. It was a balmy evening in one of South St. Louisí fine city parks. At least it was to me. The rest of the wankers seemed to be huddling close to each other for warmth. The best part about the weather was that the beer got colder as you drank it. A fine crowd showed up for this special event. 42 hashers in all. Iíd like to think they were proud to be a part of such a monumental event, hared by Cliff Bangher and Whiny Bitch, but Iím pretty sure they just showed up to get the free $hit promised to the 1st 40 hashers who could read. I think anyone else who showed up after the cool glasses were gone probably just went home. I think that explains how EXACTLY 40 hashers (other than the hares) showed up.
The pack circled up and we learned that Pump Up the Volume was ACTUALLY named Hump Up the Volume and that some illiterate third grader made a typo somewhere, or something like that. All anyone really cared about was the six inch stilettos she was sporting. The FRBís drank, the chalk talk was talked, the hares were blessed, and they were off to set their Turkey and Eagle trails.
We gave chase to the hareís. The lazy hashers walked the Turkey trail. The smart people took the Eagle trail, as we were promised that we were going to get wet. A true hasher loves it when itís wet. 500 yards into the chase, we were attempting to ford the Pit Of Despair. I believe I tripped over Count Rugen while we were down there. I then found out that getting wet meant running through ankle deep sewer water. Thatís not the kind of wet I was hoping for. Running with blocks of ice strapped to your feet is not ideal, but at that point, there really wasnít a choice. Out of the river, we had to run through the woodsÖ. to grandmotherís house we go. But not before all the little branches on the trees poked my eyes out. After that was a nice stroll over a bunch of square pieces of granite and marble with peopleís names on them. Have the hares no couth? Of course not. The pack managed to find itís way out of the cemetery, and this is where my lovely story turns into an absolute nightmare. Immediately across the street from our graveyard exit, were TWOÖ. Count themÖ. TWO bars. And what did the pack do? Ran right by both of them. What on Earth has this hash come to. Every last one of you disappoint the $hit out of me. So now Iím desperate. I need to get to the beer stop fast, Iím parched. So down the road, and back over the Pit of Despair, we all get to the beer stop to have aÖ.. wait a secondÖ thatís not a beer stop, itís a fuking mirage. NO BEER? AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH! The damn Beer man, Meta, is no where to be found. Next time you marathon freaks run by a bar youíll think twice before not stopping. Iím growing weaker by the moment, my BAC has dropped dangerously low. On top of this, I hear the WALKERS caught Whiny Bitch. Good grief man, how can you be the FRB every damn week and let a walking pack catch you? I canít even write a coherent story at this point, because Iím reminded of the arduous search for beer. Eventually we did find Meta. He explained that he followed the hareís directions to the beer stop, but they hadnít gotten there yet and he didnít knowÖ. Blah blah blah, who cares, give me a fraking beer already.
Now that my BAC was elevated to a safe level, we were on-out to chase the hares again. I went with the walkers this time, to see if I could catch a hare too, and then I figured out how they did it. We didnít go 200 feet before 10 of them piled into a car, much like clowns at a circus, to autohash back to circle. Amateurs.
Once back to the circle, the skies opened up and poured snow on us. What fun. I donít remember too much of circle. I had so many layers of fur strapped to my head that I actually couldnít hear most of what was being said by the RA. From what I gathered, like 30 people all had their 10th run. Hashshit nominations were cut short because everyone was cold. If I could have found my cellphone in my big a$$ coat, I would have called a Wahhhhmbulance. Itís January for crying out loud. Itís supposed to be cold. How the hell DMB ended with the hashshit, when there was no beer at the beer stop is beyond me. Clearly this hashís priorities are WAY out of whack. To my amazement, there was only one virgin this week, brought by Hog Tool. Our 15 minutes is almost up. This virgin, Just Marshall, was obviously well coached in hash procedure, as he elected to show us his 18 inch elephant rather than tell a joke. I think I saw I Wanna Ryder drooling. After that some people made some snow angels, and we swung low and high tailed over to Sybergs, the traditional south city on-after.
May the Hash go in piece, and judging from the comments on the website, the Hash did in fact, not get a piece. Thereís always next week.
Frankie The Dick Thrusting Pussy Eater