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Saturday 08/18/2007 #646

6th Annual Bungle in the Jungle Campout & Float @ Leasburg

Hash Trash:

6th Annual Bungle in the Jungle Campout and Float

August 17-19, 2007

RU Shitting Me’s Hash Compound



Friday Night

With pounding hearts and joyful giddiness the Hash descended like roaches on Leasburg.

The directions to the compound were quite vague, as usual, but once you know you’ve gone over the river and through the woods…to RU’s house we go. Arriving on/in various forms of transport from all over the universe (yes, we had aliens….ask Dapper to show you his green card…it’s really fun to do this in front of the water patrol…),  the virgin GM, Cliff Bang Her, greeted the masses.  Anytime you have to pass junction H/MM, you know it’s gonna be a grand ole time.  And it was.


Camp started to take shape in the sweltering heat with tents and vehicles every which way.  Halley’s Comet (having taken lessons from Dicksmith) won best stage design with his giant inflatable illuminating snowman, Christmas lights and front parlor complete with a linoleum yard.  Worst thief award goes to Skunk Chaser and Mudpacker who decided to relocate Frosty to a better neighborhood late Saturday….With Halley sitting watching them, the fierce duo pulled the plug on the main source of light over the camp, and tiptoed…yes, tiptoed like huge ballerinas to hide Frosty…Ever patient Halley just shook his head. 


It is always so phenomenal to see old friends and make new ones over beer…and more beer…and more beer…Needless to say, Friday night was a helluva reunion. 

The wonderful king-size pools were pure inspiration. (Did anyone else notice we rejected the square pool as a tribe and only circled the circle?)  They were the place to be gathered unless we were fireside.  Speaking of which…


Pees Like a Princess takes the evening’s award for Biggest Dumbass, I mean, Manly Hasher, by becoming the first Bungle Burning Man.  Who knew leg hair could burn like that?  He could have used medical attention, but were we going to help him?  Hell no.  We were busy drinking beer.


Dapper Sapper and Do My Butt got married in circle.  Something to do with beer which was very hard to follow…so we drank more beer.  Dapper finally got a lap dance he didn’t have to pay for when various harriettes showed him the love.  (Who is making that call this week telling his company he has a family emergency here in MO that prevents him from leaving?)


Whack On, Whack Off taught us the Japanese word for penis…ready…ching-ching.  Isn’t that cute?  Chings out, chings out, chings out for the queens.


Many notable and unmentionable events transpired…ok, I admit, I can’t remember the rest of the night…


The Float

With remarkable coordination and preparation and struggle, the Hash scurried to gather at the appointed hour of 9am…yeesh.  Like school kids on the first day of kindergarten, we frolicked and waited…and waited…Did someone remember to order buses?  And we waited some more.  Finally, yahoo, we loaded up…and then waited to fill out more forms in blood in triplicate…Don’t they know if we get hurt it’s our own damn fault?  And we were off!  Songs broke out and comedy ensued.  We took numerous branches to the face through the windows as our Marty Feldman eyed bus driver managed to hit every tree he could find.  He was punishing us for singing Jesus Saves, no doubt. 


As we loaded up the canoes, anticipation high, we pushed off into the pristine waters.  Or not.  Somehow WIL-FM decided to besmirch our high holiday by inviting every family within 700 miles to float the Meramec River that day.  Imagine New York in rush hour, then add rednecks, and beer….Complete gridlock.  Even though the current was fairly strong, we stuck together like pea pods.  When a tricky little bend with submerged trees came up, we were spun around as one big idiot group banging, and smashing our way along.  That part wasn’t too fun…But it got better right away.


Lots of lots of sandbar stops kept us somewhat together (Meta Arsehole and Hump Up the Volume took off thinking they were behind the pack…we never saw them again.).  We entertained ourselves with lots of water toys and big breasts popping out all over.  Flossit with a Faucet, Give the Bitch a Ring, and Bitch Makes Me Sick tried to poke our eyes out with those things.  In grand style, this trio arrived at the on-in topless…and knocked the birds out of the trees.


Have Bob Will Travel shocked all of us by getting her ‘do wet…But she was nonplussed.  Her playful antics amused us all (did I mention she was drinking?)…she was very cute.  And she flirted a lot. 


Lazy Ass made his virgin float, as did Whack On, Whack Off.  Lazy loved it so much, he now wants to captain his own ship. With Whack as his first mate…ew.  Actually, Lazy wins the Most Agreeable, Patient Hasher award.  He never bitched that Help Me I’m Wet, or I (Pi Whole) hit him in the head with the oars 75 times, or that we left him sitting for seven hours in a puddle from spilled beer, or that we banged him really really really hard on the shins when hitting a tree.  He later said the first part sucked, the second part was alright, and the last part was long.  Next he is trying skydiving.  What da ya think?


There was sex on trail…possibly Sand Angel and good PMS?  Maybe just a rumor, whatever.  And how can you fall asleep on trail?  GBar, Bob, Sand Angel and some guy they can’t remember who all fell asleep on the rocks at the food stop.  Ah, they are so cute when they are passed out.


Hot Blood craves attention, so he loaded a keg in his canoe.  Turned out to be a chic magnet…a 14 year old chic magnet.  We may have to rename him Ped a file.  He had young girls doing keg stands (hold upside down by ankles over keg and feed beer).  KNaked was ever so helpful and held some fillies for HB…and bit a few butts near his face.  Ok, we may have to rename him Ped a file in training. 


Follow the Urine Trail proudly, and incestuously showed of his blood brother who just happened to be floating the Meramec that day too.  How do you run into someone you know on the river…it’s not the grocery store.  Anyway, we immediately liked the brother and offered to trade him for Urine.  Which made Urine’s bottom lip stick out…ok, we’ll keep you.  Stop crying.  We didn’t mean it.  Much.


Three Ring Sperm Kiss and Bumper Thumper taught us all how not to float…they mostly dragged and dumped…a lot.  Dapper Sapper and Ho-Lateral Damage took lessons, and took a spill, too, then tried to deny it.  The pool in their canoe was a dead give away.


Do My Butt and Hummers caused quite a stir with their custom little sparkly shirts complete with monikers.  Civilians loved seeing “Do My Butt” and “Hummer” emblazoned on two cute girls…But then they went down the mudslide in white shorts.  A brown butt kinda ruins the romance.  Not to mention DMB took to puking.  That ruined the mood too.  But we patted her head and kept drinking.


Whiney amused us by trying to catch a Frisbee with his head…he is so competitive with learning new tricks and all.  We pulled him away from the sharks drawn to his blood, and he was fine, don’t worry.


Some one we won’t name (Flash) commandeered a canoe not belonging to him…he later wondered whose it might be…


With the Hash growing hungry, Cliff puffed up his chest and announced he was heading out to fire up the dogs.  More playful water fun ensued.  Loading up, the Hash smacked its group lips, and dreamed of lunch….for another two hours.  Passing one perfect sandbar after another, we began to wonder if Cliff had been abducted.  Arriving at the canoe company’s rocky populated take-out, low and behold…there was Cliff sweating over the open fire.  As Postage Tramp aptly observed, “Cliff Bang Her never met a sandbar he liked.”  So the Hash pants him, dunked him, and put his drawers on ice.  Knock-kneed, Cliff flopped around pleading for about an hour for cover, claiming he was scaring the little children nearby.  Which was true. 


Sometime during our snack stop, a search party was sent out to look for Windows NT.  Seems someone had stolen hers, and VH1’s canoe, and they had to swim for two hours.  She was found…very tired on a sandbar up river.  HMM, wonder who took their canoe?


Speaking of racist behavior, Postage…what was that thing you and bad PMS were doing after teatime?  I seem to remember you saying you couldn’t be beat by Lazy Ass again, and paddled like a madman to beat him into the on-in?  HMM.  Funny how you didn’t do Accusations at the circle that night, isn’t it?


Saturday Night

Someone brought a breathalyzer, and it was great fun seeing who should be in a coma.  I think Fe Fe was winning with, like a .4 (.08 is legally drunk for those of you not watching the news and stuff).  Then we tested Ho-Lateral Damage.  He blew a .6.  Doesn’t that mean you’re dead?  And of course, since he was so drunk, we stood him over the burning coals and had him flip the corn ears.  What?  We would have called 911 if he died.  But he didn’t…so we drank more beer.


Chihuahua proved she can shake her body…All you have to do is give her a beer, wind her up, and watch her go.  Great fun.  But we couldn’t figure out how to unwind her until she fell down drunk as a pirate..ok, maybe that’s not true…or maybe it is.


With a little alcoholic fuel, Follow the Urine Trail did an impression of Mary Lou Retton as he flipped into seven inches of water.  Quite a few Hashers got damp.  Later he improved his performance with an Esther Williams impression as he belly flopped into the pool, and got a few more Hashers pretty wet.  Not sure if he did a good enough job cooling everyone and their dinners off, he did a repeat flop.  I believe I heard “note to self, remember not to invite Urine Trail.”  We eventually forgave him, but not until seriously considering that brother exchange again.


Cliff got a second dunking-this time from Calvin Klein.  We considered putting them in the brother exchange, too, while we ate our wet potato salad. 


Around this time, we were pretty sleepy, drunk and full, sitting around the pool and the fire…just starting to doze off, when someone said, “Has anyone seen Puss and Boobs?”  Dribble n Spits mentioned he had…back some 5 or 6 hours ago.  Seems they were co-boaters.  After some time on the sandbar, Dribble was ready to go but Puss wasn’t…so he left her there.  No one remembered seeing her since.  We could all see it…P&B thought she’d just catch a cab later…


So we thought about going to look for her as we drank a beer…then we thought about her some more and drank some more beer…then Help Me and I decided to go see if she was walking back from the canoe rental or something.  We happened to run into the canoe dudes, who said, yes, they recalled seeing a very drunk dark haired girl floating on a cushion.  They had kindly put her in a kayak and sent her on her way.  And yes, she kinda looked like she could handle the kayak…why, had she never manned a kayak drunk alone on the darkening river way?  So we set the flag back up, hoping she hadn’t already overshot it and ended up in Arkansas or something, and drank some more beer.  A bit later, right about the time the lightning was really putting on a show, she emerged from the river mermaid-like and fresh as a daisy.  She ate and got some good sleep.  And we drank more beer.


Sometime later, we circled up for the most momentous of chalk talks…There were three Hashers with no life’s at all laying their 300th trail with the Big-Hump together.  Norman Bates, Duzzy Cum and bad PMS finally hit the big 300.  Whatever.  Of course, having drank some beer, the hounds set out too soon and caught Norman.  He fixed them good.  He took off again after no one would take the flour and stopped laying trail….leaving them to find the beer stop in the dark…heehee.  The runners found the walkers huddling in the mosquito laden dark trying to hide by a big truck in the road.  So we drank some beer. 


Then we were off again, some running, some walking, some auto-hashing down to the river where we had more beer and swam some.  Then we had more beer.


At the on-in we circled up.  The Hares had to drink because there is something wrong when the least whiny of all the hares is bad PMS.  But Norman and Duzzy had kissed and made up, and we drank some beer.  They were given a most wonderful headband christening.  Cliff, ever so thoughtful, knew they may be chilly in the 90 degree heat, so he gifted them with cozy fleece jackets.  The hares were thanked for the lovely hash bags given to the first 50 paid for by said hares.  And everyone admitted they loved their miner’s baseball caps.  Then we kicked them out of circle.


Celebrating five runs was:  Dribbles, Messiah, Calvin, GBar, and good PMS.  Other significant runs:  Nurse Hashshit-30, Dapper-44, Help Me-66, Cliff-77, Urine-120, and Postage-280, Shiggy Shaggy-10, Lock Nut Monster-10, Halley-25, Puss n Boobs-50, and Pepole’-69.  Shiggy had to be resuscitated when he tried to drink his beer and nearly drowned.  We couldn’t stop laughing to help him, and he eventually recovered.


PMS KC had to drink for something, but a fart bomb made us all gag and no one could hear with the smell.


The KC Hashers had to take the trophy back, cause it’s their turn to throw a kickass party.


All the Virgin Bunglers had to drink, and those that were at every campout, and those going to Puerto Vallarta, and the firejumpers.  Princess got a special penis band that says “Princess” from Pornogenic.  Dumbshit awards went to Shiggy Shaggy and Urine.  And there was lost property.  Imagine that.


Just Jeff got named with limited help from bad PMS…who had many brilliant ideas, if only she could remember.  He will forever more be known as Malt Lick Her.


We did every version of Swing Low we knew and then we drank some beer.


And then more stuff happened.  But I’m tired now.  If anyone wants to finish Sunday…tag you’re it.  If I didn’t mention you, then one of three things happened.  Either you didn’t do anything notable (read stupid), your friends didn’t tell on you, or I don’t remember. 


Respectfully submitted by your loving scribe,

Pi Whole

So... on to Sunday


First, I have to start by saying this was the year Big Hump broke with tradition, and I must say, I wasn't real happy about it.  First, there was the trail on Friday night that was soooo short, it made all the penis's I saw all weekend look 2 feet long.  Looking back, probably not a bad thing, and maybe that was the point after all, but still, so totally non-traditional.  And then we never made it to the river for the topless beer stop.  In fact, was there even a beer stop on Friday night???  And then we didn't have a topless circle.  I want to know what

the heck happened to all the topless Big Hump events?  And then circle was short too, and EVERYONE knows Big Hump circles are never too short.  And then Saturday, no apple pies!?!  How could we forget the apple pie

fixins?!?  And then of course we by-passed every sand bar on the river.



However, this is where breaking tradition gets good.  By-passing all those crowded sandbars put us right at the point where everyone else was getting out behind us, so though we were in one of the busiest places on

the river, we were finally alone, and throwing disc and football in the water was the highlight of the whole camp out to me (well almost anyway).


And then its Sunday, and the hare gathers us all together at 9:30 a.m.am barely done taking my tent down, and the guys with hang-overs are just barely starting to crack their eyes open, but he says he knows some

people have a long drive and he knows they want to participate, so we have to get started early.  He swears that though trail is A to B, and we have to be trucked to the start because its about a mile away, it will be short and everyone will get on their merry way in no time at all.  As we all know, never, ever, ever trust the hare.  Now those of you who have been to the big hump camp out before know that on Sunday, our traditional hang over hash is usually a walk around the outskirts of the camp ground doing shots of every imaginable liquor every 10 feet or so.  In fact, I remember hearing about one year when a bunch of people ended up naked in the shower doing all sorts of illicit things, but sadly, I wasn't there that year.  J  However, on this particular Sunday,

of this particular year, the truck ride alone to the start of the hash was about 10 miles long... this should have been our first clue.  I was beginning to think we had decided to give Bell Scott a turn and were on our way to Illinois when all of a sudden we arrived.  Where, I wasn't sure... the middle of no where in the woods.  Hares away... a bit of beer in the mean time and the promise of a motor boat that got everyone excited, but never actually happened.  Finally the pack is away too, and the trail was the most awesomest trail I've ever run on, and I like trail running.  The ground was as soft as Skunk's belly, the curves as easy on the legs as Bitch Makes Me Sick's are on the eyes, and it really was all down hill, and long, and I mean really long, long like um, um...

well way longer than anyone in the hash, especially for a hang over hash.  In fact, trail was so long I don't even remember seeing a penis much less one that was 2 foot long.  And finally after about 3 miles we make it to the river, and the water felt so good (and this from someone who hates water).  And the circle was so fun!  The FRBs, Coppus and Whiney were properly rewarded, and those DFLs (I think it was everyone from KC) were equally rewarded and then was more beer and rewarding and beer and rejoicing and did I mention beer?, and the only bad thing that happened was we eventually ran out of beer.  To me, Sunday was the perfect end to a perfect hash camp out, and I sure hate it for all you guys who had 8 hour drives in front of you, but  I for one, hope we continue to make traditions as good as this.  


Help Me.




Rookie hasher of the campout:
-never met a sandbar he liked
-most involuntarily stripped hasher who saw the world thru pink glasses
-whose favorite comments were:
I’m wearing a watch so I can be responsible this weekend,
dude where’s my mug,
this was a f*cking riot

Most Valuable Hasher (MVH) at the campout:
Help Me I’m Wet – for her tireless work preparing and serving the food
morning noon and night and teaming with Lazy Ass as the FRB again on the float

Thickest skin rookies of the campout:
1) Shiggy Shaggy - for passing out with a sharpie and a sharp razor nearby
2) Burning asshole – for turning back torch carrying hashers during the green card wedding ceremony for not having stripper music

Most awesomest trail of the campout:
DuzzyCum – for setting a trail near a bat cave with horseflies bigger than birds and a “just in time” beer stop

Annual good and bad PMS f*cked up fire jumping award:
Pees like a Princess – for not only forgetting how to pace himself Friday
but was heard to say, “I need a little more color in my skin
….I wouldn’t want to damage my creamy white skin tomorrow on the river.”

Annual R U shitting me EMT award:
Puss ‘n Boobs – she nudged Princess out for this one when she refused a ride with Dribbles and floated down the river drunk on a cushion. borrowed a kayak, and caused an APB for a black haired woman with no fewer than 3 separate search committee’s scrambling for the better part of the evening

The First Couple of the campout:
Do My Buttweiser and Dapper LaBatt’s Sapper – for a most international
wedding complete with bloomers, tux’s and a strip dance.

First hasher to get Neked at the campout:
Boner Malfunction– for trying to convince the lovely bride DMB that a chalky-white stripper from shy-town was what she was aboot to pass up for a lifetime with a big fat ass Canadian

Most unlikely couple at the campout:
Skunkchaser and Whack on Whack off – for skunk “Japanese” chasing with an
all too revealing bikini on and WOWO running away with arms flailing shrieking incoherent Johnny Sokko phrases.

Competitive hashers on the river:
Meta Arsehole and Hump up the Volume – for painting a racing number on their canoe along with endorsement stickers and referring to every sandbar as a pit stop and informing the natives that this is how Rusty Wallace got his start.

Most inept hashers on the river:
Batteries Not Included and Calvin Klein for tipping a record 5 times on the river. It appears Batteries would have been wise to carry her most excellent beer
koozies with her on the float before distributing them.

Most excellent panties at the campout:
1) Hump up the Volume’s purple panties and
2) Batteries “Angel” panties Calvin wore during neked fire jumping. Do you have those things on backwards Calvin?

Most resourceful Hasher at the campout:
Hot Blood for not only commandeering yet another keg down the river but for providing nourishment Sunday afternoon for the hashers who don’t understand the meaning or stop drinking and go back home to your pathetic existences you call a life.

The “it’s a campathon not a spewathon” for the campout:
Do My Butt – for her Mexican co-hort Hummers instructing her exactly where
not to puke and where to puke upon arriving at the pull out. Of course, this was after our evening wiener meal. She missed half the fun.

The Best breast upon arrival at the pullout:
Give the Bitch a Ring, Bitch makes me sick, and Flossit with a Faucet

Best Bare Breast Fire Jumping:
Give the Bitch a Ring and Just Heather

Best running of the Dance of the Flaming Asshole:
Hand Solo and Lock Nut Monster

Incessant talking throughout the campout:
1) Squeely Dan and 2) Iron Lung shut the F*ck up already!!

Most remorseful phone call about the campout:
1) Chicken Stiffer – for calling PMS hollering from an unmistakable
drunken state fooling himself that the pathetic cubbies were worth staying in shy-town for…..I see a Bartman, black cat and a goat in your future
2) Too Loose to Screw – for her Friday nite call to PMS begging forgiveness
for not attending this year but making up for it by conducting a strip tease of her own over the phone for PMS.


Stump Humper – after slamming a 40 oz. beer calmly remarking, “I hope I didn’t hurt the baby.”

PMS – while naming Malt Licker she read through the names considered and paused and said, “…and my favorite………………what was it?”

On On to P.V.
Postage Tramp


Campout and Float Trip

Take I-44 west to Leasburg - exit #214 (approx. 1 1/2 hours from downtown)
Go South on H and cross over the river
Go to the first 4-way intersection and turn left on Scotia Ranch Rd. 
(Look for On-On Arrow signs about 8 miles from the exit)
Turn at the second gravel road on your left
Go 1/2 mile to a green gate
Go through the gate and continue one more mile to the campsite

Here's a landline # that someone may or may not be able to answer that weekend.  573-245-6606
Or you can call Cliff BangHer if he remembers his phone (314) 324-1964

Bear in mind that cell service is usually not so good there.

Google Maps Link

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