Hash #702 - The 3rd Anal Polyester Hash. Personally, I suggest it be renamed the Anal Flesh and Flesh Wounds Hash, as the fact that 30-odd people showed up on a fair Saturday evening wearing the most garish polyester-blend material they could find was probably the least memorable element of the evening.

The night began as I returned to the scene of my very first hash ever - some parking lot of some cleaning place in the Central West End. It hadn't changed a bit, still as asphalty and striped with yellow as ever. Still, I got a bit misty thinking back to when I still had morals and decorum and couldn't possibly ever fathom urinating between dumpsters.

It was a fitting turnout (ha, fitting) -- several backsliders, a few virgins, and a lot of really, really tight clothing. Case in point, my shirt was so tight that at least 3 people (shockingly, men) commented to me on how small my shirt was. Apparently, none of these individuals have ever heard of the 3/4 sleeve. Wankers.

With Washington University's finest staring us down, the hares, 2 Fuck Canaidiuk (who looked like the whitest black dude I've ever seen) and CliffBangHer took off, leading us through a twisting, winding series of dots, and checks, and even a Hash Halt, at which PMS showed the crowd her dazzling driving maneuvers as she circled the parking lot of the Hash Halt, for what reason, I know not.

After all the walkers made it round, the pack took off again, this time crossing one of many bridges over the same fucking highway. This one was a footbridge, and was memorable to me as it was the place I almost lost all of my teeth. I was not to be outdone by G-Spot's dental mishap of Hash #700, and thought I'd show her by tripping on the bridge at full jogging speed and running into the fence in an attempt not to hit the concrete with my mouth. Luckily for me, no one was behind me to see this display. Unluckily for me, Dos HiXXies was close in enough in front of me to hear it. I didn't care. I was just happy not to have my name certainly changed to Face Plant.

Next, the Turkey/Eagle split led some of us through Barnes Hospital (literally), and others through Forest Park, where several check backs were laid with pink chalk, which is Ricky Crab Shack's favorite kind of marker. He does love the pink chalk. And I suggest, for those hares with upcoming hashes, that you make sure to not to forget the pink chalk when setting your trails.

Finally, we arrived ("we" as in everyone but Burning Asshole and I Feel Tower) at the first beer stop, conveniently located on a street somewhere next to a field where a sweet, gnat-infested stuffed bunny lay. Little did we all know how ruthless that bunny was. But I'll get to that in a bit.

At the stop, much ado was made about the observance of a fellow hasher's "swamp ass", which led me to ask aloud what the equivalent of "swamp ass" is for harriettes -- you know, when our "business" sweats and you can see it. Of course, I figured I'd go to the hasher font of internet knowledge for all things strange, interesting, or sexually disturbing, Dewey Sexual System. Because, if anyone would know what it's called when a harriette has a sweaty crotch, it would be Dewey. What??? That wasn't an insult!!!!

Unfortunately, Dewey did not have the answer. However, after talking to Long Duk Dong and Disco Ass, we decided that "swampgina" was a proper term. This was after Disco asked me why I was wearing a kiddie shirt, so he's fairly fortunate he was able to speak at all. In addition, several of us admired the fact that Craigslist is the only site at which you can sell an airhockey table and soliticit anal sex, many times within the same ad. Overall, it was a pretty productive beer stop, I do say.

And now, for the funniest/scariest thing I've ever seen at a hash.

So, we leave the 1st beer stop for the next beer stop. As we're walking down the street, minding our own business, someone decides to hassle the afore-mentioned gnat-infested stuffed bunny. That. Was. A. Mistake.

As Disco and Postage Tram and Donger proceed to kick the bunny while it's especially down, Donger decided to give the bunny total what-fucking-for with a Bend It Like Beckham kick of extreme force. But, the bunny had other plans. Donger kicks with such virility that he actually LIFTS HIMSELF UP IN THE AIR, at least I'm thinking 3 feet. And sadly, what comes up must go down. In this case, on concrete.

BOOM!

Several of us walking behind gasp. Some aren't sure whether to cry or to laugh. Some wonder how we are going to carry him all the way to Barnes. Some keep drinking.

Like a phoenix in the night, Donger stands up, fazed, but not broken. Bloodied, but not bowed. After another beer or two, it was like it never happened. For the rest of us, anyway.

It was only then that I leaned over to Pees Like A Princess and asked, "Did you happen to get a shot of that?" Sadly for us both, the answer was no.

Finally, Burning and I Feel appear, cigars in hand. Apparently they got lost in Forest Park and decided that the best thing to do was to go to a family reunion and drink some beer.

And the big happy pack of us decend upon Atomic Cowboy, our second beer stop. Much merriment was made, beers were drank, and people who reserved the place we were sitting at for a 21st birthday party were irritated. And then we were off again, back to circle.

In circle, we were again greeted by Wash U's finest, who left, but vowed to return. Circle commenced, backsliders such as Jack Rabbit Slim were called into circle, people like Just Joe who weren't actually wearing polyester were called into circle, virgins like Just Jon, Just Ric, and visiting Tu Tu Fairy were called into circle. Then Dewey flashed everyone, because Just Ric flashed everyone. No offense, but at least to me, a guy pulling his you-know-what out is just not the same as a girl showing her you-know-whats. I mean, first of all, it seems to take a lot longer for the dude. Second of all, it's not nearly as attractive. But that's just me. Oh, and Just Jon showed his very sculpted derriere. And then I think Pornogenic licked it. Or did I dream that?

Then I think Tu Tu Fairy streaked the circle. Which, if it wasn't a bunch of hashers, may have been exceptional.

And then, Hashshits. GladHeAteHer, looking much like the used car salesman the day after almost losing his eyeball, nominated his usual 1284 hashers, including me for "Dracula-like" behavior -- because I was wearing the black blanket he was kind enough to loan to me. I did not know he would trick me like that.

Then some other people for some other stuff, then, the Hashshit Battle Royale, between Burning for listening to the NFL draft in his car before circle and Donger for his incredible bunny battle. It's a tie!

And then, we all retired to Jimmy and Andy's, the place where all smokers and infants are welcome. And Lazy Ass joined us, and we had beer with ice probes in pitchers, and ate burgers and pizza, and Gladdy loaded the jukebox like he always do.

The end.

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