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As I drove to the Chub for the hash, I had to seriously consider the wisdom of hashing on this particular day. Due to an evening of excessive Christmas partying with my co-workers, I calculated that I had six brain cells remaining. While I realized that six brain cells was one more than the average of that “other” hash, my stomach wasn’t too happy either. Having been able to keep down a couple of hand full of stale popcorn that I found in my suit coat (where in the hell did they come from?) I elected to show my Christmas spirit and meet my hashing buds.
Entering the Chub, I found Fuck Swallow Hurl and Inspector Scrubmunchim sitting at a table. While Inspector watched the Steelers game on the TV. FSH was busy stringing up little silver balls…err bells onto string necklaces. These were to be given to all the happy little hashers. When I declined her offer of a beer, she anticipated my plight. While not commenting on my green tinge, she tried to distract me by talking about my favorite subject…breasts. FSH quietly comments that she was looking forward to her upcuming breast enhancements. While FSH has never been known to flash the goods, even a quick glance would tell that there was nothing wrong with things as there were. Nerveless I fell right in with this line of conversation. It seems that the boob job FSH was talking about would be due to the fact that she was…pregnant. Yes one of Gayhabs swimmers got lucky. She continued by saying that she was due in early July, making the “date of the making” our Halloween Hash. Wow a true hash baby! Now I had to wonder which would be worse, FSH dropping a new baby in the middle of the campground at the Analviersary Weekend or the fact that the new baby might look like Gayhab (Just kidding dude).
Presently Ménage Blow and Tender Vittles strolled in and pulled up a barstool. While we waited for the rest of the slackers to show we concentrated on the Steelers game in progress. Soon Sir Licks and Ho joined our little group. They were dressed all full of Christmas cheer. Sir even sported a red satin thong. Sadly this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Sir in a thong. It soon became apparent that the Eerie Hash was represented solely by hashers from “south of I-90”. Here we were in the heart of downtown Erie and there were no locals! After making some cell phone calls we were able to scare up Shut your Pie Hole. Strangely Mythdyck didn’t cum with Pie Hole. Seems she remembered a hash last winter the also started at the Chub. Seems some misdirected hashers broke into her apartment and redecorated it in her absence. The word was that Mythdyck was home waiting in the dark, fondling that damn four-foot broadsword of hers. Clearly she exxxpected Dinky and yours truly to stick a head or limb into her unlocked apartment window again…
Due to the fact that da Steelers were winning, the hares couldn’t get the hash out of the bar. The official chalk talk time came and went. Pie Hole started to refer to chalk talk as the “flour hour” (from the old Laugh In show). The hares paced nervously and kept looking out the window. I thought it was cause they were looking for more stragglers. Meanwhile the T.V. station kept running those crawler messages across the bottom of the game warning of a winter storm. Presently the Steelers intercepted the last Jets pass and the game was over. And out the door we went…into a freak lake effect snowstorm. When I crawled into the bar a couple of hours earlier the sun was painfully bright. Now the sun was nowhere to be seen as the snow came down in shovel fulls. The wind whipped the snow almost vertically across the hapless hashers. The cry “never leave the bar” was lost to the near blizzard. Our intrepid hares had thought ahead and used carpenters chalk on trail. The winds were brutal but incredibly left most of the marks visible. The hash turned north and into the face of the storm. There were no FRB’s or DFL’s as the hash clustered together for survival. On ward finding a mark here and there we trudged our way onward to Norb’s Bar. We found the place deserted and the young bar maid was shocked to see our plight. As we dried out our wet stuff and wet our dry stuff, we contemplated abandoning the trail all together for safety reasons. After a short discussion it was decided that we should continue in order to preserve the honor and integrity of the Eerie Hash House. And out the door we went…
The winds had not slacked off any and soon we found ourselves into the worse of the storm. It is in time such as these that the true compassion that hashers have for one another oozes to the surface. The winds hammered the hapless hashers relentlessly. Suddenly tragedy struck. HO slipped in the snow and the wind started to pushed her nylon-covered form across the sidewalk into the street. Putting his personal safety aside, Pie hole leapt on top of HO and prevented her from becoming a hood ornament on a Buick. HO repaid the noble hasher with a quick brush off and a slow fondle. And onward we went…
We now turned west and at least the wind was at our quarter. The pack became more and more worried, as the marks were becoming harder to find in the deepening snows. All at once out of the spiraling winds we spied Inspector’s Dodge Hemi parked alongside the street by the Erie Cemetery. The hares had planned on a beer stop inside the cemetery but due to the worsening weather were turning us around to return to the Chestnut. Of course the pack protested, wishing to finish the trail in its entirety. Our hares wouldn’t hear of it and forced us to return. They even offered to auto hash up back up but none of the pack wanted to be found wanting. And so we cuntinued. Now headed south the storm was at our backs, but the winds didn’t abate. Visibility was near zero. For safety we roped together using the mini lights HO had wrapped around herself. Soon we arrived back at the Chub looking like an expedition to Mount Everest. Snow encrusted, wind burned and very thirsty we mounted up and made the short drive to Scrubmunchim’s place for food and beer.
Entering the Chub, I found Fuck Swallow Hurl and Inspector Scrubmunchim sitting at a table. While Inspector watched the Steelers game on the TV. FSH was busy stringing up little silver balls…err bells onto string necklaces. These were to be given to all the happy little hashers. When I declined her offer of a beer, she anticipated my plight. While not commenting on my green tinge, she tried to distract me by talking about my favorite subject…breasts. FSH quietly comments that she was looking forward to her upcuming breast enhancements. While FSH has never been known to flash the goods, even a quick glance would tell that there was nothing wrong with things as there were. Nerveless I fell right in with this line of conversation. It seems that the boob job FSH was talking about would be due to the fact that she was…pregnant. Yes one of Gayhabs swimmers got lucky. She continued by saying that she was due in early July, making the “date of the making” our Halloween Hash. Wow a true hash baby! Now I had to wonder which would be worse, FSH dropping a new baby in the middle of the campground at the Analviersary Weekend or the fact that the new baby might look like Gayhab (Just kidding dude).
Presently Ménage Blow and Tender Vittles strolled in and pulled up a barstool. While we waited for the rest of the slackers to show we concentrated on the Steelers game in progress. Soon Sir Licks and Ho joined our little group. They were dressed all full of Christmas cheer. Sir even sported a red satin thong. Sadly this isn’t the first time I’ve seen Sir in a thong. It soon became apparent that the Eerie Hash was represented solely by hashers from “south of I-90”. Here we were in the heart of downtown Erie and there were no locals! After making some cell phone calls we were able to scare up Shut your Pie Hole. Strangely Mythdyck didn’t cum with Pie Hole. Seems she remembered a hash last winter the also started at the Chub. Seems some misdirected hashers broke into her apartment and redecorated it in her absence. The word was that Mythdyck was home waiting in the dark, fondling that damn four-foot broadsword of hers. Clearly she exxxpected Dinky and yours truly to stick a head or limb into her unlocked apartment window again…
Due to the fact that da Steelers were winning, the hares couldn’t get the hash out of the bar. The official chalk talk time came and went. Pie Hole started to refer to chalk talk as the “flour hour” (from the old Laugh In show). The hares paced nervously and kept looking out the window. I thought it was cause they were looking for more stragglers. Meanwhile the T.V. station kept running those crawler messages across the bottom of the game warning of a winter storm. Presently the Steelers intercepted the last Jets pass and the game was over. And out the door we went…into a freak lake effect snowstorm. When I crawled into the bar a couple of hours earlier the sun was painfully bright. Now the sun was nowhere to be seen as the snow came down in shovel fulls. The wind whipped the snow almost vertically across the hapless hashers. The cry “never leave the bar” was lost to the near blizzard. Our intrepid hares had thought ahead and used carpenters chalk on trail. The winds were brutal but incredibly left most of the marks visible. The hash turned north and into the face of the storm. There were no FRB’s or DFL’s as the hash clustered together for survival. On ward finding a mark here and there we trudged our way onward to Norb’s Bar. We found the place deserted and the young bar maid was shocked to see our plight. As we dried out our wet stuff and wet our dry stuff, we contemplated abandoning the trail all together for safety reasons. After a short discussion it was decided that we should continue in order to preserve the honor and integrity of the Eerie Hash House. And out the door we went…
The winds had not slacked off any and soon we found ourselves into the worse of the storm. It is in time such as these that the true compassion that hashers have for one another oozes to the surface. The winds hammered the hapless hashers relentlessly. Suddenly tragedy struck. HO slipped in the snow and the wind started to pushed her nylon-covered form across the sidewalk into the street. Putting his personal safety aside, Pie hole leapt on top of HO and prevented her from becoming a hood ornament on a Buick. HO repaid the noble hasher with a quick brush off and a slow fondle. And onward we went…
We now turned west and at least the wind was at our quarter. The pack became more and more worried, as the marks were becoming harder to find in the deepening snows. All at once out of the spiraling winds we spied Inspector’s Dodge Hemi parked alongside the street by the Erie Cemetery. The hares had planned on a beer stop inside the cemetery but due to the worsening weather were turning us around to return to the Chestnut. Of course the pack protested, wishing to finish the trail in its entirety. Our hares wouldn’t hear of it and forced us to return. They even offered to auto hash up back up but none of the pack wanted to be found wanting. And so we cuntinued. Now headed south the storm was at our backs, but the winds didn’t abate. Visibility was near zero. For safety we roped together using the mini lights HO had wrapped around herself. Soon we arrived back at the Chub looking like an expedition to Mount Everest. Snow encrusted, wind burned and very thirsty we mounted up and made the short drive to Scrubmunchim’s place for food and beer.
Decembeer 18th 2004 - Christmashawnakuanza Hash
A note about Scrubmunchim’s place. First off the Erie County Sheriff Dept car permanently parked out front is NOT on stake out of Inspector’s place. Secondly, what we originally thought was a pack of coyotes closing in on the hash are only the house pets of Inspector and his wife. Never mind that they have two Labrador retrievers that each weigh more than the average hasher. Couple this with a cute little hound that love to sneak up and “nip” an unsuspecting hasher you know where…
Down downs were issue for the usual. There were no FRB’s or DFL’s. There was no whining on trail, nor was anything shitty done. There were some backsliders (Blow said” who the hell schedules a hash during deer season anyways?”) Mythdyck showed up and was clearly disappointed that she didn’t have the chance to lop off my arm. Mythdyck-glad to see those anger management sessions are paying off. Really we do love ya…honest! There were other things done and drank for but my remaining six brain cells were done in at this point.
If you think this sounds like fun you should have been there. If this sound like a stretch, well hell that’s the way I remember it and that’s all that matters. Any complaints or challenges to the authenticity of this article can be addressed December 26, 2pm at Rack n Roll. It’s Miss Tit’s “fuck me, I’m 30 hash”.
And out the door we went…
Swings Both Ways
Down downs were issue for the usual. There were no FRB’s or DFL’s. There was no whining on trail, nor was anything shitty done. There were some backsliders (Blow said” who the hell schedules a hash during deer season anyways?”) Mythdyck showed up and was clearly disappointed that she didn’t have the chance to lop off my arm. Mythdyck-glad to see those anger management sessions are paying off. Really we do love ya…honest! There were other things done and drank for but my remaining six brain cells were done in at this point.
If you think this sounds like fun you should have been there. If this sound like a stretch, well hell that’s the way I remember it and that’s all that matters. Any complaints or challenges to the authenticity of this article can be addressed December 26, 2pm at Rack n Roll. It’s Miss Tit’s “fuck me, I’m 30 hash”.
And out the door we went…
Swings Both Ways
