Date: Monday, January 14, 2002
Start: Mackies Tagh Osda (on the Danforth)
Hare: Cumcussion

I had made up my mind to skip the trail. I was tired after a very long day at the office and was in no mood to put up with foul weather and negative I.Q.'s. However Gispert intervened and broke the subway. Having no way to get home after work, I was forced to go to the hash and drink beer.

My some miracle, I managed to find the start location with the unpronounceable name. Our GM seemed to be missing once again and the pack began to speculate about his whereabouts. One half-mind suggested that perhaps Birdbrian had stayed home because he was getting laid. However another more astute half-mind correctly pointed out that there was no way in hell Birdbrian was getting any action at that exact moment since New Shoez was sitting at the table with us.

Suddenly a haggard Cumcussion (our hare) staggered into the bar. He immediately began complaining to the pack that the bad weather had forced him to lay trail twice. I'm not sure what he was so upset about, since when's the last time ANY Hogtown harrier managed to lay something twice in one day. But we patiently listed to his McWhining all the same.

The pack soon circled up. Virgins Just Ed and Just Hasad were introduced, as was visitor Double Vision. At this point our hare once again started moaning about having to lay trail twice and began dropping pink anthrax on the sidewalk to show us what kind of marks we should expect not to be able to find on trail since they were now covered in slush.

The pack set out on trail and I quickly discovered that hashing conditions were going to be less than desirable that evening. The sidewalks that were now covered with ice and partially melted snow offered very little in the way of traction, so I slowed down to a walk. What kind of idiot would be out r*cing tonight? I quickly got my answer, as the FRBing Skewbic Hare zipped past me in an obvious attempt to find all of the false trails before anyone else. Who invited him anyway? D*mn those OakvilleH3 overachieving freaks of nature!

And ice wasn't the only hazardous shiggy on trail. Sex Toy was nearly eaten alive by a giant, black, Cujo-like beast that attacked her in a residential neighbourhood. Fortunately the uproarious laughter of the other half-minds on trail distracted the monster and Sex Toy was able to escape unscathed.

Back at Mackies Tagh Osda, the pack sat down and waited to be served. Finally the bartender approached out tables and we inquired what they had on tap. To my surprise, all he said was: "Framboise Beer".

However the more I though about the words "Framboise Beer", the more I was reminded of our dear hare Cumcussion.

Framboise Beer… Cumcussion... Framboise Beer... Cumcussion...

For some demented reason, these two images were inextricably linked together in my subconscious mind. Without warning, another word popped into my head.

Couch.

Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch… Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch…Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch… Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch…Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch… Framboise Beer... Cumcussion... Couch…

I was suddenly seized by an intense urge to jump into a cab and head down to Castro's for a pint. [Strangely, I was also seized by an equally strong desire to use the women's facilities.] However I wisely decided it would be rude to cut out before the circle and remained in my seat. *

Just then, Iced F*cket walked up to the pack. Our hare-raiser had been MIA (Missing Imbibing Alcohol) for several long weeks now and was greeted with the usual barrage of slurs and insults by the pack. In fact, we almost didn't recognize him. For some reason he was all dressed up and was obviously pretending he had just come from somewhere important - like work.

Finally, it was time to eat.

The bartender was clearly a bright and perceptive young man. Without having to be told, he immediately recognized that two of us were far more self-important than the rest of the pack and wisely put a rush on our food orders. As a result, both Shadow's Curry Chicken and my Shepherds Pie were served well ahead of the rest of the pack's menu selections. And poor Rose Eh (who had been whining about her hunger pains since well before the start of the trail) was left to wait with the rest of the hoi poloi.

As I delicately shoveled the very last fork-full of food into my mouth (ignoring the half-starved stares of the half-minds around me), I couldn't help but notice that the pack's dinner was just beginning to arrive. The good bartender picked up Shadow's and my polished off plates, then asked if we wanted to hear the dessert menu recited as a haiku. We politely declined and he immediately disappeared into the kitchen to re-fill our drinks. He soon reappeared with our beverages, then casually told FLAB he had given her the wrong soup. As I began collecting by belongings and getting ready to leave, I realized that Moonman and New Shoez hadn't even been served yet. Shadow and I just smiled at each other knowingly - oh, the advantages of breeding, power and influence! [Actually, neither of us really knows what those advantages are. But we're hoping that someday someone will tell us.]

Down downs were eventually handed out to a bunch of morons.

Sadly, I have once again misplaced my down down notes. If I ever find them, I'll add in the missing information here.

On On
H2Ho

* I later discovered that my subconscious was recalling a little incident that occurred one warm Saturday night last June. An incident, that left both Cumcussion and his newly pinked couch feeling vulnerable and brutally violated. My flashbacks were caused by the intense guilt I still harbour deep within my soul, since this incident could have been entirely avoided if "certain hashers" had taken care of Cumcussion instead of allowing him to walk home all by himself. [Although it should be noted that those "certain hashers" were so drunk they could barely remember their own names and, had they been given the chance, may have violated the couch as well.]

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CORRESPONDENCE

From: "unclefester"
To: H2Ho
Subject: Meeting the RA
Date: Mon, 7 Jan 2002

We were in Kalgoorlie (a small gold mining city about 600km's east of Perth, West Australia) recently for their 999,1000 & 1001 runs over new year. As we conducted our circle for the 1001 on new years day we noticed a big tall bastard standing up the back with this little sheila in tow. Noticing he was without hash attire we asked what the fuck he was doing there & that's when he told us he was the RA of Hogtown hhh, name of Shithead (& a True Blue at that). An ice cold beer was quickly thrust into his hand & he was welcomed in the traditional hash way, down downs on ice. Asked how he found us he said he just followed the trail, which is amazing cause the hounds couldn't even follow the trail or the hares for that matter. Anyway we just figure he has a fucken good nose for free piss & food & ice & piss. Looked up your website & went to hash trash (Shithead's run) & was very impressed by the scribe work, congrad's, well done. I come from a small town (1000 people) 100km's south of Perth. Wife comes from Toronto though. We were last there in Oct 1999,didn't have a run though unfortunately. Will look you blokes up in Goa.

On On
Uncle Fester
Boddington HHH