Saturday, February 2, 2002
Hares: Bottoms Up and Shadow

I hitched a ride to the hash with Moonman, who had wisely decided to leave his barefoot and pregnant wife FLAB at home to wash the kitchen floor and make his dinner. We were the first to arrive at The Harp and sat down for a pint of brew. Slowly but surely the inevitable started to happen. As more and more hashers began arriving, the mean IQ at The Harp quickly plummeted.

As I looked around, I noticed a new and very hairy face. (And no, this wasn't because Birdbrain had taken his pants off again). Apparently someone had brought a virgin lumberjack out to the run. However upon closer inspection I realized this lumberjack was really just a back-sliding Bum Steer. (I guess he finally hit puberty. Hope someone teaches him how to shave before he's recruited as an extra for The Planet of the Apes II.)

Rub-a-Dub must have been worried about the length of the run. As the rest of us sat around drinking beer, Rub-a-Dub was busy looking for provisions he could take with him on trail. He had already stuffed a few dozen packets of ketchup and mustard down his shirt and was busy collecting small packages of peanut butter when Giggles finally put a stop to his foraging. The starving Rub-a-Dub obviously hadn't been fed in hours and looked like he was ready to cry. Giggles must be one of those "empowered" harriettes who doesn't know her way around a vacuum cleaner, never mind a kitchen (she could certainly learn a thing or two from our domesticated FLAB).

The pack soon circled up and was introduced to visitor Just Bruce. Then hares Bottoms Up and Shadow showed us what kind of marks they had used on trail and managed to prove that white chalk marks can't be seen on snow. As we did introductions, another back-slider appeared. Soft Stiffy was sporting some kind of facial growth and was clearly suffering from the same personal hygiene issues as Bum Steer.

The pack set off and immediately found a check on Lakeshore Road. As Birdbrian headed south to look for marks, Sex Toy laughed and commented that our GM is a big idiot. Apparently she and Birdbrian had parked south of that very check and Sex Toy claimed there were absolutely no marks to be seen in that area. A short time later, our "idiot" GM found true trail and began calling On On. Hmmm…

The marks took us through the streets and parks of Mississauga. To everyone's amazement, Black Widow actually short-cut trail successfully for the first time in his life. Black Widow was so shocked that he decided not to follow his own advice, leaving me and Dead End to FRB alone for some time.

Near the end of the trail, the marks took the pack along a frozen river. (OK - a not-so-frozen river.) As I walked along the ice with Sex Toy, I kept mentioning that I could hear the ice cracking underfoot. However Sex Toy told me I was just hallucinating. Suddenly my hallucination manifested itself into a physical form as the ice I was standing on broke off and began to sink (I guess I must be a bigger porker than I thought).

Sex Toy and I finally found the rest of the pack sitting on a deck in Bottom Up's back yard. This deck overlooked the dangerous, yet picturesque, river we had just been crossing and Bottoms Up had kindly lit a fire to keep us all warm. We were also relieved to see that there was plenty of beer in unusually large bottles.

Just then, Rose Eh pointed out that two of the OakvilleH3 half-minds, Handjob and Skewbic Hare, were doing something stupid. (Oakville? Stupid? Who would have ever thought it possible!) These two morons were happily perched on the wobbly railing surrounding Bottom Up's deck, drinking their beers. To most of us, this unstable railing looked like it had been constructed out of dried twigs and old fishing line. Yet it was the only thing preventing this pair of Einsteins from tumbling down a very steep embankment and killing their last remaining brain-cell. Concerned about their safety, Bottoms Up asked us if he should warn Handjob and Skewbic about the danger they were in. But we told him not to bother. After all, it's not every day you get to watch natural de-selection at work right in front of your eyes.

Seconds later, Dead End nearly culled the Hogtown pack even further by lighting her own ass on fire.

It was only then that I noticed that the little bonfire Bottoms Up had built for us was actually burning ON the wooden deck. I guess Bottoms Up must have slept through the medical school class where they discussed the extremely complex properties of fire and how it has this nasty habit of burning stuff - especially wood and English teachers who never shut up.

Luckily Dead End's screams were interrupted by the roar of an engine. Some future hasher (he was obviously dumb enough to qualify) was racing across the paper-thin ice of the river on his snowmobile. What can I say… Too many dumb-asses, not enough Darwin Awards.

The pack's conversation soon turned to the subject of work and stress. Now I (like every other member of the pack) had always assumed that our dear Sex Toy just crochets doilies to blow off steam. But nothing could be farther from the truth! As we stood there drinking beer, Sex Toy casually informed us that she adores smut-surfing on the Internet after a very hard and long day at the office. (I guess this is why she always keeps her blinds drawn at home.) And where did Sex Toy spend most of her extracurricular online time this week? At cameltoe.org of course!

Every half-mind within hearing distance was shocked by this revelation - with the exception of Wet Pussy, who looked quite impressed. Wet Pussy announced that cameltoe.org is "one of his all-time favorites" and that he has this site booked-marked since it often "comes in handy." (Well better there, than in your pants.) Feeling left out, a few of our less sophisticated harriers (Moonman, Bottoms Up and Birdbrian) eagerly inquired what a camel toe was. Naturally Rose Eh, Sex Toy and Mrs. Robinson all refused to compromise their character by provide a demonstration without a cash-advance. Fortunately our resident camel toe expert, Wet Pussy, was more than happy to talk at length about this unfortunate condition.

By this time most of us were very cold. Rose Eh and Giggles were comparing their white fingertips and whining that blood wasn't circulating to their hands anymore. (Which is funny. Because it's not like their brains ever get any oxygen and I've never heard these two bimbos complain about that!) The educated Birdbrian explained to me that a person loses most of their heat through their ass. He then kindly offered to hold both Sex Toy's and my bottom to help us keep warm. But we politely declined and decided to hangout inside the house with Bottom Up's dog instead.

Back at the Harp, Birdbrain called up various idiots for offences committed on trail, while Sex Toy re-re-gifted the junk that had been left at her house after the original re-gift hash in January. The following rocket scientists received down downs:

Bottoms Up and Shadow - for being the hares
Just Bruce - for visiting
Hippocratic Oaf and Just Jim - because they did run
Dead End - for setting her ass on fire (and getting more heat than she's had in years)
Dancing Queen - for hashing in the snow for the first time
Two Jugs - for letting us hash on his turf
Moonman - for leaving his wife at home
Handjob - because she drank out of her shoe one year ago today
Wet Pussy - for falling on his ass
Giggles - for buying a house

After the circle was closed I noticed that we had quite the table of entrepreneurs sitting together. The collective geniuses of Handjob, Joystick, Bum Steer, Moonman, Giggles, Rub-a-Dub and Black Widow had apparently decided that there was some big money to be made in stolen restaurant condiments and were busy shoving mustard packets, sugar packets and salt shakers into their various body cavities. (One can only hope they did forget about the mother-load of condiments already stuffed down Rub-a-Dub's shirt.) I approached their table and was immediately recruited as a condiments mule. Without asking my permission, Black Widow began filling the hood of my jacket with relish. Luckily I ran away before he was able to force the pepper and salt filled balloons (or anything else for that matter) down my throat.

As I retreated from their table, one of the "enterpreneurs" mentioned that Skewbic Hare was moving to the Prairies and asked if he was planning on leaving his "monkey dick" behind. Now, while I'm confident that Skwebic is taking Mucky Dip with him, his sex toys (including said monkey dick) are another matter. I would suggest that anyone who is interested in acquiring one of these gently used objects, should make a cash offer to Skewbic directly.

On On
H2Ho