Monday, July 29, 2002
Hares: F*cking Goofy and Mrs. Robinson

As planned, I met up with Sex Toy at Royal Bank Plaza. I was surprised to see that our On Sec had brought two long-time backsliders with her - Captain Prickhard and U-Whore-U. These two space invaders had been away from Earth for several months now - searching for unintelligent life to assimilate into their intergalactic brothel, the Starship Intercourse. Unfortunately they found none (unintelligent life, that is) and had decided to return home where they knew stupidity was plentiful. As soon as she saw me, U-Whore-U decided I looked about as sharp as a bag full of ping-pong balls and tried to recruit me as a peeler, "Hey H2Ho, you're looking great! Have you been working out? Me and Prickhard have this really successful "modeling agency" and we're always looking for new talent... Say, have you ever done a head shot in zero gravity?" Somehow I knew she wasn't talking about photographs, so I decided to politely pass on the job offer and the opportunity to expand one of her client's horizons.

As we walked out of Royal Bank Plaza, Prickhard informed us that the Starship Intercourse had warped through one too many black holes is the last few hours and had experienced a complete core meltdown. As an emergency measure, Prickhard had order the core to be ejaculated. Although his engineers were working on the problem, they expected it was going to take another hour to stimulate the power back up to its usual levels. This lack of juice had temporarily put a stop to all Intercourse activity. And because the transporters weren't working either, the four of us decided to hail a cab to Mrs. Robinson's place instead.

Here, I made the mistake of getting into the back seat with the two Trekkies. As we drove along the Don Valley Parkway, the cab driver did his best to talk on his cell phone while ignoring the repeated orders of "Engage!" emanating from Prickhard and Sex Toy's "why-the-hell-did-you-take-the-DVP-during-rush-hour" death stares. U-Whore-U, on the other hand, just sat there shouting the same words over and over and over again:

We are the perverts of the Starship Intercourse.
Our continuing mission: To explore strange new worlds...
To seek out new lays, and new fornications...
To Boldly Whore Where No One Has Whored Before!

Sex Toy, oblivious to the babbling coming from the space slut, was talking about some sort of diving tour (muff, scuba, who knows) she was planning on doing while in Costa Rica. The words "Costa Rica" seemed to momentarily capture U-Whore-U's attention. She gleefully informed us that there was porn posted on Costa Rica's IAH2003 site and that she'd been looking at it all day.

Sex Toy then went on to tell a story about Rose Eh, who had been visiting her home province of SasktratchYouAss over the last few days for a family wedding. Apparently Sex Toy received a desperate call from the disoriented Rose Eh at about 11pm one night. Rose Eh explained that she was wandering around downtown Saskatoon drunk, but just couldn't figure out where the Bluenose was "parked" and needed Sex Toy's help. Now the astute observer will immediately notice that there are a number of things wrong with this picture: (1) the Bluenose is a very big boat that won't fit into the small parking spaces commonly found on downtown Saskatoon streets; (2) even if Rose Eh had found the Bluenose, it probably wouldn't have wanted to go drinking with her anyway; AND (3) Sex Toy should be institutionalized for not hanging up the phone as soon as she heard Rose Eh's question.

We finally arrived as Mrs. R.'s and walked towards the house. I opened the door expecting to run into the crouched figure of Mrs. Robinson's ferocious attack cat Basil, but instead found F*cking Goofy of Mosquito County H3 (also one of our hares for the evening). After introducing himself, Goofy explained that he was going to lay trail live and bragged there was no way in hell any of us dumb Canuks were going to catch him. Unfortunately his appearance spoke otherwise. For some inexplicable reason, Goofy had decided to wear a florescent orange shirt. Did he really believe this would help him bend into the surroundings? Was he planning on blinding us? Or did he think wearing a bright colour would temporarily make him smarter? I never did find out…

Soon Licktrician wandered in the front door and immediately began telling us stories about her repeated attempts to seduce World Youth participants at a matinee performance of The Lion King. So much for it's "family show" rating…

Eventually everyone arrived and the pack circled up on Mrs. Robinson's driveway. Goofy was called into the circle to explain his trail marks. I was pleased to see that Goofy had decided to use flour to mark the trail. Just 15 minutes earlier, he had been regaling me with stories of being chased down by police and panicked civilians in Florida after using flour (a.k.a. the other anthrax) to lay trail. I was nice to see that he was just as clever as the rest of us, had learned nothing from previous experiences and was going to repeat the same idiotic mistakes here in Canada.

Having finished chalk talk, Goofy asked us to give him a 15 minutes head start because he had some Florida-style trail surprises planned for us. I immediately began to wonder what he had in store for the pack, but only came up with one plausible scenario: Senior Citizen Shiggy.

All of us Canuks know Florida is overrun with old people (in fact, that's where we send all of ours once they start to smell funny). Maybe Goofy was going to lay trail through an old-folks home to simulate a typical day down south? I had jumped over logs before, but had never attempted to hurdle over a geriatric with a walker. My tiny brain began to fill with fears and questions. What would happen if I accidentally disrupted a game of shuffleboard? Would those senile freaks attack me? Do denture bites leave a mark? Is that funny smell contagious? And what the hell is that funny smell, anyway? Decaying bladder control? Rotting short-term memory? Adult diaper rash?

Our hare was soon off. At this point we circled up again and Just Bill Henry, a hasher from Barbados (now living in Toronto) was introduced. Moist Leatherette gave this transplant the usual visitor smell-check to make sure he met Hogtown standards (luckily he passed).

While we waited for 10 minutes to elapse (the pack had unanimously voted that "florescent man" didn't need 15 minutes to get away), Moonman decided to test out the new running stroller he and FLAB had just purchased. As I watched Moonman race up and down the driveway with the stroller and Just Baby Evan, I began to worry that old person smell wasn't going to be the only dangerous thing on trail. Baby puke was starting to look like a pretty good possibility too. With only a minute remaining, a sweaty figure suddenly barreled down the driveway towards the pack. Apparently Yakety-Yak had underestimated the distance between the subway and Mrs. Robinson's house, and had to overachieve to get here in time. Along the way, he came across a group of runners and had yelled "On On!" to them assuming they were half-minds. However they just shot him frightened looks and ran in the opposite direction. Here's a hint Yakety-Yak: Just because they're running doesn't mean they're hashers. You may be surprised to learn that lots of other people run too. Here are some examples:

· Real athletes
· Someone who stole your wallet
· Deranged psychopaths who have just escaped from prison
· People who really need to pee

Hashers can usually be identified as the idiots who are walking with a beer in their hand.

As soon as the 10 minutes were up, New Shoez sped after the hare. I was surprised to see that anyone would want to run that fast in 100% humidity. However I soon learned there was a motive behind this harrier's eagerness. Mrs. Robinson explained that she and Goofy were in a grocery store earlier that day and happened to catch New Shoez buying condoms. She guess New Shoez had somewhere better to go after the hash and wanted to get trail over with as quickly as possible. With this kind of motivation, it's no surprise that New Shoez eventually caught the hare.

At the outdoor Beer Check, Shadow attempted to give the run a World Youth Day feel by singing multiple versus of the "Free beer for all the hashers, Jesus saves, Jesus saves, Jesus saves" song. Unfortunately God heard him, got angry and made it rain.

Back at Mrs. Robinson's, Goofy BBQ'd dinner (who says we don't know how to take advantage of a visitor), while the rest of us got drunk. Since our GM is in rehab, Sex Toy was put in charge of the circle. She immediately noticed that we didn't have a drinking vessel. Using her well-honed project management and crisis resolution skills, Sex Toy solved this dilemma by stealing a green ceramic fish from Mrs. Robinson's kitchen. Down downs were passed out to the following:

F*cking Goofy - for being the hare
Mrs. Robinson - for letting us into her house again
Just Bill Henry - for being a transplanted hasher from Barbados
Dead End, U-Whore-U and Captain Prickhard - for being backsliders
F*cking Goofy - for visiting from Mosquito County H3
New Shoez and F*cking Goofy - because Shoez caught the hare
H2Ho - for alcohol abuse
Dead End - for name-dropping in the circle
New Shoez - for buying condoms in the grocery store
Rose Eh - for calling Sex Toy from Saskatchewan to ask about the Bluenose
Moonman - for being buff

On On
H2Ho