I was asked to do this WAY after the fact so you’ll have to forgive my memory, or lack there of & my poor spelling…Also:

You may want to pop a cold one for this read.  It’s quite lengthy but then again, so was the evening.  It was a pub crawl Full Moon and if you missed it you really missed a good time…


Full Moon Eclipse Hash 3/3/07


Well, I can’t tell you much of what happened before the Hare took off.  I was in charge of bringing the ice and decided to take Airline and cut over to Metairie Rd when I realized that I was late for the eclipse and caught the tail end of it as I was driving.  I was so distracted by it that I missed my turn and had to go up Tulane for a couple blocks and well, anyway, I was late…


I got there just in time for chalk talk.  We or rather I used modern technology and called just Paul to have everyone sing “what a wank” since he didn’t show up because he went out the night before and, what’s that? “Waaa, Waaa my pu**y hurts” you say?…I thought that’s what you said…What a wank


So, the Hare takes off and we all go back into the Beach Cumer (as Re-leash me likes to call it) and some have another beer, I too have another re-hydrating beverage, before taking off after Tidy Whitey…


As usual, the flower is sparse, there are many checks and I take full advantage of the time to let my lungs catch up with the rest of the pack as they run back and forth looking for true trail.  Over achievers, Doc, Blowing Seaman and Man Porn show off their running skills flying by us as some wait to hear our long awaited call of “On, On!!” 

Oh how I long to hear that whistle blow…


I wanna hear it...I don't have to fear it and IIIIII wanna rock your gypsy soul...

 ooo, sorry did I tell you that I have A.D.D.? On on...


We hit the second Bar of the evening, Tavern on the Park??? Parkway Tavern, Parkview Tavern something like that…

Ok, Parkview Tavern Bar #2


I really think that was the best beer I’ve ever had.   Yes, Takes it in the Face was actually running this trail.  No wheels in the dark on these rough streets…


Tidy takes off again for bar #3; we finish our Beers stretch a bit (fully speaking for myself there, I don’t think anyone else was taking advantage of the stretch time)




Next Stop: Pal’s :


We have our beers, some stimulating conversation about herb gardens, a game of Jenga (initiated by Double D) Written on the game pieces were demands that we all didn’t and wouldn’t do.  Come on, I mean really; who is going to buy the entire bar a round of drinks, then finish a random mixed drink at the bar and head to the quarter when we have important hashing to do??  Not I said the bar fly…The game ended when Man Porn intentionally knocked all the pieces all over.


Ok, on on to Bar # (where are we now? I’ve been drinking, been spun around on a barstool while reading a trivia card (thanks re-leash me) and am a little disoriented)

Oh, yeah, Bar #4…La Finca


Are you surprised that I remembered?  Who could forget the incredible smell of authentic Mexican cuisine, not to mention the room filled with Mexican Men (with the exception of the cooks, bartenders and harriettes)? 

Oh and let’s not leave out the shameless dancing? 

Que es La Puteria? 

Right here baby!! 

Just sign up and place your bids on the white girls!! 

“Hey” says the DJ (in Spanish of course), “Let’s put on some sexy Amedican music and see them dance!!  Dance puppet; Dance!!”

So on comes Luther singing “Let’s get it on”.

Re-leash me & Takes it in the Face dance for the Mexicans and get quite a rousing response.  Cheap bastards didn’t spring for a beer though. I even let her smack my ass and got nothing but a cheap thrill out of it, and let’s not forget the harassment to follow.  Bastards!

Ok, I admit the spanking alone was worth it. 

Meow! I did say shameless right?


Ok, On, on to bar #5, Oh, what’s that?  Liuzza’s closed?  That’s what Wet Blow said.  (Calling from his van)

Ok let’s skip Bar #5 and move right on to Bar #6

Doc, Double D and Fill me up Drive away…


Somewhere between La Finca and Wits Inn, I loose my phone to the streets…


Wits Inn:


We, Man Porn and I, arrive D.F.L. to find all the wankers including the Hare, loading into Wet Blow’s Van.  No one went in for a drink, did not collect a beer, did not pass go, just straight into the van.  On on to the Final bar. 

Ok, so I got in too.  You didn’t expect me to stay on those streets alone did you? 

All together we had 13 people squeezed in, on top of each other and STAnKEY!



We arrive at Nicks Irish Pub

This is when I notice that I had lost my cell phone. 

I hand out pieces of Pizza that Wet Blow got at Wits in while he waited for us.  I give it away and get back in the van so that we can go back to Mexico to find my phone.  No luck…not in the Bathroom & not at the Bar. 

If you get the Big Easy Digest, you know the rest of that story.

That’s a-whole-nuther-Opra story all together my friends…


I get back and the circle has already begun…

Some wankers that gave up drinking for lent went home for fear that they couldn’t or wouldn’t control themselves, would give in to hash pressure and drink a cold one thus sinning as we all do…


Ok, so, bear asses are on the Ice.  I had picked up 3, 25# blocks of Ice.  What do we need 3 blocks for, you may ask.  Well, I’ll tell you; so they could stack 2 and get a sort of “high chair” ice block thing happening.   It was fun to shout, “I’m on top!!” when called to the ice…


Let’s see if I can remember:

Wet Blow was called to the Ice for not arriving until we got to Wits Inn AND, let’s not forget his paying for that 14 inch.

 I was called for loosing my phone, then called back with Re-Leash me for our dancing/prostitution ring. 

Doc was called in for getting lost on the way to Pal’s. 

Tidy, well, for being the hare. 

Man Porn and Re-Leash me because Man Porn has a really bad memory and can never remember meeting Tidy and Re-leash me much less connect the fact that they’re married.  Man Porn again for whatever. 

The virgin for well, being a virgin. 

~Stinky Toy Box’s Sister is hiding inside.  Apparently she was traumatized by her last Full Moon experience, so we all went up to the window where she sat waiting and mooned her…That was nice.  We opt to do this while the virgin, Just Nate, sat on the ice waiting for us to finish having our fun…Sit newbie! Freeze that ass ~

Stinky Toy Box for not having sat on the ice yet. (And you’ll have to refresh my memory if there was another reason cause I was drinking and in my own fun world.)

Double D and Fill me up for Auto Hashing…

I’m quite sure that I’m missing something but feel free to have me sit on the ice at the next full moon as punishment…


What can I say?  Typical full moon circle…We all sat.  We all froze and numbed our asses…We all drank…

The guys peed on the ice when it was over, (that’s always pleasant) we drank more beer, some went back to Tidy & Re-leash me’s for Hot tubbin to defrost our asses and that’s all she wrote…

Too bad you weren’t there,

Oh where, oh where were you last night at the Hash?...


Take It In The Face



Full Moon Trash

Nov. 9, 2006

Hare: Porno Prick


It’s a crying shame when the Full Moon Hash must rely on durn foreigners to set trail for them, but that’s the predicament we found ourselves in as we waited at the Deckbar Bar in Jefferson for the evening to begin. Since I hadn’t been out in ages, I was pleasantly surprised to see other six-week wankers such as Cockwork Orange inside sipping a cold one. But the rest of the group chose instead to freeze their asses off in the parking lot or else they were rarin’ to go for whatever punishment Porno Prick had in store.


Some Full Moon newbies, including Just Mike and (gasp) r*nners Just Lele and Just Jean-Luc, came out. I guess the Capt. Picard jokes have been getting old because later in the circle Jean-Luc tried to pass himself off as Rock-Hard Nipples or something like that, a name he apparently earned at the Red Dress or so he thought. Piston Penis muttered something about the tits on the beautiful women in Thailand and then we were headed, surprise, to the levee.


We headed east toward town for a little ways before crossing back to the industrial district and the canal system. PP incorporated several train crossings (that is, under the train) before taking us across a pipe over the water. Seeing as how there was hardly any water flowing, I opted for the low road down the bank versus slipping and breaking my neck, not that it was so high but I was clumsy and tired. We paralleled the canal for a good ways. I had lost trail when I spotted three people blocks away. By the time I ran up to them enough time had passed that when I asked them “have you seen any dumbasses running around,” and they pointed in the direction from whence we’d come, I realized he was talking about us. So I headed toward an overpass down a different path, coming across a group of kids screaming, “they went that way,” pointing toward the cemetery. Warning me not to go that way because of the dark and the dogs, I crossed under what must have been the 50th train of the evening when finally we were at Jefferson Highway again. IHOV found marks on the opposite side, but when they didn’t lead all the way to River Shack as we predicted, we retraced and caught trail on the street parallel, grateful for the Beer Near sign even though it was still a mile away as it turned out. Fill Me Up had long since had a better offer, so she took off to answer her booty call well before we headed to the first beer check.


After libations at River Shack and a brief serenade by the house band for that night, we headed on the levee again before crossing over River Road at Causeway. A couple of turns and we came across a monument/munitions storage marker that Probing Sex Knave thought was long-gone. Taking a diagonal across a shopping center parking lot and Jefferson Highway, we headed into the neighborhood again and arrived at Takes it in the Face’s house for Beer Check #2 before her departure for safari. We still don’t know why Knave tried to ride the hobby horse that was in her shed. 


Back at the DeckBar for the circle, Wet Blow had made the unfortunate mistake of not bringing block ice, so to make up for it Probing Sex Knave had the brilliant idea that everyone should get up on the tippy table to do a five-minute stint as RA. It was like Jenga or a train wreck waiting to happen: despite Anal-izer’s assurances that the center was reinforced, it sagged dangerously low in the center when we moved the salsa to the middle. But there were plenty of chips and beer, and the circle was merry, and nobody died by table, and later the burger and brisket and fries were yummy, so all in all it was a great night.




August 9th Full Moon 

HottaThanHell Full Moon Hash

Hare: CockWork Orange


Location: The Biggest Balls in New Orleans (Morial’s Balls) 

Pack: P.S. Knave, Just Sabine, Dental Damsel, Doc Cousteau, IHOV, Pecker Nipples, Stinky Toy Box,

Barely There: Wet Blow (as the Iceman Cumeth), Ride My Pony (Token Fuck Me Nike Heels…Just Do It)


As opposed to previous Full Moon’s this one took place under the cover of darkness, however no Moon could be found (until circle).  Chalk talk was brief or non-existent.  The pack waited for late-cummers but found that many of the usual pack were too busy pre-mismanaging the upcumming red dress festivities to bother with trail.  The trail began after much delay and then zigzagged aimlessly in and out between Magazine, the Whorehouse (warehouse?) District, etc and beer-checked at Half-Moon Bar (?).   Following the beer check the usual FRB (P.S. Knave) disappeared to shortcut to the on-in. 


Meanwhile the rest of pack led by DD followed trail.  It was discover that the confusion under the overpass was just a cover by Doc and Pecker Nipples to try to pimp the four harriettes (PN needed new nipple clamps).     


Finally, the pack came upon the end of trail (and there was much rejoicing) where P.S. Knave (trail Zen Master) was awaiting along with the Hare, Cock Work Orange amongst the Big Balls. 


During circle it was determined that all Harriettes should sit atop the balls (which were ribbed for our pleasure) to enjoy the circle shenanigans.  Since there were only four harriettes and five balls, P.S. Knave was designated as close enough to a female to take the fifth ball (which he eagerly climbed).  Soon after, Wet Blow finally blew in with Ride My Pony to deliver ice (there were late cuz Ride My Pony was not done eating……in the car……). 


The deviants proceeded to take turns imitating the moon (since there was none to be had in the sky) and doing down-downs on the ice. Blah, blah, blah, blah,…..blah, blah, blah.  Finally, Just Sabine took the last turn on the ice.  Under the influence of too much bad beer and given that she was taking being bare ass on the ice like a pro, the circle decided to name her right then and there.  Thinking that Just Sabine, being from Deutscheland, might have a few good stories (biergartens, bikes and S&M, oh my!) the pack began their interrogation (ve haf vays ahf making you talk). There were some tales about phone sex with a telemarketer, the german translation of various sex acts, something about a chicken, eating a chicken, something about lickin, it tastes like chicken, fingers??.....at this point it got fuzzy……and after some strained attempts to think of something clever…..Just Sabine was named and will be forever known as “Ficken, Licken Good!”  (people, her wings at Red Dress were no coincidence).   




July 11th Fullmoon

Hares: Helluva Dick & No-So-Ho

Location: Bonnable Boat Dock


Thanks to Helluva Dick and No-Sho-Ho for haring last nights Fullmoon hash. Contrary to other

published data it was not a Big Easy Hash. There was quite a turnout and even a few virgins. Pecker

Nipples was good enough to donate NOH3 beer; leftover beer, is that possible? Two notable visitors

were IHOV International House of Vagina and (insert hash name here) the fellow from Macon Georgia.

The local constabulary foiled the pre-hash drug deal and chalk talk was dispensed with. The hash was

warned that the trail was “economic”. After a few twists and turns we realized that there were no more

checks to find. Stranded, like the cast of “LOST”, on the median (neutral ground the locals call it) the

Hare gave verbal flour and we were off like a wild pack of dingoes. Beer Check was near a lovely

paddock where G-String, Butt Gravy and Spread-Em took special interest in a few horses. Actually,

Spread-Em was more interested in the horse poo for some ungodly reason. At beer check, Helluva Dick

announced On-In and pointed over the Levee to the Boat Launch, which was within range of a three

wood. Circle was held and the full moon was seen by all that care to observe, I mean, moonrise was

actually during the circle. Nice touch.


Cockwork Orange



May 13 Full Moon Trash

Hares: G-String and Butt Gravy


The weather was gaw-geous and the dogs were plentiful as we met at the Batterie across from

Village Square on River Road. The location had been hastily switched by the hares because

according to G-String there were too many graduations going on by Audubon Park Pool, the

original start. I guess baptism is part of the whole tradition these days but no matter, it was all

good and we found the place well enough.


The hares gave us a little prelube by leading us down the hill from the levee path to a small trail,

up and over huge logs and into a clearing at the water’s edge. As hounds such as Blow My

Banana Bitch, Vagina Miner, Takes It in the Face and weary Biloxi travelers Fill Me Up, Bunny

Snatch, Wet Blow and visitor Medicine Blow Job breezed in, new boots Terry, Toni and Steven

were filled in on the intricacies of hashing. Seeing how Stinky Toy Box and Cheesy Ball’s Eye,

their sponsors, failed to mention that there might be running or at least quite a bit of walking

involved judging from their footwear. While we waited for the sun to set, several pierced and

tattooed interlopers arrived with even more dogs in tow. It was quite a tense standoff for almost a

half hour. The newcomers soon realized their plans to sacrifice a pug to the moon goddess –

perfectly acceptable in my opinion, pugs scare me, like clowns and the flying monkeys in the

Wizard of Oz – had been thwarted and so they split.


Finally it was time to go, and with one more demonstration of Wet Blow’s portable lighthouse, we

went back toward the levee and across the street. The pack soon split into 10 as trail went up

stairwells in the office building. Seeing walkers and runners alike move further and further toward

the neighborhoods, me and BMBB struggled to get off the fifth floor. I’m glad I took the stairs,

because I think BMBB waited for the elevator for about 10 minutes. After milling around the back

parking lot, me and Vagina Miner heard Probing Sex Knave and Doc Cousteau call on on so we

followed them into the street.


Block by block we followed marks until we came upon houses bordering the park and then

returned to the levee and went into the Batterie, where almost all of us wandered aimlessly for a

bloody half an hour because Dental Damsel swore she found marks on trees. Well, they were

marks, but they were made by moss, not flour. BMBB and Vagina Miner then backtracked to

check out the direction from which they’d entered, and sure enough there were marks.

We entered the park, where I almost flipped over the chain blocking the vehicle entrance, and

then the trees started talking to me: “Why’re you guys running?” “I know what they’re doing.” “Can

we come?” I’m sure there were people somewhere, I just couldn’t see them. So we ran past the

pool and back through the park in what turned out to be a major circle jerk, honor to the hares.

We even got to see a big yellow moon, not mine, as we headed down the railroad tracks back



Like many before them, the hares used the general seclusion of the finish to light a bonfire, a

hash tradition that I have sorely missed for several weeks. And they brought marshmallows,

which as it turns out go really well with beer. Hell, everything does.


Early on, it was demonstrated by a certain person who shall remain nameless, okay it was

Twinkle Twat, how not to balance on a log before the serious drinking had commenced. Moral:

Don’t call people “stupid” unless you’re on really firm footing. BMBB thought it would be really

funny to light the whole forest on fire, which he tried to do several times, including when people

were sitting on ice. Fucking hilarious. Speaking of ice, since I failed so dismally in my full moon

where I didn’t have a clue about how serious the full moon ice tradition is, I got to go first. I guess

cubes just won’t do.


Then hares drank, and it was interesting as the evening progressed how many people can fit on

one ice block. Okay, it’s kinda disgusting in a fun way. Newcomers Terry, Toni and Steven were

all good sports about it, especially Toni, considering it was her birthday. G-String demonstrated

her tech-nick of sitting not-quite-bareassed on the ice for the ladies, who decided to ignore her

advice and go all the way, true harriettes in the making.


Humbly submitted,


Spread ‘Em



April 2006 FullmOOn Hash

So there I was, Day 10 in the Big Easy, laying trail after a couple of beers and a phat piece

of `za at the free music fest in Lafayette Square, with only a glimmer of an idea of where

the fuck I was or where I was going to go. Sure, Knave had given me basic orienteering

points ("That way is the Superdome, the Quarter is that way – don't go there, it will be

boring – that way is the car. Just zig and zag"). Riiiight.


After Nathan and the Zydeco Cha-Chas wound down, the pack collected near the statue of

some dead guy who turned out to be Lafayette, go figure, and me and my 10 pounds of

flour and my 50-pound pizza ass were off. Sort of. The alley on the side of the courthouse

turned out to be blocked by an eight-foot iron fence. Do I suffer humiliation and turn

around after 30 seconds in full view of the pack, or do I bite the bullet and scale it? Guam's

near-vertical hill climbs came in handy, and I hopped over the fence and the one on the

opposite side of the block no problem, hoping that the hounds wouldn't get arrested by

Homeland Security or something.


Going in a vague westerly direction, with the sting of someone saying "Downtown? This is

going to be nothing" still ringing in my ears, I vowed to make this as unforgettable as

possible despite not knowing where I was. Carefully keeping track of my marks, I ran past

the Cancer Memorial Park and lo and behold, presto, a parking garage. Whee! So up to the

third floor I went, where I could hear whistles starting to blow. Ooops. Down the stairs, out

to the street, and cool, a Greyhound station. Several travelers/residents asked me what I

was doing and seemed puzzled by the "chasing beer" reply. Crossed under I-10 (I think),

where at the opposite corner some whacked-out guy asked me what was in the bag after I

set a big "X." He didn't believe it was flour, even after I ate some to show him it wasn't

anthrax or crystal, and I left him pondering what I guess he thought was a terrible waste of

prime blow or some satanic or racist symbol; from what I heard he was still thinking about

it when the pack came by later.


Back under the freeway, I stopped to take a piss by all the flooded- out cars – don't get

prissy on me, you've either done it or thought about it – and headed down St. Charles. All

was good until I realized that something was running beside me. A very small something. A

rat, in fact. It was hauling ass and looking at me with beady eyes, and it wouldn't leave my

side for a good hundred yards. It was kinda freaky, throwing flour at a goddamn rodent

who won't leave me even surrounded by all these shi-shi restaurants. Finally I think he

sniffed out some coq au vin or something and was outta there.


Zigging and zagging block by block, passing the fire station and running through a

warehouse, I came by a brightly lighted promenade, so I ran past another courthouse, and

finally headed toward Poydras and Canal. Boom, Harrah's. After deciding they'd throw

me out if I tried to run through it, I went toward the boardwalk instead and down railroad

tracks; I could hear the pack right behind me but couldn't see them. Damn. But it was time

to go back anyway, so I passed behind Harrah's this time, crossed Canal and went down a

couple blocks and turned back south. But wait, what's this? SHIT – it's my own backcheck.

By the time I decided to make it a check, walkers be damned, Tidy Whitey caught me and

took my bag with him, heading to the Circle Bar off Robert E. Lee.


Then the evening got strange. A comely harriette and visiting UK hasher had been directed

by Knave to sit this one out at the bar and immediately joined the circle along with Vagina

 Miner, Blow My Banana Bitch, I forget his name but in my head I call him Coastie Bob,

Releash Me, Tidy Whitey, some other hasher whose hash name I've forgotten, and a couple

others, including the limey's son, who evidently was in the process of disciplinary action or

something at Tulane, a true hasher in the making. After a while we were joined by Dental

Damsel and Doc, who had completed trail on their bad-ass Abita bikes. And they were

followed by this guy wearing what we initially thought was a turban. But it wasn't a

turban, it was a turKEY, a rubber turkey. When asked why he had a turkey on his head,

Jade from Chicago said that he'd found it in the trash and felt compelled to wear it. Well,

sure. So we made him do a down-down and drink with us. Then a white car with blue

flashing lights pulled up in a rush, and as the responsible hare and re-founder, BMBB and

I went to talk to him. Turns out it was the federal police, and all Just Brian wanted to know

was when the next hash was so he could take part before heading back to D.C. Ladies, he

had a nice nightstick, so you may want to go to their Red Dress and pray he knows how to

wear a kilt.


Anyhoo, after mistakenly pouring out the ice and hearing a radical new evolutionary

theory that white people evolved from horses (don't ask), the circle retrieved said ice cubes

and made me and Tidy Whitey sit on them, why I don't know. After doing my best

impression of an ice dispenser, the circle finally died with a whimper after a nameless

Mexican who had joined us did some break dance moves and finished off by flipping his

legs over his head and grabbing his ankles. Spread-eagled. Nice.


Then we went into the bar, where several kind hashers brought me PBRs and one bitchy

bartender threw Doc out for not having i.d. So before things got ugly we went to the Ugly

Bar (didn't we?), which was ugly anyway because 1) they didn't have food and 2) some

asshole tried to ruin DD's night by not telling her where she'd dropped a wad of cash. We

said fuck that and headed to Dini's or Dino's or something where the beer and fries were

good and plentiful, and the pretty waitress had a sweet can AND was everything good and



Trail: Best full moon of the year.

Boobs: 0

Cocks: 0, unless you count the turkey and the nightstick

New boots: See above item, plus the younger Brit promised to bring fresh fraternity meat

next time, grrrrrr.

Humbly Submitted,

Spread `Em