Sept. 24, 2006
Run #948 (that’s what the Web site says and I’m sticking to it)
Hares: Ice Balls, Penis Colada
Kitchen Bitch: International House of Vagina
Location: Brechtel State Park in the West Bank
My only experience up until now with the West Bank was two Mom’s Balls and a Mardi Gras trail ferry crossing, and let’s just say I was either very drunk or very naked or both and so none of those count. I was actually excited for the experience, plus it was the first Sunday hash of the season and the downpour of the morning had burned off and it was warm, but not unbearably so: possibilities looked good. This positive attitude persevered despite driving around Gretna and Terrytown for an hour in a second wave of rain looking for the famed West Bank Asian supermarket and not finding it. Whatever, it was a hash Sunday.
At the start the hares trying to set up the keg. I guess they had had a few already because it wasn’t going so well. Knave saved the beer for the pack just as two comely lasses leaned out of their car and asked hopefully, “Are You?” So they parked, and then birthday boy Piston Penis arrived with Boner Lisa, and then Mr. Mumm and Old Hag showed up in a VW bug, and then Sucks ‘Em Raw arrived with her cute little granddaughter in tow, but they weren’t doing trail, they had to go to the lake, and then Butt Gravy arrived riding his motorcycle instead of towing it, and Steve Erwin magically rose from the dead to hash with us once again, much to Peter Teaser’s delight, and TFB 1 (or is it 2?) showed up with her fabulous new do, and after much hanging out and admiring Bleeding Paloma’s innovative koozie fundraising scheme I mean tactic for the MS ride and some confusing instructions from the hare (what was it the women needed to see?), the pack was directed across the street into what was a golf course, much like City Park’s golf course is now.
But the hares were so tricky they had me and Warrior Princess and Ass Dandruff and scads of others soon realizing that they had LIED and trail wasn’t that way at all. So we went back to the start and into the park and thankfully spotted flour once again. This time we had to actually hop over logs and dodge vines and stuff, and Tidy Bowl Man thoughtfully broke dangerously hanging limbs away from the path. We spotted one of the hares ambling ahead with the walkers, and he didn’t seem too perturbed that we were going to tackle him and take his shorts, so he took all the fun out of it and he got to keep his clothes. At this point Knave decided he had to go into hash training, even though the brush was thick and he had neither machete or gloves, and he disappeared for about an hour.
After searching for the next mark around a sort of promenade, trail continued down a park road for a little bit and then headed off into high grass. At this point both the walkers and the runners came together, except for Butt Gravy, who went to play with the geese, for the infamous “P” check, there was a long low wall we were standing on, waiting. No one seemed to know what it was we were waiting for, so finally I said “fuck it,” flashed my landing strip (but not my tattoo and piercings, geez I have standards), and left.
And then things started getting good. Oh, shiggy. Shiggy, shiggy shiggy for at least 15 uninterrupted minutes, hopping through vines and over logs and tripping over uneven ground, I thought I was at a hash again. Then sadly I saw a fence with a hole in it and found myself at the cars again. Drat. The Natural Light that we’d brought with us eased the pain a little, and there were a good half-dozen people we were able to rehydrate with it. Wherever Knave went, he already was rehydrated because he was soaking from head to toe plus he looked like he lost a wrestling match with a holly bush.
A brief drive from the start and we were at Ice Balls’ house, complete with pool and shrimp already on the barbie.
With Piston Penis as RA, circle up was almost immediate. Virgin Raquel from Trinidad said she enjoyed her first hash, and thanked Gooey Blow for making her cum, which was a surprise to Gooey Blow until she remembered she always has that effect on people. The birthday peeps – Ice Balls, P.C., IHOV and Piston – drank for it being their special day. Mr. Mumm misunderstood the directions when given his long-overdue whistle, and he tried to eat it. Then the pool people drank for being in the pool, and then IHOV, G-String, Knave and me pretended that we were water nymphettes. We and Daddy’s Dick also played an infinite amount of “fetch” with the pool dog, what the pup lacked in speed he made up for in sweet dogginess. Then I don’t know why it was brought up now, but Piston and Knave drank for going to Thailand for World Interhash even though it’s not for another three weeks, I guess they’re excited.
There were many yummy things after the circle, Penis Colada’s potato salad and IHOV’s Cuban black beans among them, and to my knowledge no one got birthday cake (red velvet AND raspberry almond, humm) in their hare.
That’s how I remember it,
SHAMELESS SELF-PROMOTION: In an effort to raise more pledges and thus funds for the MS Ride for the Cure, I propose riding the entire first day in nothing but a thong bikini, rain or shine (a Texas flag bikini at that). That is 75 miles with no padding for my kootchie on a mountain bike on rolling hills along the North Shore and through Mississippi, and the longest I’ve ridden at one time in the last month is 55. It may be COLD, and when I mean nothing else, I mean no rain jacket or fanny pack either, so it’s way beyond mere embarrassment or quasi-flashing kids – and there will be plenty of those on the course, so I may damn well get arrested for indecent exposure – it’s going to be hard. Chafing, sunburn, the whole nine yards. I expect an equal number of pledges begging me to keep my clothes on, so if you would like to participate in this farce, and yes there will be proof in action, visit this link
https://www.nationalmssociety.org//LAM/personal/default.asp?pa=55308343&pd=LAM0EMS120061007LOU, and cast your vote with your pledge (“THONG” or “LEAVE ‘EM ON” ). Along that note, if someone can locate a Saints or fleur-de-lis thong bikini that’s not too expensive for me to purchase ($50 or less) this week, I’ll wear that instead.
New Orleans Hash House Harriers
Hash No. 94?
The Fifty Third Week after Katrina
A Trifuckta Hash
Doc Cousteau, A Short Dickumentary
4 September 2006
Jefferson Davis Parkway
New Orleans, Louisiana
At about 17:30 hour on a not so hot evening, after chalk talk during which myriad new trail marks were described, Doc Cousteau departed the wide, tree-lined median of Jefferson Davis Parkway headed river bound on narrow Cleveland Street for a couple blocks to a right turn to a zigzag course to Tulane Avenue and back to Jeff Davis.
The hounds found flour leading along Jeff Davis across Tulane Avenue, across Ponchartrain Expressway, aka I-10, via the pedestrian walkway on the overpass. Beyond the expressway, the trail led the pack to a right turn and down to the campus of Xavier University and a BC-30, or, “Back Check 30”. After trudging along and loosing count at about 12, or something, the consensus developed into the very high probability that “-30” would be the starting point on Jefferson Davis Parkway.
On the second leg of the trifuckta, the hounds were led from Jeff Davis in the opposite direction from before on Releash Me’s laid flour for a few blocks to and passing before the digs of Releash and Tighty Whitey, skewed by the flood waters of a year previous but made somewhat livable by determination and on to a jog along the streets around Canal Street and another BC-30. For this leg of the trail, the hounds assumed that 30 blobs of flour back was the starting point and returned to the wide parkway. It was there that PS Knave deposited his ‘find’ on the still not burning grill and fled on the third leg of the trail. (See “Accusations”, below.)
Tighty Whitey chose for his leg of the trail a course along Canal Street toward the Mississippi River, but not passing near to it. It was disclosed that Tighty was caught laying said trail when he ran between two buildings to a blind alley. The Hasher whom was said to have done the catching is Spread ‘Em. Spread ‘Em denies this achievement but PS Knave insists that it is true.
Any way, soon afterward, the pack returned to the place of the start, the On-in, the On-on-in.
Piston Penis and Dental Damsel
All Who Acquired Cooler Places To Live because of The Great Storm of 2005: Since the venue for this Hash in in the midst of an area devastated that should have been affected only minimally, all who were relocated to even cooler places to live were called by Dental Damsel to the circle. About a half dozen heeded the call.
The Hares and the Trail:
The hares were called to defend their mutually concocted opus. It was then that they declared that it was indeed a Trifuckta Hash since all three would turn, or have already turned, the age of thirty sometime during the year. It is a Hash Thing, nobody else would understand.
New Boots: Nada
Captain Commode, Hand Job, :Latex Lips and Doctor Poo
Less Looser from Fort Walton
A handful of hashers obtained their ‘Seniority Beads’. One, Dr Poo, had not even attained his Twenty Five Hash Bling.
Hashers Going Away:
Bunny Snatch announced again that he will be leaving again before the next New Orleans Hash, he really, really, really will time, or so he says...
Ride My Pony called Spread Em, who is PS Knave’s mate, and accused her of not cooking for Knave because he was so hungry that he was compelled to pick up some road kill, a meduim-sized rat, and carry it back to the place of the on-on-in and put it on the barbecue grille, that Doc might cook it for him to augment his allotment of rations.
Most Notable On-On-In:
Great burgers, grilled bananas (split lengthwise and grilled on the open fire skin side down- awesome!) and industrial grade brownies spiked with ground espresso beans!
Scribe: On Da Rag (Tom)
Errors? Omissions? Send an e-mail to:
attend the next Hash and make arrangements with the Religious advisor to bring it up in the circle.