14 hard-core hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam, while an inordinate amount of pavement weenies stayed home, fearing that the drivel on the listbot about a run from BOG to PIC might be true.  Ciega returned from her sojourn to the real world and was collecting the cash.  However, those that showed up were in for a spectacle. We had several FNG’s, namely, Masako (who is a tour agent here in Saipan), Jessica (who came with Ladrone), Hideki, and his girlfriend who are Japanese Tourists who saw the hash on channel 3. The box was announced and since the Plumeria is barely making it as a hotel, the parking lot had plenty of space for us. Red Sasquatch just made it from the airport having dropped off the Squirrel and the two hash horrors that are headed to the mainland.  The box was out on the beach in the shade.  Ladrone was assigned the task of sweeper so the Tyrant let him borrow the headlamp he wears in the dark.  The hares gave special instructions; white flour and pink tape, and watch out for bees, and then took off.  The Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the FNG’s, who mostly spoke passable English.  After the 10-minute head start, the pack was off and headed straight to the road.  A clusterfuck at the entrance to the hotel split the pack in two directions.  Finally, the hounds that went north found a checking and went into a housing compound, which led to an old, abandoned, Japanese road. This area is Achugao and we went up the road to a checking which took us off into the jungle. This is Laderan Achugao and we kept going up until we intersected the road again which took us through an abandoned pig farm. Just before the road, FNG Jessica stopped to rest and the Tyrant (not knowing she was WITH Ladrone) explained that she could rest, but don’t get behind the big guy with the flashlight.  We followed trail out past the pig farm and then up the hillside that is covered with red dirt.  There were some really beautiful vistas from here and the Tyrant pointed them out to the tourists. At the top of the hill we ran into Mt. Suu Suu and Cold Shower and Billy Graham did not see the checking and continued to follow pink ribbon, past 3 tied together on a limb (ON BACK) and around the other side of Mt. Suu Suu.  The rest of the pack found the checking and headed south on Wireless Road.  There were marks all the way to the huge clearing on the left side of the road that belongs to Indiana Jones and Fender Bender.  The trail petered out here.  However, the Tyrant, having spoken to both the hares during the week and reminding them that the XTERRA bike trail was a pretty good fall back if you did not have a run, continued on towards Split Hares mansion and found a check AND a water stop.  He then shouted “CHECKING” and took off down the hill.  Pervert Hoover caught up with him on the Kannat Tadang Nanasu road and eventually they hit the last checking at the Camacho Blue house, which led down to Unai Nanasu, or Hidden Beach. The rest of the hounds straggled in and the coolers were taken down to the beach.  Driftwood was collected and the fire was started.  A vehicle run was done and the tour agent said she had to go to a party, so Tiny Dancer tried to get himself invited to the party, or at least into her pants.  However, she promised to come back in a couple of weeks so we let her go.  Once everyone had returned, the ocean came in and tried to steal the snacks.  The fire was warm and the Tyrant piped up Religion. The hares came forward and lied about how difficult it is to set trail and have a job and blah blah blah.  CLD talked about how he ran into Splat and Crackerjack riding their mountain bikes and skipping the hash.  Next the FNG’s came up and did not embarrass themselves too much.  Hideki is a professor and it looked to me like his girlfriend might have been a student (SHAME ON HIM) but he denied it. There were courtesies called for, and quite a few people got up to do down downs.  The Tyrant excused CLD from the “ONE HARE DRINKS, ALL HARES DRINK” tradition so as not to waste beer. There were more courtesies, tales from the trail, and even a few meager attempts at humor.  But as usual, the evening had to come to an end.  The Tyrant called for policing the area, the Swing Low was sung.  The assembled headed to Hamilton’s, all except the Tyrant who went home.

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                 Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                               Dog Leg
AAAARA:                      OPEN
FIRE MASTER              Dirty Yellow Ball
HASH CASH                 Ciega
TRAIL MASTER            Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE              RONALD DUMSFELD

RECEDING HARE LINE...
1011     4/3            Acute Angina
FM96   4/5            OPEN (Monday Full Moon)
1012     4/10            Mutt
1013     4/17            Beerhead
1014     4/24            Pucker Boy
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

     EDITORIAL

What an excellent run this week.  And I really was a BIG DOG, and an FRB. MHP and I discussed the idea of pavement weenies (like rain weenies who don’t come out when it rains) who did not come for fear of having to run on beach road.  This is NOT a run.  This is not a RACE.  This is a hash.  It is an adventure.  You go where the trail goes.  Whether it is from the BOG to Mt. Topuchau, or an excellent run like we had this past Saturday.  The excitement is in not knowing WHAT kind of trail it is going to be.  Or whether or not the hares try to screw the pack, or make it fun. We hash because we love it. Some people say they have a life, and they have better things to do. Fine.  Do those better things.  Enjoy your life.

17 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam including John the Baptist, and we also Erin Kenny (Salty Gashes sister) was the lone FNG. Kramden filled in for Ciega who was on another hash cash junket.  The box was announced and we all went up and the speculation began.  As we parked and the beer truck drove up, we noticed that the lid of one of the coolers was missing.  No one knew what happened to it, but all of a sudden the accusations began against the Tyrant.  “Ciega is going to get you for losing the cooler cover while she was gone.”  It was just like when WE lost the vessel on her last vacation.  In the box, the hares gave special instructions.  The first was that there would be flour and Pink Ribbon.  They also said, “watch out for the beehive.  Stay on the inside of the YELLOW TAPE.”  When we asked if it was like Crime Scene tape, they said YES, LIKE THAT!!

So the hares took off and the Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the FNG, which included a curlicue arrow.  After the 10-minute head start, the pack was off to Toputchau Road.  A checking at the base of the stairs split the pack pretty evenly, but eventually everyone ended up on a cluster fuck near the old Congress of Micronesia.  We ran past Burma Shave’s old house and then ended up back by the Congress building.

Finally, someone the true trail and it went down behind the housing on the west side of Capitol Hill.  This just happened to be one of Slut’s favorite trails and led us down through some sparse vegetation.  After a while we dropped into a creek bed and this continued down for some time.  Soon we hit some man made baffles made of chain link fence and coral, and then we popped out behind Don Bufton’s house.  We hit the main road and saw Justice Wiseman looking down on us from his lofty house.  We ran through Maxcheesemo’s yard (formerly Slut’s) and then down to the Maui IV road.  The trail continued past the Rich Old Japanese compound and we found the curlicue arrow, which took us into a box culvert that is filled with God knows what.

At the entrance to the ditch, there was pink ribbon and yellow crime scene tape.  The pink ribbon was closest to Tiny Dancer has he dropped into the ravine, and crossed over to the yellow ribbon.  He ran right smack into a nest of angry bees and they were all over him.  Not wanting to piss off the bees anymore, Kramden asked Tiny Dancer if he was ok, and took the painful moan from inside the dark tunnel as a yes.  Kramden then went out to the main road and spotted hounds coming out of the ground across from the Mobil station.  Tiny Dancer continued through the dark, odorous tunnel.

Back on the main road, the trail took us behind the Mobil Station into Sadog Tasi and then out by the Shell Station.  We traveled across the road and over to CUC beach where we found nothing.  Back on the main road and we headed toward Smiling Cove.  But a checking midway took us over to Chalan Pale Arnold and to the ANAKS housing complex.  From here we went into the jungle (across from the main gate) and back up to the backside of Navy Hill.  A few more checking’s and we were at the Old Lighthouse.

At least one vehicle run was done and the hares went out looking for the stragglers (and there were quite a few).  Eventually everyone came in, a second vehicle run was done, and those poofters failed to come back, except for Pervert Hoover who went to wash his dick and other parts and then came to the On Home all sweet smelling.

The hares were called forward to talk about their trail and lied about all the work they put into it.  Crackerjack told us some FAG story about Crapper Don and Gay bars in Colorado, which made no sense (but since when does she).  We added lyrics to the Obla Di song in her honor. Then we called the visiting hashers (which included the hare Slut, One hare drinks, all hares drink).  Next we did the FNG’s.  Then we did courtesies and jokes.  And there was lots more drinking by the hares.  And then we got invited to Dirty Yellow Balls party (ON A HASH DAY??!!) and then more drinking.  I am not sure if Slut ever made it to the party because he was pretty drunk.  Eventually though, the area was policed, Swing Low was sung, and the assembled headed out.  The Tyrant going home as usual.

Beehive

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                 Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                               Dog Leg
AAAARA:                      OPEN
FIRE MASTER              Dirty Yellow Ball
HASH CASH                 Ciega
TRAIL MASTER            Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE              JUAN CARRY

RECEDING HARE LINE...
1010     3/27            Kowpaddy & Bite’n’Suck
1011     4/3            Acute Angina
FM96   4/5            OPEN (Monday Full Moon)
1012     4/10            Mutt
1013     4/17            Beerhead
1014     4/24            Pucker Boy
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

     EDITORIAL

As runs go this one was pretty boring.  It did keep the hounds guessing though. We all thought we knew where we were going every time we got close to one of the places where Slut used to live or used to on home a lot, but then we were misled.  When we hit CUC beach we were sure that was it, and when we headed towards Smiling Cove, we were sure THAT was it.

It was somewhat of a relief to finally get to the Lighthouse, but I was not amused when I called “ARE YOU” and no one answered. I am pretty thick skinned but one of my BIGGEST pet peeves is silent running or when no one yells “ON HOME” at the On Home.  People like Kowpaddy, who are otherwise obnoxious, always follows tradition in this respect.

Anyway, great honor to the hares for even trying.

47 Hounds arrived for the once in a while the Regular Hash and Full Moon hash come together. We got to see Inflatable Slut who was on island to fill in for Maxcheesemo who was off island. There was at least one FNG, Eric, on this night and the Tyrant was pretending to be Ciega (since she was off island too!  I wonder if she is off island with Cheese Boy, ooooooohhhh!!!! Let's start a big rumor to that effect) and he was collecting the money.  Donkey Dick parked his car right behind Sticky Ass to continue the drama from last week.

Anyway, Dog Leg announced the box as his house in As Lito and everyone headed in that general direction.  Once in the yard, Phlegm Phatale made the box and special instructions were given.  There would be flour on toilet paper on trail and little else.  The hares took off southward and the assembled chatted while we waited for the 10-minute head start to be used up. After this we immediately ran south towards the old Japanese Naval Air Station compound (Red Cross/Historic Preservation).  The trail showed several checking's but true trail went on a little dirt road to the right.  We followed this road until it hit the As Perdido Road where another checking had us in a cluster fuck.  One group went into the old Koblerville runway and hard stands and this turned out to be the true trail. Kramden stood at this intersection and explained to new people the historic significance of this area since this was the original International Airport.  The trail continued on this road until in became part of Klobberville housing.  This trail continued until it put us on the old farm road that runs behind the C.N.M.I. Immigration Holding and Rape Cells. This is where we lost the Pierce family.  The rest of the pack found trail which eventually led up and out to the Dan Dan road.  Trail continued on the Airport Perimeter road, to a checking on the Obyan Road.  This portion of the trail took us to the Ladder Beach turn off and another checking at the bottom of the hill.  True trail went into the boonies on the right, but the Tyrant and a hardy group decided to go down to the Palauan compound just above Ladder Beach.  As they trespassed through the property, they could here the hounds in the jungle to the right, struggling through the boonies.  After the Kramden group left the compound, they found an on back (which meant they were now on true trail.  The trail then went over to the fence surrounding the C.O.P. golf course, and went down towards the cliff line on the cliff fisherman's road. A hole in the fence (with an arrow pointing to it) had the pack trespassing on the golf course in a gloriously moon lit night.  We came out near the pin on number 13, and then walked past the tee at 14.  Down to the pin on 14 and then tow apparitions sitting on a small mound (Qamar and friend) waiting for the rest of the pack.  Down to the beach and the on Home.  After several phone calls the missing Pierce family was found and went home.  Since this was the Full Moon run, Tyrant Kramden stepped aside and let Red Sasquatch and Cracker Jack preside over the festivities and sat back and heckled to his hearts content.

Once a vehicle run had been done, and a fire started, the Red Sasquatch whistled up Religion and called the hare forward.  Dog Leg bullshitted about how hard he worked on this trail and then.  The FNG was called forward next and he did not shit on himself or anything.  Courtesies were called for and a few people got up.

Next there were many tales from the trail.  There were SCB's, and FRB's, and people who could not read trail if it was written out in English.  Chicken Lil Dick told a long, drawn out story about how much younger and stronger he is than the Tyrant (BIG DOG) and blah blah blah.  There were those who complained that not everyone did the true trail and blah blah blah.

One of the FNG's from last week, who was asking someone for batteries because hers did not work because she had used all the power in her vibrator was given the name Worn Out Wand.  Eventually it got late and Red Sasquatch called for policing the area.  Swing Low was sung, and everyone left the beach looking for a place to eat.

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                             Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                                           Dog Leg
AAAARA:                                  OPEN
FIRE MASTER              Dirty Yellow Ball
HASH CASH                             Ciega
TRAIL MASTER             Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE              Long Dog Dong Silver

RECEDING HARE LINE...
 1009    3/20            Mr. Happy Pockets &?
1010     3/27            Kowpaddy & Bite'n'Suck
1011     4/3            Acute Angina
FM96   4/5            OPEN (Monday Full Moon)
1012     4/10            Mutt
1013     4/17            Beerhead
1014     4/24            Pucker Boy
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER'S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

     EDITORIAL

There was another time when a woman got named because of worn out batteries.  Her name was Theresa Wamar.  She was young.  Perky.  Petulant Lips.  Big dark eyes.  And huge hooters.  She was looking for batteries for her Ghetto Blaster on a hash so we named her Size D.  I remember the hash after Typhoon Kim (Dec. 3, 1986), where all went to Rajneesh and Cecil B. Demilks for hot tubbing and spaghetti.  Size D and Kathy Yallowich were in the hot tub with us (and she was no slouch in the tit department either).  I only remember Rajneesh wearing Size D's bra, it was black and lacy.  I do not remember much else, because my wife dragged me home not soon after I said I was getting a hard on.  Those were the days.

HARES:                                 Chicken Little Dick, Hemp Hump, Spank-the-Stick-Up-My-Ass

BOX:                                      Bird Island overlook

ON HOME:                            Bird Island Beach

CASUALTIES:                     Cheshire Pussy, Steve Tilley

RUN:                                      ¶¶1/2

RELIGION:                            ¶¶3/4

DLMM Rating:                     10

 30 Hounds arrived for the second Chicken Little Dick run in a row, but this time with “virginal” co-hares Hemp Hump and Spank-the-Stick-Up-My-Ass (or “Spanky” for short) instead of old, less-than-virginal Ciega from the week before.  Actually, any comparison of virginity among that group is meaningless.  Having any of them “show us the sheets” is far more likely to produce stains of a nature having nothing to do with lost virginity.  In the case of CLD, we might as well ask that he “show us the drapes”.  Nevertheless, the three fucks showed up after most of us had already been waiting for half an hour, and then dicked around some more before grudgingly admitting the Box would be at Bird Island overlook.

                Once everyone had finally made their way ‘round the horn, the pack was forced to descend the loose, gravelly slope towards the edge of the cliff, and then down a portion of it, to a tiny ledge that apparently was home to the sea birds that ordinarily make the scary-evil-dead-baby sounds we hear when we on-home at the overlook above.  But this time, the Hash got to say a big “FUCK YOU” to those Goddamn birds by desecrating their on-home.  Who’s scarier now, you feathered little pieces of shit?  It took a long time for the elderly to get down to the Box, but Ciega, Beerhead and Confuse-us finally made it, and the hares were off, with the instructions not to follow colored ribbons, which should have told most of us where we were going.  In the absence of Haj Kramden, it was left up to Dogleg to ‘splain the markings to the FNGs, which included Agnes, Leon, Dan Carl, and Rosemarie.  The elderly broke the box early, and the rest of the pack lined up at the edge for the countdown, knowing that the trail back up to the parking lot would become a major bottleneck.

                The pack hit the parking lot already winded from the climb out of the Box.  The first checking was directly across from the Laderan Tangke nature trail, which should have been the obvious route, but a few hounds thought it was too obvious, and ran the wrong way instead.  Dogleg ended up checking all the way to the on-back toward the Grotto with Sword Swallower and Generic White Boy, thereby getting stuck behind everyone going up the nature trail.  About half-way up was a checking that was marked both ways.  Most followed to the right, which was the short route up to the trail head, but a few went left.  Ladrone was forced to come to a stop while he attempted to muster enough brain cells to identify the meaning of the plus-mark on the ground, and in the process, noticed a bag of flour hanging from a nearby branch.  Looking a little closer, he also saw a pair of bug-eyes peering out at him from the foliage, and all of a sudden everything clicked together, and the hare was caught!  CLD was apparently waiting for everyone to pass, before changing the checking to an arrow.

                The rest of us knew nothing of the fucked-up trail design, and thus were surprised to run into the FRBs coming down trail, head-on into us.  It turned out that the checking had marked the convergence of a circle, which took trail up to the top of the big pointy mountain overlooking Bird Island.  The hares had set up a refreshment stop at the top, which had an awesome view.  Refreshments, of course, were limited to olives and martini mixings.  Despite Kowpaddy’s warning, Dogleg decided to continue on trail to see the other side, but quickly turned back when, after a narrow but reasonable descent through a crack, trail turned vertical, with nothing but bush-stumps and a ¼ inch rope to prevent a twenty-foot fall.  Fuck that!  The pack ran back down the nature trail the way it had come, forcing those in front to pass those in the rear again, but this time a different route back to the road was marked, which some did not see.

                Only an arrow in the boonies marked the way across the road to the second boonies, where the pack was forced to crawl through a small hole in a tangle of pago limbs.  Trail followed a steep, slippery ravine down to the southernmost beach at Bird Island, and then through the water to the on-home at the “main” beach.  The pack was slow to come in because many people were trying to figure out where trail went, with so many options to choose from in the first boonies, and some simply missed trail, as it was hidden so well going into the second boonies.  Tiny Dancer was slow coming in because he had decided to run trail in his zorries.  The time waiting was spent swimming by some, and crossing over to Bird Island itself for others.  One thing is for damn sure; no one passed the time doing anything useful like looking for firewood, or organizing a vehicle run.  So it wasn’t until it was nearly dark that Dogleg realized the Hares weren’t going to do shit, so he called for a vehicle run and headed up the trail.  After everyone had piled into his truck, or so he thought, Dogleg departed.  As they pulled in to the on-home, Generic White Boy began to throw a fit.  It seemed that “Brad” had parked his Mustang directly behind GWB’s Jeep, leaving virtually no room for him to get out.  On his way back to the on-home, Dogleg spotted Brad and Tiny Dancer walking down the road.  They had been too late for the vehicle run, but Dogleg raced them back to the box just as the fuming GWB was finishing the thirty-point turn required to get out from behind the Mustang.  GWB rolled down his window to shout “HEY, I THOUGHT UP A HASH NAME FOR YOU!  HOW ABOUT ‘SHIT FOR BRAINS’!!” and then peeled out, not to be seen again until Hamilton’s.

                As fun as it all was, the distractions at the box killed all the remaining daylight, and Kowpaddy, Dogleg, and FNG Dan (or Carl?) were forced to carry the pallets down the steep trail in darkness, helped only by Rough Rider, who walked between the three with a flashlight.  Two big trees have fallen across the trail during the past year, so this was not easy.  CLD came up and relieved Kowpaddy of his pallet halfway down the trail, and then rolled the pallet down the steep slope into the boonies, thinking that this might be easier than carrying it.  CLD then followed the pallet, and nearly lost control sliding down the slope after it.  “Don’t come this waaaaaay!” he was heard to say, before disappearing into the brush at the bottom.  Unfortunately, he was OK.

A bit more fortunately, Dirty Yellow Balls had decided not to wait for the pallets, and already had a driftwood fire going at the on-home.  Dogleg disappeared with Ciega for a long time to discuss Hash names, and CLD began to get testy and convinced a few others to start a round of “Why Are We Waiting?”  This only caused Dogleg and Ciega to move farther away, and take even more time, but eventually they returned, and after some discussion and attempted deception from the peanut gallery regarding wind direction, the beer board was placed in the sand, and Crackerjack was called up to stand in as RA.  The hares were called forward and only Dogleg asked them to show us the sheets.  Both Hemp Hump and Spanky talked about how much they had learned, and what a mentor CLD was to them.  Oh my God, thought Dogleg, isn’t this also what they said about David Koresh, and Jim Jones?  The FNGs were then called forward, and Agnes asked for the options, but unfortunately opted for a Palauan with her husband Leon instead (they would have been huge, too!).  With that out of the way, the Tyrant called for tales from the trail and courtesies, and there were many.  Richard the G-man came up and talked about something, but Dogleg was focused on something he had said earlier about having “secret intelligence” about the run, which he would not divulge.  Dogleg also has a poor memory for history (too many sacred nectars), and named him “Pervert Hoover”, instead of “J. Headgear Hoover”, after the evil and twisted FBI Director that he was actually thinking of.  Oh well!  Next, Brad was called up to explain why, in a giant parking lot in the wide open space of Marpi, he had chosen to park just inches from Generic White Boy’s rear bumper.  Of course there was no logical explanation, just as there is no logical explanation for why Crackerjack thought “Donkey Dick” would be a good name for him, but that’s what Dogleg named him anyway.  Another sacred nectar for the Tyrant!  Arrrrr!  The namings did not end there:  Shelly was seen straddling DYB again, and Dogleg mentioned that he could see her “Tandoori Chicken” from there, and so she was named.  Several hounds, including the FNGs, began to drift away during this time.  Meanwhile, someone started passing around a bottle of tequila and a container of Morton’s Salt, and this led to the development of the evening’s preferred option – the “Mexican Doctor”, in which a down-down is exchanged for a body shot followed by a chaser from the sacred vessel.  The Doctor who thought it up did one too many of these, but we won’t go there.  Dogleg was taking his DLMMM duties particularly seriously that night, and managed to talk not one, not two, but THREE hash women into showing their tits.  Folks, that’s your Hash dollars at work!  The crowd was admonished to drink everything or carry it back up the trail, and this probably would have been a good idea, if it hadn’t been for the tequila.  As it was, several hounds chose to stay behind to:

a)       sober up;

b)       continue drinking;

c)       chase pussy/dick; or

d)       all of the above

while the rest carried the empty coolers back up the trail, and went on to Hamilton’s, where they ran into many of the hounds who had departed earlier.

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                             Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                                           Dog Leg
AAAARA:                                  OPEN
FIRE MASTER                           Dirty Yellow Ball
HASH CASH                             Ciega
TRAIL MASTER                         Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN                   Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE                          Long Dog Dong Silver

RECEDING HARE LINE...
1008     3/13      Inflatable Slut & Crackerjack
1009     3/20      Mr. Happy Pockets &?
1010     3/27      Kowpaddy & Bite’n’Suck
1011     4/3        Acute Angina
FM96   4/5       OPEN (Monday Full Moon)
1012     4/10      Mutt
1013     4/17      Beerhead
1014     4/24      Pucker Boy
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

A  week of strange and confusing e-mails from Chicken Little Dick did little to persuade anyone other than Beerhead into going straight to box instead of the Bank, where the other 23 hounds arrived for this one-of-a-kind oddball teaming of hares.  Ciega, for her part, distanced herself from the run immediately, claming “it was all CLD.”  Among those in attendance were visiting hasher Pat, FNG filmmaker Dan, and a couple of FNGs (Nathan and Ray) that Titty Sticker made come.  After waiting forever for Kramden to arrive, the Box was finally announced as the Koresco Hotel in Koblerville, a Korean “resort” which very few people have ever seen, including many long-time Saipan residents.

                After a long drive to the Box, we arrived to find Beerhead and CLD sitting on the porch of his room, where everyone was invited inside for mixed cocktails and use of his bathroom while we waited for the rest of the pack to figure out just where in the hell the box was.  We were eventually asked to move into the bottom of the empty swimming pool, where a large box was delineated by CLD somewhere in the deep end.  CLD mumbled something about his back being injured and a dangerous mixture of percoset and codeine, and then was off down the driveway of the “resort”, with Ciega following close in the beer truck.  Kramden ‘splained the instructions to the FNGs, while the rest of the “resort” residents looked on from their balconies and porches and questioned the wisdom of blowing all their foodstamps on beer and cheap stimulants.  One guy who looked fresh from beating his wife came out and talked to Little Bo Peep for a while.

                The wait was finally up and the Koresco residents were forced to return to their stale Jerry Springer lives as we ran out of the swimming pool, and down the driveway to As Lito Road, where the pack split in all directions.  True trail was found relatively quickly, leading up a side road by the St. Jude church.  This coral road led to the top of the ridge, where sparse toilet paper marked the entry into the first boonies.  We passed through some tall grass, and into an open forest that took us diagonally down the hill, eventually into a large grassy field where a big radio antenna used to be.  The field was so damn huge, that everyone had to spread out to search the perimeter for on-ons that didn’t exist, until we heard Beerhead shouting “On on!” back at the checking.  We followed her through a brief boonies, and then into a junk yard and a coral road that led out to As Perdido Road by the Parks & Rec office.  At this point, we noticed that Ray was still running with CLD’s big bottle of cocktails in his hand, which he said CLD instructed him to carry to the box.  Silly FNG!  But no one wanted to spoil the fun by ‘splaining the difference between “box” and “on home” to him.

                Most of the pack refused to follow Dogleg’s sage advice to run straight across to the “cultural center”, and foolishly checked up and down the road in vain.  So, Dogleg led a small contingent past the leaking septic systems and vicious dogs of an all-too-typical Saipan neighborhood and into the boonies at the end of the road, where the old walkways and foundations of the cultural center were found.  Crackerjack began to get testy and complained about the non-stop tour commentary by Dogleg, who insisted that everyone follow true trail around the walkways instead of just running out to the road.  Generic White Boy took this advice too literally, and slipped on his ass into the thick slime of Monkey Island lagoon while attempting to follow the on-ons.  Dogleg sagely led the rest of the group across the footbridge to Monkey Island instead.  From here, trail led back through the giant birdcage, the old go-cart track, and into the wetland, which was a difficult trail through the bamboo-like karisso reeds and even a patch of sugarcane.  We were soon back on the go-cart track again, headed out of the cultural center.  A checking near the edge fooled tour guide Dogleg, who tried to get everyone else to come with him to see the old bumper car building.  At this point, Crackerjack began gagging and trying desperately not to puke.  Thinking she was merely just overexerted from trying to match his blazing speed, Dogleg initially ignored her.  Not finding trail, however, he turned back and finally noticed the horrid stench coming from a 55-gallon drum of what appeared to be pig vomit.  Dogleg resisted the temptation to ask how a person who lived with Skid Mark for so long could be offended by such an odor, and continued on into an area that smelled not just of pig vomit, but human shit, too.  That was a little too much, but the intensification of Crackerjack’s gagging was funny enough to distract the rest of us from the stench.

                Back on the road, Dogleg and Maxcheesemo pulled off a never-before-attempted in-flight-dual-aerial-refueling from Crackerjack’s camelback on their way out to Tun Joaquin Doi road, where a few FRB’s were searching, inexplicably, for trail in the brush around the checking.  These idiots eventually decided to run up the big hill back toward As Lito, even though Dogleg warned that there were no on-homes up there, and the beach lay in the other direction.  But does anyone ever listen to Dogleg?  So he and Crackerjack turned left and followed true trail behind Generic White Boy and Cold Shower into Chalan Kanoa.  Crackerjack became competitive at this point, urging Dogleg to “catch those Fucks!”, which they managed to do by the time they hit Texas Road.  Trail became difficult to follow here, and the FRBs split up, with Dogleg leading Crackerjack on a tour through the bowels of CK, making sure to point out the historic “Quonset houses”, Sister Remedio’s preschool, and Jollibee.  Crackerjack said she remembered CLD getting stoned and leaking information about wanting to end a hash at Dirty Yellow Ball’s house on the beach, so they headed across Beach Road to the beach behind Payless, where some helpful locals pointed out an on-on on a concrete block, allowing them to beat those Fucks to the on-home just south of the Pacific Gardenia, where they met up with flyers Beerhead and Lemur.

                It was an extremely long time before the rest of the pack came in, because as it turned out, the false trail back up the hill on Tun Joaquin Doi road was a grueling, 1.4 mile round trip out to As Lito road (as measured by Dogleg the following day).  During this time, DYB and his girlfriend came out on their balcony and were subjected to the abuse that they rightfully deserved for staying home and fucking instead of coming on the Hash.  Once the rest of the suckers were back from their on-back, a vehicle run was organized and those left behind headed out into the “surf” to relax and watch the four dogs that were fucking on the beach in front of the Gardenia.  The dogs had attracted quite an audience, and one dog in particular drew a lot of praise for his ability to get it on, over and over again, with what appeared to be excellent technique.  Greg got so excited  that he was later named “Puppy Porn”, although better ideas were floating around.

Religion finally came to order after a raging fire was started by Titty Stickers and the FNGs.  The Hares came up separately and kept their distance.  “Pat”, a new Hash wench from Saudi, was welcomed by Beerhead with the Chamorro method.  The FNGs handled themselves well with the exception of Nathan, who bitched about the lack of Budweiser products.  Following this, Kramden immediately launched into an indictment against Richard and Vagina Slim and Ben for chariot riding, after testimony from witness Beer Bimbo.  You would think that Mr. Homeland-Security/Patriot Act would have been a little more discreet!  Ben said something like “but come on!” in his own defense that led to his being named “Butt Cum”.  Beerhead showed her tits to Dogleg in exchange for him drinking her beer, and – get this – showed him her tits again later in exchange for him drinking his own beer!  Sucker!  Maxcheesemo got up to tell a story in Spanish, and Crackerjack and Kramden fought for translator duty, causing it to become an incomprehensible mess about CLD riding the ass-pony with Mr. Happy Pockets and leaving him with a “mushroom bruise” on his forehead.  DYB came up for a dry down-down (no $10) and was drubbed again for staying home and marinating his tastes-like-tandoori chicken instead of running the Hash and starting the fire.  There were a few tales from the trail, and many accusations of stupidity and poor judgement at the various checkings and so forth.  Eventually the frivolity came to a close, and the vessel was retired.  Most went to Hamilton’s to continue the fun with food, but a few stayed around to wallow in the mess of DYB and Butt Cum’s living room, eat leftovers from old pots and pans, and drink their beer.

 The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                          Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                                          Dog Leg
AAAARA:                               OPEN
FIRE MASTER                      Dirty Yellow Ball
HASH CASH                         Ciega
TRAIL MASTER                    Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE                     Long Dog Dong Silver

 REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

RECEDING HARE LINE...
1007    3/6       Dogleg & Phlegm Phatale FULL MOON
1008     3/13      OPEN
1009     3/20      Mr. Happy Pockets &?
1010     3/27      Kowpaddy & Bite’n’Suck
1011     4/3        Acute Angina
FM96   4/5       OPEN (Monday Full Moon)
1012     4/10      Mutt
1013     4/17      Beerhead
1014     4/24      Pucker Boy
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

EDITORIAL

It was real nice to run “light” boonies and roads for a change, after a couple of months of really hard-core boonie runs around the 1000th.  It’s easy to think that a great run should be 100% boonies, with caves and bones and ropes.  But to me, a really balanced trail will have a good mix of boonies and road, and not be terribly difficult or dangerous.  Or maybe that’s just my excuse for next week’s run.  Last week’s trail was a great mix, with easy boonies, the old cultural center, interesting back alleys, and the beach.  How a crazed and drug-addled freak like Chicken Little Dick came up with it, I don’t know, but good on him!

45 hounds showed up to see if the hash could be as good as it was the week before.  There was even some FNG’s, who came with people who had enjoyed 1000 so much they wanted to share the love. And there would be much love.  We even got to see Hajji Peewee TWO WEEKS IN A ROW!! And Mutt is starting to be a regular again. The hares announced the box as San Isidro Chapel.  The Tyrant had to explain it to those who went to San Pedro Chapel the last time by mistake.  But apparently his instructions were not good enough, because Fartacus told a bunch of people to follow him, and they were the last ones to the box, even after the Tyrant and Ciega, who left the Bank last.

At the box, the hares gave special instructions while those with a short attention span played with grenades inside the cave.  There would be ribbon and there would be flour. There would also be a mark “BS” which meant Beer Stop was only 300 feet ahead and would have water, and champagne, and orange juice.  There would be “BN” which meant that we would be near the On Home.  And there would be “YBF” which meant you be fucked if you found that sign.  This was for the Flyers.

Then the hares took off and the Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the FNG’s.   And when the 10-minute head start was over, the pack took off up the hill.  A checking up on top took the pack on the almost invisible road that runs behind Ben Fitial’s house. This was the true trail and it went on for about 400 feet to an arrow that went into the jungle on the right.  From here the trail was a wonderful romp through some sparsely covered jungle with lots of roots and vines to trip everyone up.  We followed the trail north until we popped out just above the Annual Christmas Party Mesa that belongs to Juan Sablan.  From here it was through the enormous bamboo grove that leads up to a waterfall, which now had a huge hemp hawser, which we used to pull ourselves up the cliff.  It was here that Hemp Hump would do what she did to get her name. The trail then went up and headed even further north.  There was more of the same jungle, only now we could see where Pinoccular had performed some of his famous highway clearing.  The trail meandered through the jungle for a long time and then started a long climb up, up, and up.  Somewhere on this trail we found the BS sign.  But it was another 300 YARDS before we cleared the top and found the cooler. This place was the On Home from the All Slimers run was.  After this the trail went down to the Old Japanese road, which would lead us to Andres Reyes’ betel nut plantation.  However, before we could get to the farm, the trail went back into the jungle.  Now it meandered again for the longest time, and soon we were back on the road where we had first entered the jungle.  And not soon after this, we were at the box, only now it was the On Home.  The hare’s shorts hung forlornly from a power line over the stairs above the cave, and the FRB’s (Hajji Peewee and Fartacus) sat below the shorts with a look of victory on their faces. AS we waited and saw that the conditions were right for a Green Flash, the crowd moved to a part of the cliff line where the sun was clearly visible.  There was discussion about the reality or myth of the Green Flash, and everyone was AWED as we got to see one for real (except Red Sasquatch who is colored).  A fire was started, the Tyrant called for a vehicle run (JOKE) and then Religion was piped up.  The hares got up first and talked about how wonderful it was to be back on the Best Hash in the whole world.  The FNG’s were called forward and the non drinker Brad had all the unattached women ooing and ahhing for a Palauan.. Valerie won the prize and the rest just drooled the rest of the night.  There was lots and lots of courtesies to the run and the newly formed choir tried to liven things up a little.  But Religion was hot and Oly got up and told the tale of Julie and the rope so the Tyrant named her.  Then there were more courtesies and then the WODKA came out.  Once the vodka came out, weenies and tittie’s started to come out as people kept pulling down Pinocculars pants.  Then there was more vodka, and more tales from the trail, and more courtesies.  But when there were too many people falling down drunk, the Tyrant retired the vessel.  The area was policed, Swing Low was sung, and it was found out later many personal items were left behind this night.  Some people went to Hamilton’s, some went to a party at Ladder Beach.  The Tyrant of course went home.

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM                 Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                               Dog Leg
AAAARA:                      OPEN, ANY TAKERS?
FIRE MASTER              DIRTY YELLOW BALLS
HASH CASH                 Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN       Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE       IGOR STRADAVINSKY

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

GUEST EDITORIAL

Thousand And One Hash Nights

A Thousand and One Hash Nights,
(Started during a thousand and one days),
Has proven that Hashers,  Do it any old way.
'The only rule is ,
There aren't any rules',
Inspires memorable times
For us exercising fools.
The Hash regulars gather,
Each Saturday afternoon,
To run, drink and curse,
'Ere sets the full moon.
Hashers don't get ,
The Saturday blues;
They only need,
New running shoes.
An "on-on", an "are you?",
A "checking", an "on home",
Are trail yardsticks guiding,
Hashers to Lite foam.
Ah, in this world
of Ever-changing locations,
It's so good to remember,
At least one firm situation--
Religion, FNG's,
And "tales from the trail",
Are a steadfast confirmation
Hash soothes without fail.
Kramden & Ciega,
The Sacred Vessel, a down-down,
Are a Hasher's idea
Of a night on the town.
'F___ the hares',
Rings the cry,
Round the fire,
At religion.
'F___ the hounds',
Responds the hares,
As they 'splain,
The conditions.
And the happy refrain,
Of 'Show us yer tits',
Shows hope springs eternal
(We hope its not zits).
When the kindlings all gone,
(More importantly, the beer),
 Hashers pick up the cans,
And pack up their gear....
To call it a night and,
Crawl home to bed--,
With more happy memories,
Stored in their head.....
('HEAD?!'  Who said 'head'?)

PNG

There was much discussion on the listbot this week about the honor of being a hare, the “How to” of being a hare, and many people trying to exchange their assignments because it conflicted with their real life.  Regardless of any of that, being a hare is like the hash.  It is not a job, or task, or something difficult.  It is an adventure and should be approached in such a way.

YEAR OF THE HORSE
YEAR OF SPANKING THE MONKEY

 On Friday evening, the Hash sponsored a cocktail reception at the PIC for those who would be joining the 1000th the next day.  It was a great time to see old friends and to make new ones.  It was also cool to see a fly by performed by some Navy HC-5 helicopters (with hasher crews).  The next day, the event continued when a whopping 199 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam, (with an additional person coming late to the box) to run the 1000th running of the Saipan Hash House Harriers.  We had people from Singapore, Tokyo, Hawaii, the Mainland US, Vietnam, Guam, Palau, Canada.  It was marvelous.  Hashers only spoken of with fondness, who we thought we would never see again like Laroc, Mudsucker, Longfellow, Arachnophiliac, One Hand Full, Pinocular, Elvis, and Capt. Rick from the Lummis, not to mention Tyrant Emeritus Haj Von Slimetoven and Rude Boy from Agana.  Tyrant Tampon from Agana brought a bevy of box beer drinking buddies to liven up the evening. Local celebrity newscasters were there to join and to film the event. (Which was broadcast later on the next week).  We met extremely early at the Bank to make sure that we took care of all the administrative bullshit (signing the book, buying the Che shirts and CLD sarongs), and to try and leave early.  The hares had lied during the week that it would be a short run so no one would get lost (SHORT MY ASS).  After everyone was ready, the box was announced as the road going into the compound where St. Peter and Pegasus and Cheetah and Mutt live. Once in the box, Kowpaddy immortalized the box with pictures and the hares gave biodegradable orange ribbon, and a two pronged arrow with and EXIT sign, which slow pokes were supposed to take if they got there at 5:45 p.m. or later.   Once they were off, the Tyrant once again welcomed everyone to the commemorative run, and ‘splained the instructions to the FNG’s, whose names he forgets.  After the 10-minute head start was over, the pack took off.  Most of the pack headed toward the main road, but some hounds ran straight across the road from the box into the jungle and into an on back.  A checking at the main road took most of the pack to Papago, but the Tyrant went towards Santos Orchid farm and found an On Back. This put him at the back of the pack, but he was able to pass the RRB’s and at least get to the last 25% of the pack.  After only about ¼ mile, the trail went straight into a farm road and then into a betel nut plantation.  The trail was well marked and went right into the top of a ravine where we had the first of several cluster fucks.

The rocks were slippery but not precipitous, but everyone was very careful because no one wanted to fall and hurt himself or herself.  The trail continued down this creek bed for a long time.  There were lots of vines and slippery rocks which made the going slow.  The trail was great, but extremely long. We continued in the creek for a while but then all of a sudden started up a long slow climb.  There was absolutely no water on this trail (BAD HARES) and there were quite a few casualties resting along the trail as the Tyrant passed. The trail eventually popped out on an area where there were old airplane parts, and other flotsam of war like canteens and stuff.  We suddenly came upon a checking, which had a bunker to the left, and what looked like an oil changing ramp to the right.  After we passed this area, we hit the side of a hill where the ground was at a 45-degree angle and we were all walking sideways on vines and loose dirt.  It was after a long section of this that we were supposed to find the EXIT sign.  However, we found out later that Linty Knavel (or something like that) from Guam had erased the arrows and destroyed the sign so that everyone had to absolutely complete true trail.  We continued on this quite a while, until we dropped back into the creek bed.  After a while we came to the bridge that crossed the creek near Marine Beach and popped out on the beach near the picnic area.

Two tents had been set up, one for the food and one for the dancing, and there were containers of cold drinks all over the place, as well as plenty of snacks.

CLD and Dirty Yellow Balls almost came to blows over the fire, but the Tyrant wisely changed the subject.

Vehicle runs were done, the shirts and shorts were passed out to those hashers who had come from off island (and the names taken for those who would get theirs later since only 150 sets were ordered).  Once everyone was in, the Tyrant called for eating and a huge feast was unveiled with rice, and beef, and Ham.  It was great.  After ALL the food was gone and everyone had eaten, the Tyrant piped up Religion and the first of many Christmas trees was thrown on the fire.  The Hares were called forward first, and as Dog Leg would later explain, he was so flustered and tired from the run, that he did not know what to say.  CLD comported himself a little better and then the Tyrant called for visiting hashers.  Haj Von Slimetoven got up and gave great honor to the run and the food and then called Tampon up.  Tampon proceeded to present the Hash with a plaque for the vessel, a new, handmade mantle, and a sticker to place under the urn so that we will know the next time it is stolen.  Next the Guamaniacs got up and most of them kept their clothes on (except one really butch chick who showed us her shaved beaver, I of course averting my eyes).  Spazz jumped over the fire a few times and this led to more naked fire jumping.  The FNG’s were called forward and the last one was an LBFM who wanted to “DO IT” with Julie one of the PIC (N.W.A.T.P.I.C.) Clubmates.  They did it Palauan style and all of the guys got all hot and stiff. After we were done with the FNG’s, the Tyrant called for courtesies.  There were many.  Then we had a bevy of half naked Guamaniac hash women carry a Christmas tree (coffin like) to the fire and toss it on.  Pegasus got up and presented a Pegasus icon to the SH3 (since she was leaving and had no place to store it or carry it).  It eventually ended up doing some WWF wrestling with one of the lifejacket clad, cowboy hat wearing, Guam hashers.  After it had been mauled a while, One Hand Full (as only he can do after 12 too many beers), swung it around, partially aflame, before tossing it on the fire for good. After more courtesies, the Tyrant and Dog Leg retired the vessel and the dance floor was opened.  Galvin Guerrero played lots of different kinds of music and had everyone dancing for hours and hours.  The Tyrant slunk away at about 10:30 having overworked himself during Religion.  Somewhere along the way, Dog Leg lost his ring, the cowboy from Guam lost his life jacket, no one lost their virginity because there was none to be lost.  The event continued the next day at PIC again.

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                 Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:                               Dog Leg
AAAARA:                      OPEN, ANY TAKERS?
FIRE MASTER              DIRTY YELLOW BALLS
HASH CASH                 Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN       Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE       IGOR STRADAVINSKY

RECEDING HARE LINE...

1002   1/31/2004    Jordass, Beerhead, & Pinocc.
1003   2/7/2004      Oly & Cheshire Pussy
1004   2/14/2004    MHP & ?
1005    2/21/2004   Ciega
1006   2/28/2004    Fartacus
1007   3/6/2004      Phlegm Ph./FULL MOON

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

                                EDITORIAL

It has already been said, but I think not enough.  Dog Leg, Chicken Lil Dick, and Ciega need to be given great honor and credit for the fabulous job they did this past weekend. It was a lot of work but they did it without complaint, and they did it because they love the hash and what it means to the rest of us.  I hope that in 19 years, when I am 69 years old, I will be running the 2000th with these wonderful people.