issues 1020 - 1029
RUN
#1029 The “FREE
45DEGREE ON HOME RUN (or the you get what you pay for)” Run
HARES: SHITSTAIN AND
BOX: McDonalds IN CHALAN LAULAU
ON
HOME: San Isidro
Chapel
CASUALTIES: ON HOME
RUN: **
RELIGION: **
DLMM
Rating: 000
PEDERAOMETER 6000
23
hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam on another rainy
So
everyone headed to McYuyu’s and there was a car wash going on, so Haj CLD
drove the Red Bullet chick magnet into a stall and got his car washed during
the 10-minute head start.
The
hares gave special instructions, (various colors of tape which meant nothing to
Sasquatch) and flour. They then took off and the Tyrant ‘splained the
instructions to the FNG’s. After the 10-minute head start, the pack went
out to Chalan Pale Arnold and headed north, except the Tyrant who ran immediately
to the road going to Saipan Country Club.
This was true trail and there was some pinhead on the other side of the
fence declaring “Private Property”, even though we were on the
public access road. The trail continued
past the club house and then into the bowels of Chalan Kiya. We followed all the way to where you can
connect with a trail that leads up to San Pedro Chapel and then an arrow took
us left on to a side road. We followed
on on’s to a checking which took us into the jungle. From here we zig zagged our way up the face
of the mountain. We went up, and we went
down, we went straight up, and we went straight down, we traversed up, and we
traversed down. We noticed at one point that the ribbons were tied around the
base of the trees and thought that this might be a dwarf thing. The hares explained later on that this was
caused by one of the lost hares marking the trail differently so he would know
if he was making endless circles in the dark jungle. Eventually the trail popped out on the road
leading from the Latter Day Saints compound up to Abel Olopai’s
farm. Another missing mark took those
who knew, into the jungle just south and below
Donkey
Dick called from the box but was never able to find the entire trail and had to
go to the BOG to read the mail and find out where the On Home was.
Once
everyone was in and a vehicle run was done, DYB started to build a fire about
20 feet below the plateau that we were standing on. When asked why, his response was that this
was where the hares wanted it. Once
everyone returned, the Tyrant commanded everyone to bring the coolers down for
Religion. Red Sasquatch was drafted to
be the RA since Dog Leg was barbecuing for his son’s birthday (to be held
the next day, and to which no hashers were invited). A support structure had to be built for the
beer board since the slant on the on home hillside made it almost impossible to
make the board level on the ground.
Comments were made all evening about the suckee nature of the on
home.
The
hares were called forward and droned on and on and on about how he fucked up.
Next visiting hashers came up and Qamar’s mother stood up and did her
down down. After she was done the
FNG’s were called forward. They all got up and did not embarrass
themselves. The 12 year old Yusuke was
excused for obvious reasons. Next courtesies were done by the assembled. There were courtesies to the run and discourtesies
to the On Home. Droolbags chair, sitting
on the slanted hillside, fell over and fortunately (or unfortunately) he was
not injured. Next, Shitstain got paid
back for the shitty On Home by falling off of the cooler he was sitting
on. Religion continued for a while and
there were more derogatory remarks made about the On Home. A foul wind started
to blow from the west and the rain began so the Tyrant called for policing the
area, Swing Low (two verses) was sung, and the assembled escaped a huge
downpour. As we were leaving, Joan of
Arc and his crew showed up and joined the assembled at
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 TITTY STICKERS
HASH
CASH Ciega
TRAIL
MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM
TECHNICIAN Dog Leg
HASH
SCRIBE DICK SUMMERS
RECEDING
HARE LINE...
1031 8/21
Red Sasquatch
1032 8/28
Droolbag & Donkey Dick
1033 9/4
NONE
1034 9/11
Chicken Lil Dick (remember the twin
towers run)
1035 9/18
Viagra
1036 9/25
NONE
1037 10/2
Abbot and Costello
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
EDITORIAL
That
was a great run at the yahoogroups about land ownership and the do’s and
don’ts of being a hare. But in the
words of Dogleg (and Nike),
Just
do it.
RUN #1028
RUN
#1027:
Another bland and uninspired run up Baρadero Trail and down again
HARES:
Dirty Yellow Balls, Tandoori Chicken and Viagra
BOX:
Banzai Cliff memorial
ON
HOME:
Banzai Cliff memorial
CASUALTIES:
Gomers Piles, some poor guys motorcycle
RUN:
ΆΆΆ
RELIGION:
ΆΆΆ
DLMM
Rating:
0
The usual band of suspectsincluding On the Menu, Kowpaddy, Cheshire
Pussy, Shitstain, Cold Shower, Spank-a-Stick-Up-My-Butt, ButtCum, CornHole,
Craig, John Douglas, Mr. Happy Pockets, Soapy Snatch, Salty Gash, Drool Bag,
Bat-Outta-Hell, and just Wayne and five or six other FNGsappeared at the Bank of Guam, in breathless
anticipation of another fine run. DogLeg filled in Ciegaer, I mean, filled in FOR Ciegawho is off-island, and dutifully
collected the money and made the hounds sign the book. Unfortunately, he
needed to get back home to fulfill his child-rearing responsibilities (no, not
the same kind of child rearing as CLD practices), and so he could not stay for the run.
The box was announced as the
Banzai Cliff memorial, so off we went. The beer truck was piloted by Shit
Stain, who was later indicted for littering Chalan Pale Arnold from Garapan to
Marpi with ice bags from JG Sablan Ice & Water. Soon, everyone had
arrived, and got their first major surprise of the day: in the absence of the
beloved tyrant-for-life, Haj. Fucking Kramden, Sir!, who was in Palau, doing
Palauans with Annette, and with Ciega on extended leave with the Orange County
chapter of the Hells Angels, and with the honorable Dog Leg rearing his own
children (but not in the manner which has made CLD a wanted man on three
continents), it fell to the next senior hasher to be Tyrant-For-a-Day:
Kowpaddy.
Kowpaddy was clearly tickled
to be the tyrant, as nobody has ever been foolish enough to entrust him with
responsibilities of this type. He immediately began ordering men arrested
women to bow down to him, and threatened to rename Drool Bag for the fourth
time in as many weeks. He then began organizing a coup detat to depose Kramden, but the
general consensus was that Kramden would remain Tyrant For Life unless he was
caught in bed with a dead girl or a live boy.
The box itself was some ways
back the boonie road between the memorial and Cowtown. The hares informed
us that their trail was marked in red ribbon (a bald-faced lie, since some of
it was orange) and flour. They also said that all arrows were 100% true,
which was another lie they would later be called to account for. They
then ran from the box into the waiting doors of the beer truck and disappeared
into the sunset.
There are some men, who when
thrust onto the center stage by the fates, fail miserably. Kowpaddy is
not one of them. There are some who, when destiny calls, crumble under
the weight of leadership. Kowpaddy is not one of them. There are
even some who, when challenged by circumstance, fall to mumbling and pissing
themselves and baring their hindquarters submissively. And Kowpaddy is
not one of them (to the great disappointment of just
After the instructions were splained, those that had em, smoked em, and after the prescribed 10
minutes, the hounds went baying blindly and stupidly everywhich way, hoping to
sniff out Tandoori Chickens trail, and possibly divest her of her shorts. The
trail went (predictably) into the Cliffside boonies to the south of Banzai
Cliff. It wound around for a few tenths of a klick, then poked out onto
the
Approximately one-third of
the way up to Suicide Cliff, the unnaturally stimulated Drool Bag gave On the
Menu a thorough lesson on how to bite and suck. Reportedly, after several
tries, she managed to get it all down.
The trail went almost all
the way up to Suicide Cliff, then veered off to the right, coming out onto the
road just a hundred yards or so down the hill. The hounds with any brain
cells left checked left, and found flour marking the trail back onto the
Baρadero Trail, heading back down to Last Command Post. Upon reaching the
intersection between the trail leading up and the one leading down, there was
still a large arrow pointing back up to Suicide Cliff. Sadly, there were
several hounds (Cold Shower and Spanky) who seem fleeter-of-foot than of
neurological function, and they commenced back up the trail. The rest
headed back down to the Last Command Post, howling ruefully at their betrayal
by the hares and their own stupidity.
A fresh arrow at the corner,
pointing towards Banzai, led to fresh red ribbons in the trees, and led us
(predictably) to the Banzai Cliff memorial. There, we ate disgusting
Japanese snack treats and drank high-sodium waterlike beverages. The
hounds trickled in for a while, and then the mercy truck left briefly and
returned with most of the FNGs. Chevrolet shortcutters! The last hound, who
did not return to the pack until well after dark, was just John. He told
a humorous tale of being nagged by his girlfriend not to do the hash, because
he wasnt in shape enough for the hash. Despite carrying more than a
little extra weight, he dispatched her with a few pithy remarks about her
remaining in the kitchen where she belonged (at least, according to his version
of the story), and proudly stated he was in the best shape of his post-college
year. Of course, this later led to a MAJOR come-uppance, rivaling that
of Oedipus Rex of ancient mama-loving fame (no, not the mama-loving that has
made CLD the boogeyman that responsible parents break into cold sweats over
when considering him with their daughters). Apparently, just John
wandered lost like Moses in the
The religion was fairly
entertaining, with Palauans, many jokes told and snappy patter o plenty. An FNG named Joe, who
must be the clone of backsliding Cyber Bunny Pimp, or perhaps even DogLeg
himself, told a lengthy and pointless joke that earned him joke
probation. ShitStain was indicted for littering. The hares were
indicted for shitty markings. FNG Wayne, doing his down-down, said a
couple of girls had made him come, which was unusual, which caused Shitstain to
ask, Why, do guys usually make you come? On the Menu did a Palauan with
MHP, just to try to get him drunk and take advantage of him. Luckily, she
had her hair up in pigtails, which he used as convenient handlebars, especially
from behind.
Through it all, Kowpaddy
managed to hold it together, with only a few egregious errors of protocol, such
as Heres to those, and those like us! and pretty much screwing up all the
instructions concerning the sacred vessel and the sacred mantle. And we
only yelled Shut up, Kowpaddy once or twice, which he imperiously ignored, in keeping
with his regal status. Still, not bad for a firstand last, if any of us has anything
to say about iteffort.
At the appointed hour, the
area was policed, Swing Low was sung, and many of the hounds headed for Hamiltons for sashimi and brewskis. On
the Menu crashed into some poor guys motorcycle getting into a tight
parking spot with her Land Rover, but he is expected to recover. The
Tyrant, of course, was not 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
Titty Stickers
HASH
CASH
Ciega
TRAIL
MASTER
Dog Leg
DLMM
TECHNICIAN
Dog Leg
HASH
SCRIBE
Mr. Happy Pockets
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1028
7/31 100th FULL MOON! MHP & Sasq.
1029
8/7 OPEN
1030
8/14 Sword Swallower
1031
8/21 Shitstain & Cheshire
Pussy
1032
8/28 Droolbag & Donkey Dick
FM101
8/30 OPEN (Mon. Full Moon)
1033
8/4 OPEN
REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO
THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.
EDITORIAL
The theft of an undisclosed
amount of cash from a wallet left unattended with some other personal
belongings at the on-home has left a sour taste with many of us. It is
almost unbelievable that a hasher would steal from another hasher. We are
a community of mostly honorable people. Hashers in the states and in
foreign countries have offered me rides, meals, money, a place to stay, and
other courtesies, without knowing anything about me except that I am a
hasher. I know many of us offer the same to them when they visit us here
in
Lets try to stay a little more alert,
and remember that assholes and thieves can show up at the Bank of Guam on
occasion, too. If we look out for one another, perhaps we can prevent
anything like this from happening again.
RUN #1026
RUN #1025: The Yes, Swordswallower, it does
sometimes rain on the Saipan Hash Run (clicky for MS Word .doc)
HARES: Costello &
Red Sasquatch
BOX:
ON HOME:
CASUALTIES:
Generic White Boy
RUN: ???
RELIGION: ??
DLMM Rating: 1.7
CLDPDMMM: ~5,500
A reading from the Book of
Dogleg, Chapter 1025:
And on this tenth day of July in the
4th year of the 21st century, the crowd did gather before the Tyrant at the
holy Bank of Guam. And some in the crowd beseeched the beloved
Tyrant: Thou sayest before that it never
raineth on the Hash, yet now it raineth. Why doth it raineth? And the Tyrant sayeth unto them: Sometimes it doth rain on the Hash! And they bowed in awe.
2 The apostle Dogleg
spoke to one amongst them, and sayeth The Tyrants words mean more than they at first appear: Lo, see before you
the humble blades of grass. Do they not require rain to grow? So,
too, dost we.
Gathered before the
Tyrant on this day were 22 of his most committed followers, including the
apostles Dogleg and Maxcheesemo, andseveral young people. The youngest
among them was a youth of only 5 years age, who had apparently been sired by Tiny
Dancer. Also present were Robert Jordan, great nephew of the real
Gilligan, and company. The heavens had opened up earlier in the day, and
the sky had grown dark, low, and heavy with rain again. The Tyrant raised
himself above the crowd and sayeth unto them: Make thy way to San Roque Beach, for there is where the Box shall be
found! and they went forth.
3 Once at the box, the
bags were placed into the beer truck as was the custom, and the Tyrant gathered
the crowd before him to hear the holy Special Instructions. The Apostle
Red Sasquatch was one of the hares, and being colorblind, did not know the
difficulty caused by his choice of blue ribbons for on-ons. His cohare
was the devious Costello, who knew full well the difficulty with which blue ribbon
can be seen in the boonies, yet did nothing to prevent its use. The
Tyrant admonished the two suitably for their choice in color, and then they
were off.
4 The great womb of the
sky bulged with its burden, but did not break yet. Out of the Box, the
Apostle Dogleg, having previously been blessed by the Tyrant with an innate
sense for trail, found true trail leading to the devious Costellos home in San Roque. There the crowd was assaulted by the woman
Abbott, at times the wife of Costello, who lay upon the roof with a coiled hose
and wetted them as they ran past. The Tyrant was displeased to be wetted
so, and addressed Abbott: Devious Woman! May you be
cursed to spend eternity with your husband!
5 The trail entered the
boonies above Costellos home, to a checking in a small
clearing. It was here that Dogleg paused to let the pack catch up and
scout for true trail. An apostles duty is to teach, and a lesson is not complete unless the pupils are
given chance to make their own choice. I only wander because I am, um,
looking for my keys! Yea, that is it! And so it was that true trail
was found by Pucker Boy, headed upward into a field of swordgrass.
6 This trail eventually
crossed the boonie road that leads to the farm above San Roque that was once
the home of several swine. Dogleg marked the occasion by asking whether
Dirty Yellow Balls was able make the sound of the swine Dogleg and
Dirty Yellow Balls led the way until they hit a strange checking in the shape
of a Y, instead of the holy cross.
The Apostle Dogleg spoke to Dirty Yellow Balls: Behold, we have two choices. In one direction is an open field with a
clear view, and many beautiful streams. In the other direction is a dark
and damp forest. I choose the light. Go to the light! But alas! The Apostle Doglegs choice was incorrect!
7 A group of old and
wise men approached. These were the hashers named Droolbag, Pucker Boy,
and Leave It. Seeing the Apostle Dogleg had erred, the elderly ones
entered the dark forest and found the true trail. Though they were wise,
they were also old and feeble, and Dirty Yellow Balls quickly passed them ,
followed by the Apostle Dogleg, who had been punished by the Tyrant for his
wrong choice, by rendering him blind. He elbowed the geezers aside and
cried: I must follow Dirty Yellow Balls! Without being able
to see his behind, I am blind!
8 Soon the true trail
emerged from the dark jungle and onto the treacherously steep and slippery
asphalt road above the Achugao spring and water tank. The Apostle Dogleg
discovered his curse to be but temporary, and his sight was restored. There is fine trail across the road here he told his
companions, go forth and seek it! Dirty Yellow Balls and the old, wise men searched in vain in the
wet vegetation, but nothing was found.
9 They returned to the
slippery road and ran with great care down the hill. The Apostle Dogleg
erred again and again, as he proclaimed to look for checkings at every possible
trail head, including the trailhead from the Glorious 950. But Dogleg was
never to be correct again, and was punished severely by the Tyrant, by whose
grace the old, wise, but feeble Droolbag was given the speed necessary to beat
the Apostle to the On-home.
10 The trail led the
former FRBs and old but wise men into the
11 At this point the
great clouds released their burden, and the rest of the yellowed flour was
washed clean from the face of the earth. It was said later that only the
good grace of the Tyrant allowed the rest of the pack to find their way to the
on-home, for the trail crossed an open field to the beach, where flour had
deviously been placed among the vertical blades of grass, making it impossible
to see, even had it not rained.
12 The true trail led
along the beach, past the Aqua Resort, past the Plumeria Resort, then around
the pointy rocks and onto the final stretch of beach leading back to the
On-home, which was at the Box. Ah! The treachery of the dreaded circle
jerk! It was here that Dogleg was shamed by the old man Droolbag, who
gained a burst of speed from the Tyrant, and beat the Apostle to the on-home!
13 At the Box, the
hounds huddled against the rain and tried to keep the rain out of the bags of
chips and other holy sustenance. The Apostle Dogleg asked DYB to do his
holy duty as master of the fire, and they began to rend apart great structures
of wood with which to ignite the holy flame. But before DYB could
start the fire, Dogleg sayeth to him: Do not kindle thy flame at this time,
for we know not what the future holds, and we must conserve the holy structures
of wood, for the Tyrant has given us only three .
14 Soon the Tyrant was
seen approaching the on-home. A great shout of On Home! welcomed His Holiness. The
Tyrant became furious and asked Why doth the holy flame not burn?
The small beast of burden which I carry with me, and which enjoys frequent
fornication, faces imminent separation from my holy being! The Apostle Dogleg instructed Dirty Yellow Balls to do as the
Tyrant sayeth; The Tyrant knoweth best. His
Divine Being will provide all the earthly warmth we require should the sacred
structures of wood be consumed.
15 All this time the
rain fell and began to increase in intensity. The woman Sword Swallower
began to ask whether it had ever rained with such intensity before. Some
who had followed the Tyrant for many years gathered and began to tell stories.
The Apostle Dogleg recalled an evening at the same beach, years before, saying:
Yea, on that night the winds blew with great haste, and the
rain rained with such rainy wetness, that the Tyrant beseeched his followers to
line up behind him, in the lee of an iron-wood tree, beneath which the holy
flame burned, which then sheltered them from the fury of nature. The devious Costello remembered that night as well, and then
announced that he had brought hotdogs but had no intention of cooking them for
anyone but himself.
16 So the crowd
dispersed and began to forage for sticks upon which to impale the hotdogs.
The Tyrant warned the crowd: Hark! Listen to my words:
Do not chooseth the wood of the iron-wood tree, for it is poison! Look, I
useth the frond of the palm! Do not fear the limpness, for I assure you
my wiener is securely attached! But many among them were lazy
and loath to venture to the boonies to find other forms of stick. Do not say to me that you were not warned! said the
Tyrant: Did I not teach you everything you
know about everything, and shit?
17 Once the crowd had
gathered around the sacred flame and begun cooking their hotdogs, the Apostle
Dogleg recruited a new follower of the Tyrant named Samantha to assist him in a prank, for he had
quaffed a few of the sacred nectars by this point and was beginning to show
disrespect, as was his manner. As the Tyrant leaned forward to cook his
hotdog, Dogleg held a hotdog in what was considered in those days to be a
disrespectful manner beneath his buttocks, and the woman Samantha took a
photograph . Dogleg and Samantha did this to several other unfortunates
who had stooped around the sacred hash flame to cook their hotdogs.
18 Once the rest of the
Tyrants followers had completed their journey along true trail,
Religion was called to order. The Tyrant blessed the gathered crowd for
staying through the rain, and it was true: there had been only one or two
rain weenies on this evening. The devious
Hares attempted to explain away the markings by blaming Red Sasquatchs color-blindness again. Next the FNGs came up and were instructed
by the Tyrant. One FNG was from
19 Following the
completion of the FNGs, the Tyrant became angered because the crowd did not
want to participate. A few among them responded by taking the vessel to
tell tales from the trail, and there were a few jokes, and
there was even an indictment of the Hare Red Sasquatch for leaving half a spool
of Blue Ribbon lying in the boonies, which had been found by the Apostle Wiener
Von Brown. Then the crowd recited Psalm 21, sometimes called the Head Psalm, with great feeling. The
Tyrant then christened the woman Samantha as Weenie Snapper for taking the naughty photographs earlier. Finally, upon seeing
that no one among them wished to take the vessel, and the rain that never
ceased, and the old and feeble men that shivered, the Tyrant had mercy and
closed Religion.
20 After the singing of
the sacred Hash Hymn, the Tyrant stayed behind with the Apostle Maxcheesemo to
watch the fire and reflect. During this time the Tyrant expressed a great
curiousness regarding what happens after the Hash at the Holy On-on-on called Hamiltons. After the Tyrant had departed,
the Apostle Maxcheesemo noticed that He had left the bag containing the sacred
vessel, sacred mantle, and Holy Hash Book, lying on the beach in the dark.
The Apostle Maxcheesemo did everything he could to ensure its safe keeping, but
was the victim of a tired and paranoid Tyrant, who believed he had been
deceived, and blamed the innocent Apostle for a crime he did not commit.
Then, the Tyrant visited his followers at the place called Hamiltons, but could not stay, and went home.
And there was much
Rejoicing. On On!
1 The Woman Ciega
was absent in this chapter, is it assumed that the child would have been
prevented from attending had she been present [See Chapter 432, v.06; also Ch.
944, v.651]
2 Some
translations say that he floated above the crowd, but careful research into the
scriptures shows that this is not possible: the Tyrant did not defeat
gravity until Chapter 2112.
3
Literally: squeal like a pig
4 Literally, pallets; the origin of the term is unknown.
5 The standard
ration of wood was four pallets; it is not known why there were only
three in this chapter.
6 There is much
debate as to the proper translation of this passage, which, in old English,
says: Why isnt the fire started yet? Im freezing my fucking ass off!
7 This
photograph has been preserved in the Archives at Saint Claymores Cathedral in New Garapan, and is
the inspiration behind the stained-glass above the Grand Entrance entitled The Holy Insertion
8 The Holy Hash
Book shows that another FNG was present, but was a man and did not have
breasts, and therefore was not recorded by the breast-obsessed Dogleg in the
original scriptures.
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
Titty Stickers
HASH CASH
Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog
Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN
Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE
Father Nelson
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1027 7/24 Viagra &
Dirty Yellow Balls
1028 7/31 100th FULL
MOON! MHP & Sasq.
1029 8/7 OPEN
1030 8/14 Sword
Swallower
1031 8/21 Shitstain
FATHER NELSONS CORNER
Beloved brothers, we are
gathered here today to commemorate not just the usual Saturday evening mass
that we call religion; but also to mark the annual coming of the life-giving
rains. The Holy Tyrant, who giveth all we need in life, was also a master
of simple phrasing. It is hard to imagine a time when it required the
services of Apostles such as Dogleg Bless his soul! to translate some of the Tyrants more cryptic messages, but yes,
brothers, the followers of the Tyrant in those days were quick to despair and
did not know the holiness of the great rains.
Yes, many times we are
left with only the words of Dogleg, and though not the Word of The Tyrant, they
are all we have and thus are holier than holy! Praise be the great Saint
Dogleg! But I know that some of you may be confused, nay, even disturbed
by Doglegs translation in Verse 2 of this Chapter:
The Tyrants words mean more than they at first
appear: Lo, see before you the humble blades of grass. Do they not
require rain to grow? So, too, dost we. And yes, my brothers, some noted
scholars have passed this off as drunken nonsense, or even that it was
fabricated afterwards, but I say to you, it is not nonsense, God Damn It! It is
the rain that makes the grass grow, and we also grow! Do you not see the
connection?
Yes, it is true
that in much of the Gospel of Dogleg, the Apostles words are recorded more so than the
Holy Tyrants. And this chapter is no exception. In fact, some say that
the Gospel of Dogleg should be disregarded as the self-congratulatory
drivellings of an arrogant egotist and permanently removed from the sacred
Scirptures! But my brothers, we must remember that the Tyrant himself wrote
that The Word of Dogleg is The Word of the Tyrant! Yes, yes, technically
it was only a footnote to his editorial in Chapter 1056, but IT IS WRITTEN!
Are we to listen to such philistines, and simply throw away the wealth of
wisdom contained in these pages? My brothers, the entire Order of the
Leavuits, who live among the iron-wood trees as their only shelter, was founded
on the basis of 1025:15 alone! Who are we to question the Word of The
Tyrant?
Until next week, my
brothers! On on!
RUN #1024: The Im beginning to use Hash T-shirts to
wipe my ass Run (clicky for MS
Word .doc)
HARES: Sword Swallower,
Pucker Boy,
Billy Graham
BOX: Stearns Property, end of Wireless
ON HOME: Stearns Property, end of Wireless
CASUALTIES:
Cantunderstannibus
RUN: ???.3
RELIGION: ??.5
DLMM Rating: 0
CLDPDMMM: 6,000
Welllllllllllll little
chilluns! Its so nice for you all to visit yo great granddaddy Pimp Sasquatch
again! Whats that? Oh, uh, yo great grandmommy-ho been off visitin her own chilluns for quite some time
now. But donts let that bother yall now, cuz yo great granddaddy Pimp has gotten
hisself a new grandmomma Ho! Netayna! Get yo sweet ass in here and say hello to
these chilluns! You see chilluns, shes Russian! And let me tell you
now, Glasnost is the greatest thang ever for old pimps like me, cuz it opened up a whole continent of
hot, desparately poor blonde women willin to do any-thangggg! You know
what Im sayin?
But that dont matter none now, chilluns, cuz I gots a great story for you
today, and its about the time yo great granddaddy Pimp Red Sasquatch and Chicken Little Dick
said Fuck Trail! Weve had enough of this Bull-Shit! and walked straight back to the
on-home sos they could be the first muthafuckahs into the malt liquor!
Thats right!
And oh! Shit, yeah! Natanya! Go get these chilluns they malt
liquor, and put a bra on! Damn! Them thangs gonna poke one of these
fine chilluns in the eye! Swingin all round like that and shit
.
So this was
another one of them T-shirt runs, you know, back in 2004 when they was makin so goddamn many T-shirts that they
stopped havin any impo-tance, you know, like those old shirts hangin by the toilet back there! I
mean, they was like This Shirt was printed in commemoration of Mr. Happy Pockets
20th anniversary of passing the Bar Exam and lame shit like that. God
Damn. But on this day, they was tank tops, and oh, yeah, heres one right here! I was usin it for sofa stuffins, but Ill take it out to show yall: See, it says right
here: In Commemoration of the taking of 4th of July Hill Now give it back to Natanya,
so she can use it to wipe up the malt liquor you just spilled. Now
Goddamnit chilluns, I tolds you before to be careful with those 40 ouncers,
they be top-heavy as shit unless you chug the first 12 ounces or so!
So they was about
35 or so of the usual Hash-types, you know, doctors, lawyers, skinny white
dudes, mean-lookin white chicks, and only a few Pimps and fine hos, as well as the greatest granddaddy
Pimp of them all, Ladrone! And they was all frettin about the Bank of Guam parking lot,
and the Pimps was just chillin in the shade and watchin them get all worked up about the
coolers and shit. Well, they finally got they shit together and headed up
towards the Box, which was at the end of Wireless Road, on a fine piece of
property owned by some other doctor dude that used to Hash, but got too busy
makin money to do it any more. Now, chilluns, lets me tell you that
makin money is one thang, but makin money to the point that you give up
the things you love is another! Thats why I have devoted my life to
Pimpin! As should you! In fact I challenge yo little asses to find me a Pimp, or a
Ho, that aint satisfied, and that aint also all covered in the bling-bling! No, sit
down! I didnt mean for you to go out and look for one, now!! Damn,
child!
So the pack gets
forced down onto the side of the mountain by the Hares, who were these three
doctor types from
So finally they
get to run, cept for yo great granddaddy Pimps, of course, cuz like Ive told you chilluns before, Pimps do
not run! They strut they stuff in style! And they hang back and let
the skinny white dudes do all the work figurin out trail and shit! Cuz on this day, trail was all fucked
up! First, the skinny white dudes ran the right way, but gave up too
early. Then, they ran the wrong way all the way to the X-Terror trail,
where they was an on-back! Then, they started wanderin around in the boonies by the
checking, like a bunch of fuckinretards! Yo granddaddy Pimp Maxcheesemo got fed
up with this shit, so he headed out toward Mt. Susu you know, that big mountain looks
just like a titty and he all like: Yo! Theys on-ons right here, you stupid muthafuckahs! But this got Maxcheesemo all
messed up, cuz all of a sudden, he think he be all fast and shit! So he goes
runnin after that Fartacus dude, you know, the fastest of the skinny white
dudes, who goes runnin straight up the side of
Whats that? I know damn well what I
said about there bein no Hos in
Sos the rest of the pack runs off
around the base of the big titty, goin toward San Roque. But all the
skinny white dudes were still stuck up on the side of the mountain, so this is
where yo great granddaddy Pimps got theyselves screwed, cuz they found theyselves in the
front! They ended up followin on-ons down the side of that hill
all the way down to the pig farm there, where there was an on-back. That
crazy muthafuckah Chicken Little Dick was the first one there with yos truly, and he shouted out Barbara Streisand! as if the rest of the pack was
supposed to know what that meant! But he also shouted out every possible
other nasty word known to man, if you know what Im sayin, so it was pretty obvious. And
no, I aint about to tell yall chilluns all the nasty words he said. The fuck you think I am, some kind of
pervert or somethin?
Damn! I been
talkin so long my malt liquor be warm, and I be gettin hungry! Natanya! Fry up
some bacon for me and these fine chilluns! See chilluns, I had to give up
the fried chicken cuz of my heart, you know, those Goddamn Canadians down at
the Fartacus institute, they really know how to suck all the fun out of life
with their damn Atkins diet! Natanya! Youd better make somma that butter sauce, too, cuz my chest be a hurtin!
Ooooowww, Goddamn chilluns, this story-tellin getting to be too hard on this old Pimp.
Now where was
I? Oh yeah! Sos yo great graddaddy and CLD start talkin on the way back up that long-ass
hill, and decide that they had enough of that trail bull-shit, you know what Im sayin? Sos they strut theyselves back toward
the box, and they act all cool about it, you know, cuz no one wants some generic white
boy followin them to the malt liquor! And yeah, one of them dudes was actually
named Generic White Boy, and he tried to follow yo great granddaddy Pimps, and
they lied to his ass just to keep him away!
Sos thats the story of how yo great
granddaddy Pimp became the first one into the malt liquor that day, ahead of
all them skinny white dudes! Whats that? Well, how the fuck
should I know what the rest of the trail was like? From what the skinny
white dudes told me, alls I know is that they ran all around through the boonies and
shit, through lepto-infested streams, and past a bunch of World War Two shit
like helmets and grenades. Somethin bout re-taking 4th of July
Hill. You know, the usual shit. Oh yeah, and it must have been
tough, cause this one Ho, named Cantunderstannibus, had to ask for help, water,
and food just to get out. You know, that Ho used to show up at the Hash
with a Rasta head-rag, and no idea what that goddamn big leaf was! Like
she thought it was the Canadian flag or somethin! She be all like I just thought the colors were
pretty! Damn!
Okay, Okay!
Ill tell yall the rest of the story, least as much as I can
remember. So alls them jackasses runnin the true trail finally finishes up, and even
the 5-year old and the Cantunderstannibus lady, and every one starts to eatin the free chili and hotdogs.
Yeah, Im telling you! That was some pretty good shit, even though it did
make me smell a little less Pimp-like the next day. Whew! Once
religion got started, all three of them hares get up, but only one of thems was actually drinkin the sacred malt liquor! I
guess that Billy Graham dude had to operate on peoples brains and shit, so thats understandable, but why on earth
that Sword Swallower Ho had to have her man drink for her, well I just dont know, but he put it all down.
I mean, they may not have much pimp-tential in
Let me see
. Oh yeah, they was also some Navy
FNGs that night,
some visiting hashers from the Agana Hash, and then there was the re-naming of
that BitenSuck dude to Droolbag, which he didnt like much, and neither would
I! Damn! But what does a guy expect after bein seen askin people on the jogging path if theyve seen anyone running? Damn!
Well chilluns,
here comes Natanya with my butter-fried bacon, and I cant remember anything else anyway, so
get the fuck out! Go on! Get out! How am I sposed to get my afternoon piece of
ass with all you chilluns running around the place, drinkin up all my malt liquor! DAMN!
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)
REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO
THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE. IT IS
MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM Haj,
F. Kramden, Sir!!
RA:
Dog Leg
AAAARA: OPEN
FIRE MASTER
Titty Stickers
HASH CASH
Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog
Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN
Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE
Grand Daddy Sasquatch
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1026 7/17 Kramden &
MHP
1027 7/24 Viagra &
Dirty Yellow Balls
1028 7/31 100th FULL
MOON! MHP & Sasq.
1029 8/7 OPEN
1030 8/14 Sword
Swallower