SAIPAN HASH TRASH
issues 1050 - 1059

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RUN #1059:                                             The “Say Your Prayers” Run

HARES:                                                      Billy Graham, Mr. Happy Pockets

BOX:                                                             Wireless Cemetery

ON HOME:                                               Hole No. X, Kingfisher/Hidden Beach

CASUALTIES:                                        Crotch Gashes

RUN:                                                          

RELIGION:                                             

DLMM Rating:                                       0

CLDPDMMM:                                        ~6,200 (DL) to 8,000 (HFKS)

 

                        Greetings brother Hashers!  May the peace of the Hash be upon you!  Can I get an On on? "On On!"

                        Praise be the Hash!  Hash brothers and sisters, tonight I want you to open your sacred scriptures to Dogletticus 10:59 -  The Billy Graham "Say your prayers" run!  This is a fine chapter for us to use in discussing What is Wrong With The World Today!  You see, brothers and sisters - do I have to keep including you sisters in this?  Can't I just say "brothers", and you sisters know that you are somewhat, if not fully, counted among the blessed of the Hash? Thank you, sister Hashers!  Now where was I?

                        Oh yes!  The Hashers gathered at the mount of the dead, on Wireless Road, where they bore witness to the ministrations of the Great Billy Graham that day, along with his fine friend and cohare, the ageless Mr. Happy Pockets.  The Hash on this day was a "free" Hash, meaning that the Most Holy Hash Cash Ciega had decided not to collect the usual remittance, in honor of the birthday of the otherwise ageless Mr. Happy Pockets!  But please - do not forget to leave your remittances in the plate today, as it is passed around, brothers - the Crusade needs all the help it can get to continue spreading the Word of the Hash.  Can I get an On on? "On on!"

                        On On, brothers!  So we know from the sacred scriptures, that there were many backsliders present that day, and that all these backsliders had sinned by not partaking of the Hash for many months - yea, even years!  But I want everyone here to be clear that while, yes, backsliding is a sin, there are many other forms of sin, and everyone else present on that day were also sinners.  We are all guilty of sinning against the Hash, even here today!  But I shall divulge more on the nature of these sins later:  Our subject today, as I have said, is What is Wrong with the World Today.  Can I get an On On? "On On!"

                        Hallelujah!  I look around at the present state of the world, and I see wars, obesity, masturbation of a most unsatisfying character, and worst of all - athletic extremism everywhere!  In fact, the current level of extremism in amateur recreational endurance athletics threatens to destroy civilization as we know it!  From triathelism to adventure racists, this extremism threatens to disrupt the natural balance of life, the very order of the Hash world!  Yea, many of those backsliders present on that day were indeed extremists - you may recognize their names from your history books.  Dare I mention them in this tent?  The "Evil One Who Must Not Be Named, But Whose Name Begins with 'F'!"  (....hissssssss!....)  The so-called “Saint” Peter! (...booooooo!...) and the Fallen one - Peewee! (...grumble grumble grumble....) Now now, brothers!  Be still!  I mention these names only to make a point!  Please be calm!  Sit down!  Perhaps I should not even mention Num Num Num, or Speckled Pecker, or Windbag (...commotion commotion commotion....) Please, brothers!  The Peace of the Hash be with you!  Let me make my point! 

                        Yes!  As we know, these extremists were guilty of the sin of not Hashing, and we all know that sins of omission, are equal to  - if not greater -  than sins of commission.  [Dogletticus 11:26]  How can one face the kingdom of the Hash, if one does not regularly cleanse thyself of sin by partaking of the sacred nectar?  [Ciegans 34:5]  Can I hear an On on? "On ON!"

                        On ON, brother Hashers!  So it was on this day, that the Great Billy Graham lead 36 Hashers to a grassy knoll just below the summit of the Mount of the Dead, where he and the ageless MHP bestowed upon them the sacred special instructions!  The path to righteousness, and beer, would be marked with pink ribbons and flour!  Hallelujah!  And then they ran off in pursuit of the path, and in full respect of the dead – which is more than can be said of the hounds, but I won’t go there today!  It was thereafter, that the Most Holy Tyrant Kramden 'splained the sacred instructions to the only FNG on that day - a woman named Grace, who had come with the biggest backslider that day, a man named Scott Thompson, who had not Hashed in 8 years!  No, my brothers!  Do not disparage this man!  Are you yourselves free from all Hash sin?  No!  Every one of us has sinned against the Hash, but in the ways of the Hash lies the path to salvation, and redemption!  All is not lost!  [Kramdonians 4:13]  Except for the extremists, as I will get to in due time.

                        There was also another there that day, who was guilty of sin:  The Hasher Droolbag.  He stood up among the Hashers to invite them to attend his own Hash run, which was scheduled for the following week [See Dogletticus 10:60], and received an answer from the crowd, in unison:  "Our cells cry out for your Hash!"  But the scripture is quite clear that this was in jest - so please do not be tempted to use this cry during Religion, as has become common practice now in other, less pious Hash congregations.  Many among us have lobbied the international Hash to remove this Psalm, but I say we should not worry ourselves with it.  Though it's original purpose seems to have not been Hash-related, do the other Hashes not use it to further glorify the Hash?  Can I hear an On on? "On on!"

                        But I am not here tonight to talk to you about the hairy Psalms of Droolbag.  We are here to talk about What is Wrong With the World!  Yes, brother Hashers, I say to you that the problems of this world are caused by S-I-N!  Sin!  Sin against the Hash!  Sin of putting amateur recreational athletic extremism before the Hash!  Of failing to attend the Hash, and participating in the Sacred Religion!  Of failing to cleanse thyselves with the Sacred Nectar!  And, of course, failing to pay your Hash Cash!  Can I hear an On on? "ON ON!"

                        Now, brother Hashers, it is well known that the Great Billy Graham himself partook of the occasional athletic event.  In fact, he began this particular Hash by running down the "X-Terra" trail.  (...HISSSSSSSSS!!....) Brothers, Please!  Bear with me!  The trail did not follow the dreaded X-Terra trail all the way!  Noooo!  About half-way down, the trail doubled back onto an old boonie road, that led to the ravine where the famous rope accident from the 850th occurred - where, as we will recall, with a loud "clonk" of skull against rock, and a great flowing of blood, the vile Guamanian Tuna Helper became known as George of the Jungle.  In fact, the trail entered the ravine at that very same location, but headed upstream instead of straight across.  But not far upstream!  Soon enough, the Hash trail headed uphill, out of the ravine, in a northerly direction.

                        At this point, the extremist Saint Peter and the Fallen Peewee (...ptooey!...) took the lead, because as we all know, those who devote their lives to triathelism and adventure racism are frequently - and unnaturally - fast!  And it was a steep and loose climb, too.  Poor, blessed Saint Dogleg began to lag behind, with Spanky and Semen Biscuit.  They strove mightily to keep up, but in the end they only strained their muscles and lungs, causing them great pain and aguish for the rest of the week.  As is often the case with Sinners, the fallen Peewee's wickedness exposed the rest of those around him to peril, when he kicked loose a Japanese grenade in the middle of trail, along a section of rough limestone.  Fortunately, the Hash was merciful, and no one was blown to bits.  Hallelujah!

                        Yes my brothers, the trail continued north, across two dividing ridges, until it entered the valley of the spring Bobo Haya, where the Great 800th had passed through, at a time when the fallen one was more prominent among the Hash, and was known by the honored title of Hajji Peewee.  It was here that the pack came across a checking.  Again, the sins of the Fallen Peewee and the extremist Saint Peter damned the pack, and caused them to follow a long on-back on a side branch of the spring.  But it wasn't just the sins of the extremists, brothers, for as the scriptures say, "All have sinned, and come short of the glory of the Hash!"  [Vesselonians 43:8]  Thus was even the lowly and humble Semen Biscuit punished, by finding true trail and failing to change the checking, for which he was later condemned!  Sin leads to greater sin!  [Claymorius 10:10]  Can I hear an On On? "On ON!"

                        Because of the checking, the FRBs were joined briefly by Sissy, Leave It, Cock Caller, and the demon Chicken Little Dick.  Onward into the swordgrass, they made their way into the next valley, the valley of Kannat Fanhang Kattan, and the mysterious abandoned mine.  But not after first passing through a great field of crotch-stabbing punjie sticks!  Lo!  I say unto you here today, brothers, that several sinners received their just punishment, in the way of painful stabs to their groins, including Cheshire Pussy, Saint Dogleg, and Pucker Boy!  Yes, brothers, even the most pious among us are sinners, and are not immune to the terrible wrath of the Hash!  [Tyrantians 87:21]  Can I hear an On on? "ON ON!"

                        The sinners then entered a valley of reeds and sharp grasses, which rended their flesh!  They passed along the sides of a huge, wide open gash, which reminded Saint Dogleg of Cheshire Pussy.  What's that my Hash brothers?  No, no no - it was only because Cheshire Pussy had once set a trail in this same area with the prophet Oly.  Please, do not again associate the Great Cheshire Pussy with such inferences of vaginal, um, shall we say, over endowment?!  Praise be the Hash!  Hallejujah!

                        The Hounds re-entered the stream bed below this, and were forced to wade through evil and pestulent waters.  The fallen Peewee, who had been punished for his extremist sins before with a plague of lepto, greatly feared the black waters, but pretended to jump into one large pool anyway, by throwing in a large rock and bearing false witness.  Yes brother Hashers, another sin!  The length and difficulty of the run began to wear upon the righteous, and Saint Dogleg explained this to the extremist Saint Peter, who, after patronizing Saint Dogleg with the unholy mantra of the extremists - dare I say it in this tent?  "Strong Work!" (...hisssssssss....) - advised him that if he were to lose just a little bit of weight, he would find that his running would become easier.  (...Ptooey!...)  Can I hear an On On? "ON ON!"

                        Hallelujah, brothers!  Down through the valley they continued, until they came upon an abandoned farm, and shortly thereafter, a sign in the bottom of the ravine.  A sign from the Hash above!  The sign instructed them to finish running to the beach which was Hidden, and to then return up the road and take their first left.  The experienced Hashers knew that this meant the On-Home from the Great 850th, where the demon Betty Big had unholy relations with a pile of cans, but many of the other Hashers did not understand, and would wander aimlessly in the wilderness that night, until finding salvation at the hands of the ageless Mr. Happy Pockets, riding the Great Blue Dick Chariot! 

"On ON!"

                        Yes!  On ON, brothers!  So there they were!  At the On Home!  And who was there to greet them, none other than the great Red Sasquatch, and the lovely Red Squirrel: the Holy couple with two of their children!  What's that?  Well of course, we all know that no children are allowed on the Hash.  That's one of the Hash Commandments, chiseled into the Great Stone by the prophet Ciega, with her D-cell-powered ...um... vibrating thingy!  [Dildocles 22:11]  Did I not say that all Hashers are sinners?  So do not be surprised to hear this about the Holy couple, brothers!  But this reminds me of something else that is Wrong With the World Today!  YES!  And that is how the athletic extremists force their children into extremism at such a tender, young age!  It breaks my heart, to see such otherwise fine little children, converted into unthinking triathletes, or worse - adventure racists, before they have even had the opportunity to enjoy their precious childhood!  Oh, the precious children... how it breaks my heart!  The ways of the Hash have always protected the innocents!  Can I hear an On on? "On On!"

                        Yes brother Hashers, the Holy couple was not immune to the punishments of the Hash for their sin of ignoring the Commandments.  No!  Soon enough, Red Sasquatch's own blessed son was seen to be choking upon the handfuls of chips he was shoveling into his greedy little mouth, and regurgitating them back upon the rest of the sacred Hash snacks!  This angered the demon Chicken Little Dick enormously.  Soon, the poor child tottered and fell among the sharp stones, as did his blessed mother.  They eventually were forced to leave, and balance was restored.  Can I please hear an On on? "On on!"

                        And the offspring of the Holy couple were not the only children present on that run, my brothers.  No!  That greatest extremist of all, Him who must not be named, had carried his spawn through the trail itself, attached to his abdomen.  Yes, the evil Fartacus (...GASP!.... commotion  commotion commotion.....)  Oh my!  What did I just say!  Praise be the Hash!  Please forgive me, Holy Tyrant!  Please everyone, immediately partake of the sacred nectar, to cleanse thyselves of the evil which I have just brought upon you, through my inadvertent mention of the Evil One's name!  We are now in desperate need of an On on!  Please! "On on!"

      Hallelujah, brother Hashers!  I promise I will not do that to you again.  But please, let it be known that the Evil One's child was not immune to punishment either, and received many painful lacerations, which earned the Evil One the ire of his wife, the poor, unfortunate Speckled Pecker.  Can I please hear another On on? "On on!"

                        Thank you, brother Hashers!  The sacred scriptures reveal that, as darkness fell that night, the demon Chicken Little Dick mischievously refused to ignite the flame, which was the only reason he was even welcome among the Hash in those days.  It is well established in the scriptures that fire - though it comes straight from Hash Hell - is nonetheless an essential and most sacred aspect of Religion!  For it is the control of such fire which divides the light from the dark, and the Hash Man from the vile extremist!  [Pinocculus 8:42] Yes, yes, and the Hash women, too, brothers!  So this forced the rest of the pack to come forward, and as we all learn in life, sometimes out of great needs, comes the ability to accomplish great deeds!  [Spankyphus 2:4] The scriptures tell of a wondrous fire that night - not too hot, not too smoky - that was started by many of the good Hash Men that were present, including Spanky, Shitstain, Cold Shower, and even the attorney Leave It, just days before his famous diatribe that resulted in attorneys being forever banned from the Hash!  [Leavitticus 30:12]  No, I'm sorry ladies, there were no hash women involved.  Can I hear an On on? "On on"

                        Now while all of this was happening, there was a great murmuring among the Hash, concerning the aforementioned "Psalm" of the Hasher Droolbag, which had been mistakenly sent out among the entire Hash.  The Hashers were in dire need of direction - every fiber of their beings told them to make something of the event - to bestow a new Hash name, to create verse - but their consciences troubled them.  And what do we know about conscience, brothers?  That's right!  Trust not your heart, nor your head, for that is where S-I-N comes from!  "A Hasher's heart is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked" [Maxcheesians 3:13]  Fortunately, wiser heads prevailed, and the now classic Hash Hymn "My cells are cryin' out for you"  was penned by Saint Dogleg and the demon CLD.  Hallelujah!

                        And then darkness fell!  And the Hash was merciful, allowing the last of the pack - the sinners Butt Cum and Felcher - to finish trail without difficulty, and the Great Billy Graham and Mr. Happy Pockets were able to enjoy their just rewards for setting a most sacred trail.  The scriptures, however, tell of a long and tiring chariot ride, after which most of the extremists went home, to rest up for their unholy pursuits.  The Most Holy Tyrant Hajj F. Kramden, Sir! called religion to order, with Saint Dogleg at his left hand, as had been foretold.  The hares, it is written, told of the great labor that had gone into the sacred trail, and how several others had helped, the names of whom are not remembered, for they were heathens and did not Hash.  The FNG Rose was then baptized through the Sacred Nectar, and as always, it brings me great joy to read of the initiation of new Hashers!  I believe there are several of you here tonight!  Don't worry, we have options! 

Next, the Holy Tyrant read "Letters to Mismanagement", and incidentally, brothers, this was the first night that Letters came to be read as a regular part of Religion!  In fact, I will read for you now, from Letters 1:1 and 1:2:

 

                        1:1                  Dear Miss Management:

                                                The first person to complain about Hash Cash

                                                gets the job.

                                                Sincerely,

                                                Anonymous

 

                        1:2                  Dear Haj Kramden:

                                                I am a 24 year old woman, with perky breasts

                                                and nipples like pencil erasers, which I like to

                                                squeeze while I masturbate.  My question is

                                                this:  Why do I use these two fingers when I

                                                masturbate?

 

Yes, the scriptures indicate that the Most Holy Tyrant was greatly pleased with Letters 1:2, and could hardly finish reading it due to suddenly being stricken with the giggles, which should come as no surprise to anyone well versed in the scriptures!  But it's odd that the scriptures make no note of the Most Holy Tyrant's ultimate answer to the young woman's question.  Therefore, let us proclaim the mystery of the Hash!   Can I hear an On on? "On On!"

                        And please Hash brothers and sisters, do not hesitate to submit your own letters to be read during this week’s Religion! 

The scriptures tell of much clambering for the sacred vessel that night, for there were many among the Hash who wanted to give honor to the run and the hares, but the first Hasher to take the vessel was Pucker Boy, who told a story of an entirely different nature.  It seems he had been witness to some of the consequences of the sins committed by Droolbag, whom he said was suspected by his neighbors of having killed his wife with his Hash machete a few days previously, and had been met by the police at his home, and confronted with the supposed evidence of the fictitious crime.  All told, it took quite some work to convince the authorities that Droolbag's wife was still alive.  How difficult it must have been, he proclaimed, to be Droolbag!  But "such are the wages of sin" [Mutthew 27:6]  Can I hear an On on? "On On!"

                        Next, a Hash man identified only by the rather offensive description of "generic white boy" came forward and told of how he had missed the trail in its entirety and had instead wandered about in Capitol Hill all afternoon.  Clearly, this man was not well versed in the ways of the Hash!  The prophet Ciega then distributed "cup cakes" among those that were still present, in honor - again, I might add - of the ageless Mr. Happy Pocket's birthday.  I might also add that all this documented “special treatment” has fueled many a young scholar's study of the scriptures, in search for some evidence of a romantic relationship between the two, but alas, none has yet been found.  The scriptures also reveal that this was the night on which the demon CLD tricked Saint Dogleg into volunteering for the 1100, which he would later come to deeply regret.

                        Many loyal followers of the Hash came forward to cleanse themselves in the Sacred Nectar, and to honor the Hares for setting Sacred Trail, as is every Hashers duty.  Included among them was the just-married Tupperbutt, bestower of the Sacred Leg, who had chosen to spend his honeymoon with the lovely Bordello Douche on the Hash.  Yes, brother Hashers!  Most of us could only dream of being as pious a Hasher as Tupperbutt, who placed the Hash above all else!  

                        But just as many chose to sit idly by, and to do nothing.  Yes, they chose to S-I-N Sin!  And thus Religion came to a close, and their sins went uncleansed, as will yours if you fail to come up here tonight to take the Sacred Vessel in your hands!  Yes my brothers, that is why I am here tonight, and that is how I propose to solve All That is Wrong With the World!  I ask each and every one of you to come up here tonight, to take the Sacred Vessel in your hands, and to devote your entire being to the Hash!  To give up your worldly pursuits, especially those of amateur recreational athleticism and extremism!  Give up your Camel Backs!  Your Gu, your Cytomax!  If you take the vessel and devote your entire being to the Hash, your can leave here tonight knowing that all your Hash sins have been forgiven!  So I am asking you to come up now, and let the Sacred Nectar wash away your sins!  But only after you have dropped your Hash Cash in the collection plate, my brothers!  ON ON!

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 during "summer") 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:                                                                          CLD

FIRE MASTER                                                               Not CLD

HASH CASH                                                                      Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                                                            Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                                                Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                                                Dogletticus

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

1061                    3/19               Ladrone

FM 108              3/24               Pyle & Pervert (Thursday)

1062                    3/26               Viagra

1063                    4/2                 Pussy Licking Frog

1064                    4/9                 Salty Gash & Messiah(?)

1065                    4/16               Butt Cum

1066                    4/23               Pussy-Stain Sat. Full Moon

1067                    4/30               Crackerjack

 

 

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE. 

BE A HARE,

SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

THIS WEEK’S READING

 

From the Book of Kramdonians, Chapter 9:

 

 

9 1I was walking on the pathway this past week, hand in hand with my wife, when I spotted a couple of hasher women (not hand in hand) coming my way.  2I was thinking about stopping and introducing them to my wife when I suddenly realized I only knew Bernadette's real name and not Bar Fine.  3So I could either introduce them as Wandering Menstrual and Bar Fine or not at all.

4I chose not at all.  5But this brings me to the topic of hash names, which were a big topic at the yahoo groups a few weeks ago.

6We as hashers have two lives.  7Hash life and real life.  8In my real life, I am Wolf Mojica.  9At work I am just one of the employees.  10At home I am just another one of the kids. 11But on the Hash I am somebody.  12I am Haj, Fucking Kramden, Sir!  1320 years from now no one will remember Brian Beardon [see?  He already doesn't know how to spell it! - DL] or Matt Wertz.  14But everyone will remember Dog Leg and Chicken Lil Dick.

15And lawyers, Jim who?  16Jay who?  17No one will remember.  18But we will still be talking about Mr. Happy Pockets and Shit Stain long after they go back to the real world. 19So if you have a hash name, be proud.  20If you don't have a hash name, don't worry.  21Some day you will get one and then you will be somebody.

 

Hajj F. Kramden, Sir!

Saipan, Planet Earth, 2005

 


RUN #1058:                             The “Sissy Ass” Run

HARES:                                   Sissy, Ass

BOX:                                        Saipan Cock Pit

ON HOME:                               Outer Cove Point

CASUALTIES:                          Everyone, but Bar Fine in particular

RUN:                                       

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          10

CLDPDMMM:                            ~8,000

 

                Butt-loads of gayety (or is that gayness?) had been promised to all those who would be willing to "come out" for the first-ever "Sissy-Ass" trail on the Saipan Hash.  Yes, Sissy and Ass had teamed up, and had promised the pack that there would be plenty to lick, bite, suck, and chew on - all in fulfillment of the advertised theme of the run: "Give Me Oral Pleasure."  They were even selling special T-shirts (and sleeveless Tees, and tank tops) with a pink triangle/rainbow logo, and some sort of story about Sissy and Ass on the back.

                A whole passel of hounds (40) showed up to see what all the fuss was about.  There were so many hounds, in fact, that you might even say we had hounds "up the ass".  Though there were no visitors, there were plenty of backsliders (like the entire Shitstain-Spanky-Dirty Yellow Balls-Buttcum household, sans Shitstain) and lots of people who have only been on a few Hashes before, and for some reason had decided to "come out" for this special occasion. 

                In due time, Sissy announced that the Box would be behind the Cock Pit on Middle Road.  Of all places!  We made our way there, and were soon ready to receive the special instructions:  Hot pink ribbons, two ropes, and "Oral Pleasure" stations throughout the trail that would be marked with the "OP" sign.  We were told that Sissy and Ass would give each of us "oral pleasure" at these locations - so you can imagine how shocked we were to learn (on trail) that we would instead be serviced by Flaming Shit Pyle and Banger.  False advertising!  Boooo!  And with that, the Hares were off.

                Kramden 'splained the instructions to two FNGs - a doctor-doctor named Gary, and someone else named Becca, while Droolbag observed which direction the hares went, because, as we discovered, the Cock Pit is actually constructed of pallets.  Who would have guessed?  (They went left)  We waited around and bullshitted with the backsliders, until suddenly the 10 minutes were up, and we were out.  While most of the pack headed in the direction that the Hares had gone, a few people went off to the right along Middle Road, and decided to fly.  Thus were Cockcaller, Pervert, and Racist able to beat the FRBs to the main Oral Pleasure station at Angel Wings Bar.

                True trail headed off into someone's driveway, just off Middle Road, and then down into an old overgrown quarry.  Yes, we "went down."  And yes, it was bushy (but dry).  Trail was well-designed in here, and the front of the pack bunched up just as it should, as the FRBs went off on false trails, missed on-ons, and got stuck behind stumblers.  We clambered over a very large and long concrete pipe, and then found ourselves heading up the crumbling side of the quarry, where the two ropes had been laid to assist the hounds.  This was where someone who Cheshire Pussy is trying to protect kicked loose a basket-ball sized rock, which nailed Bar Fine.  As far as we know, she did not scream like a girl.  In fact, she took it right on the knee, like a champ!

                The trail wandered around in some dense, viney tangan-tangan along the top of the quarry wall for a while, before discharging into someone's backyard, high on the scenic hillside above Middle Road.  A thoughtfully-placed water stop greeted us there, and the pack bunched up again as the FRBs searched for on-ons among the swing sets and big wheels.  Trail was eventually found on the steep driveway in front of these houses, and this is where the pack split up again:  most of them found true trail leading through a "slit" in the chain-link fence (this must have been Ass's contribution), but several hounds (Kramden and his flock) decided to fly down to Middle Road, and search for trail in Garapan.  True trail continued on through the boonies in this area, which became more open-canopied, finally allowing the runners to start breaking away from the rest of the pack.  After a short while, the trail popped out on the road right across from the Sugar King "No-tell Motel."  Was this where Ass had "tied one - no two - on" as advertised on the listbot?  And if so, which two?  Inquiring masturbators want to know!

                After finding the on-back up the road, the re-grouped FRB pack headed off toward upper China town, only to find another on back.  This caused the third split in the pack:  Dogleg said "fuck this" and led 5 or 6 hounds on a flyer into China Town, where they found true trail heading off into Garapan.  The rest of the crowd chickened out and headed back for a run-around of the Sugar king Park nature trail.  Suckers!  It was thus that Dogleg, Spanky, Droolbag, DYB, and Jason found themselves all alone, on true trail, in Garbagepan, where they were momentarily waylaid by a (unbeknownst to them) stolen OP station, under the rainbow at the bowling alley.  There was supposedly a cooler full of popsicles there, but no one ever saw it.  Trail continued on to the first real OP station in central Garbagepan, which was "manned" by Banger, who was handing out booze (or water), then through the virtually-vacant pedestrian mall, finally coming to a stop inside Angel Wings bar, where fliers Cock Caller, Pervert, and Racist were already waiting.  Sissy and Pyle were dirty-dancing on the stage, and Wandering Menstrual was giving out blowjobs at the bar.  Dogleg blew his out and sprayed cream all over WM's face, which she apparently does not enjoy (*note to CLD).  Where is Bukake when you need her?  Pyle's gyrating buttcrack drove everyone outside, but we were yanked back inside by Sissy.  This happened several times: in-and-out, in-and-out, until Cheshire Pussy came.   (-in with the rest of the suckers who ran through Sugar King.  Ha ha!)  The Hares begged for another five minutes and took off again, leaving us to fend for ourselves against Pyle, who was man-raping anyone foolish enough to share the tiny dance floor with him.

                Despite Dogleg's protestations, the pack could not hold back any more, and prematurely ejaculated themselves into the street after a brief 4 minutes.  The pack followed flour to an on-back alongside the Hyatt, and then fanned out at random across the park grounds, eventually finding flour again at the Smiling Cove parking lot, where backsliders Pucker Boy and Sword Swallower were waving from their "yacht."  During all this jogging, Dogleg found (much to his relief) that blowjobs do not agree with him, and experienced one of those nasty vomit-burps.  The sounds he made caused some to be concerned initially, and disgusted afterward.  Plenty of flour led the pack the rest of the way to the on-home at the far end of the Smiling Cove road, under the beacon, and under a rainbow (appropriately), where the second generation of flyers (Kramden and his sheep) were already waiting, and had caught the Hares.

                The pack milled around and waited for the rest of the stragglers to come in, at first with nothing to drink, because the beer truck had been left with Pyle at Angel Wings.  But eventually everyone made it in, vehicles were retrieved, and Kramden called religion to order, with Dogleg as RA.  They immediately announced that the night's theme would be "absolute power," with obvious prejudice directed at the Full Moon Tyrant, who hade re-named Dogleg to "Jewboy" two nights previously; and CLD and Crackerjack, who had just performed a mocking "hava nagila" song-and-dance.  But Dogleg's revenge would have to wait.  First up were the hares, who told various hare stories, knocked over the beer board (which they were forced to pick up), revealed that CLD had served as advisor, and had their shorts ripped off them by the hounds that had caught them.  Next the FNGs came up and did as well as could be expected.  Then it was payback time:  Kramden called up Crackerjack and re-named her "Corncob/Broomstick" because of the way she runs; Wiener von Brown was named "Boston Buttcrack" because of his plumber's crack; and CLD was named "Pederast" for reasons no one needs to explain.  This caused some angst, as would be expected, but most particularly from CLD, who refused to come up and take the vessel for the re-naming.  Who's laughing now, bitch?!  The Tyrant and Dogleg were suitably amused, but the Tyrant was quick to say "just kidding".

                Perhaps this unfairly took away from the Hares' festivities, which began shortly after a few quick courtesies, but the vast majority of the crowd headed out to the parking lot to enjoy the "Drag Races" which had been organized by Sissy and Ass.  Jason ended up winning the men's drag race, and was christened "Semen Biscuit", a play on words, of course, of the famous race horse name.  Soapy Snatch won the women's drag race.  Shortly afterward, Racist was observed to be rubbing Sissy's head (which of course prompted a round of "head"), and this gave the Tyrant a good reason to erase his CLD-given name, and change it to the more P-C "Knob Polisher."  Next, Sissy whipped out a 12-inch kielbasa and dared the crowd to take a bite.  Boston Buttcrack eagerly stepped forward, but almost died when the engorged tip became lodged in his windpipe.  Fortunately the anti-semitic swine managed to save himself, because the Heimlich maneuver might have gone against his personal prejudices.  Lots of other fun stuff happened, including Sissy dressing himself as Kramden (the similarity was striking), a spectacular moon-rise, and an even more spectacular showing of tits from Bar Fine, who also bounced up and down at the request of Sissy - our queer eye for the straight guys!  Several good jokes were told by Cheshire Pussy, including a previously unthinkable big-pussy joke.  A lot of time was wasted debating the date of Ladrone's assigned run, Viagra's age, the March Full Moon, and other bad information that turned out to be totally wrong once Dogleg checked his calendar on Monday.  Eventually the steam ran out, and the vessel was retired, but not before Dogleg and Kramden made it clear that CLD, Crackerjack, and Wiener von Brown were still themselves.  The area was policed, Swing Low was sung, and the crowd departed for Hamilton's.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 during "summer") 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:                                               CLD

FIRE MASTER                                          Not CLD

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Billy Jean Cum

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

1060            3/12         Droolbag

1061            3/19         Ladrone

FM 108        3/24         Pyle & Pervert (Thursday)

1062            3/26         Viagra

1063            4/2           Pussy Licking Frog

1064            4/9           Salty Gash & Messiah(?)

1065            4/16         Butt Cum

1066            4/23         Pussy-Stain Sat. 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

 


RUN #1057:                             The “Up one ravine, down the other” Run

HARES:                                   Maxcheesemo, Mr. Happy Pockets

BOX:                                        GTC School, San Roque

ON HOME:                               Aqua Resort Beach

CASUALTIES:                          Nothing serious

RUN:                                       

RELIGION:                                .5

DLMM Rating:                          0

CLDPDMMM:                            ?

 

Ah!  The Joy of Hashing!  The Joy, I tell you!  It had been so long since I ran a "real" Hash trail - since last November, I believe.  Since that time, the only trails I had been "fortunate" enough to make it out on were Pervert & Donkey Dick's "Obyan On-back," Kowpaddy & Donkey Dick's Garapan pub crawl, and the all-pavement, all-perky(!) lingerie run.  So now you can see where I am coming from when I say that this was a good run, while some of the more unappreciative fuckers will tell you that it sucked. 

So there I was, gleefully packing my Hash bag for the evening's festivities, when I hear the phone ring.  Could it be the Hares, needing my essential services to pick up pallets?  Could it be Hash Cash, with some other urgent needs of her own?  Could it be Haj F. Kramden Sir, just plain wanting me to be there?  Nooooooo...  it was Ladrone, wanting a ride.  Sigh......

So I got to hear all about Ladrone's theory of economic relativity on the way to the Box.  Or something like that.  It was hard to tell.  Soon enough I found myself at the BOG, and milling about among the week's Hash crowd, which contained quite a few new faces for me.  But there were also some old (very old) faces as well, including Rajneesh and Cecil B. on their last run of the year, and Haj Von Slimetoven himself from the AH3.  But no Kramden!  Supposedly he was in Manila receiving a "physical."  Yeah baby! 

                The hares showed their experience by actually having their shit together, and as soon as the customary 30 minutes had passed, the Box was announced and we all headed out.  When we arrived at the field behind GTC Elementary, we were puzzled to see a police cruiser there, apparently watching some guy driving on the beach.  A few people expected the cop to step out and issue a ticket, until I explained to them that the beach driving prohibition is a "haole law" and is not really enforceable against locals, most of whom do not see the harm. 

                Soon enough the hares appeared, and pointed us toward the beer truck, which for some reason was in front of the school, far away from where we had parked.  A box was drawn around one of the many tetherball poles, and we waited... and waited... and waited for Butt Cum and his friend to finally arrive.  The hares were off without too many special instructions, and I set about 'splaining the instructions to the FNG Crystal, who turned out to be the sister of "Token", one of the more questionable Hash names ever given. 

                It seemed like a very, very long time before the rest of the 10 minutes ran out.  We passed that time by throwing pebbles at the nearby tetherball poles.  Yes, pebbles, because apparently all the rocks had already been used up on the school's aircons.  Eventually we were out of there, and up to the first checking at Middle Road.  I led Chicken off on a sidewalk on-back to the right, while everyone else headed up into San Roque on true trail.  Soon Chicken and I were back on trail, making our way past the rear and middle of the pack.  I almost - almost - stepped right into the middle of a giant, rotting pig corpse while passing people at the entrance to Paradise valley.  But I didn't!  Then, we almost - almost - got killed by unseen, shotgun-toting locals who were shooting away just above us in the valley.  But we didn't!  Things were looking good!

                We had made it all the way to Pucker Boy when I lost all energy and had to slow down to a crawl.  Yes folks, 2 1/2 months of not running can cause you to lose pretty much all of your physical conditioning.  Do not try this at home!  So there I was - gasping for breath, trailing CLD and Pucker Boy.  But that was not as bad as it first may sound!  Actually, both CLD and Pucker Boy are excellent trail conversationalists - not a moment passed that we weren't gossiping about some hasher or other.  If you weren't there, chances are we talked trash about you! 

                I was thoroughly enjoying myself and the trail, even though Chicken was constantly belittling it with his most recent criticism of "it's just up one ravine, and down another!"  So what's wrong with that?  It was a damn nice ravine, and as I tried to point out to CLD, if he had just stopped momentarily to look up at the canopy above him, it was quite scenic.  But, it really was just "up one ravine, and down another."  At one point, I even had to remind Chicken that just because we were not presently in the ravine bottom, we were only about 20 feet out of it, and about to re-enter.  This seemed to dishearten him, but I really didn't give a shit. 

                The first ravine we went up was Paradise Valley, which, for a change, we followed all the way up to the abandoned pig farm above San Roque.  After a brief cross-over, we entered the Achugao ravine system, and came out on the steep concrete road above the big blue water tank.  An arrow just below there led off into the last boonies, which was a recycled piece of a trail I had set with Maxcheesemo last November, which took us across the base of the hillside toward the north, and then down through a cattle pasture and onto Middle Road again.  That's where the on-ons disappeared, and we ran across Red Sasquatch and Jason, wandering about in confusion.  They had skipped the last boonies, and had apparently been running up and down Middle Road for some time.  Those two idiots were about to head back up to Achugao to get back on true trail, until I straightened them out with some "Dogleg Common Knowledge".  I said to them:  "Look, you dumbasses, just run down to the beach, and head north until you find the on-home!  It's that simple!"  And so that's what we did.

                To be fair, there were a few pink ribbons here and there, which could have been on-ons, but it was not until we rounded the last rock on the beach, and saw the MHP blue-dick truck, that we knew for sure we were on trail.  We finished the run with an inappropriate sprint.  Messiah and Cold Shower were sitting there, working on their third or fourth beer by now, having finished a good 15 minutes ahead of us.  (I am beginning to wonder if I will ever try to set trail live again, at least while Cold Shower is around)

                It was a beautiful sunset, and a fine beach to enjoy it from.  What more could a Hasher ask for?  I even set up the old "giant binoculars" on the tripod for some fine daylight viewing of the moon, and everyone seemed to enjoy "jackin' to the moon."  I was certainly enjoying myself.  So screw you Crackerjack!  Hajj CLD got a nice fire going, all the vehicle runners eventually returned, and it was time for religion!  The hares were up first, and said some stuff that I can't remember now (blah blah blah).  Hajj Von Slimetoven came up to give his usual honor to the Saipan Hash, and was thanked with a verse of "He's the oldest..."  The FNG was next, and for the life of me, I just could not get her sister's terrible Hash name out of my head, and I kept calling her "Token".  Between that, and the (at first) unexplained references to the "Negro farm" in Achugao, we must have come off worse than a bunch of Arkansas hillbillies.  Cecil B. and Rajneesh came up to give some final messages before going away, Pervert Hoover came up to start drinkin', and then.... well, nothing happened.  I begged, CLD pleaded, and eventually, we started calling people up by name.  Speaking of which, we finally got around to changing "Cums Cheap"'s name to "Manila Ice", as it should have been all along.  Rajneesh led the crowd in a great song:  "Beer is better than women....", but it was one of those nights that just couldn't be forced.  Sorry, Pervert.  After Chicken jumped the flaming Christmas tree, we decided to put the final nail in the coffin, and no amount of drunken begging could change my mind.  Swing Low was sung, and the cool people (like me) headed to Ham's, where there was plenty twitching-fresh Mahi and Wahoo, plenty theorizing by Ladrone, and plenty begging from Wandering Menstrual for a new Hash name.

 

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:                                               CLD

FIRE MASTER                                          Not CLD

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Dogleg himself

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

1059            3/5           Billy Graham & ?

1060            3/12         Beerhead

1061            3/19         Ladrone

1062            3/26         OPEN (Full Moon)

1063            4/2           Pussy Licking Frog

1064            4/9           Salty Gash & Messiah(?)

1065            4/16         Butt Cum

1066            4/23         Shitstain & Cheshire Pussy 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

 

EDITORIAL

What the heck is going on with all you people..........? It seems that it is getting harder and harder to stay awake at Religion..... This is the time we all get to speak.... say how "SHITTY" the trail was, even if was a great trail as I would set. It is a time to joke and take cheap shots at our friends like "Donkey Dick". Maybe its just me but when the most exciting thing to come out is how many times I, the great and most honorable PERVERT Hoover, get up to do a down down we have a real problem......... All I am trying to say is the HASH is the one thing I think we all look forward to at the end of our week and we should all make a better effort to get more out it.... Trust me it really will make you feel good to get up off your ASS if only to take a drink from the "SV".

"PERVERT"


 

RUN #1056:                             Heaven & Hell Lingerie Run (Religion was Heaven, the run Hell)

HARES:                                   Mr. Happy Pockets, Maxcheesmo

BOX:                                        NMC Gymnasium Parking lot

ON HOME:                               Kilili Beach

CASUALTIES:                          Chicken Little Dick’s student (Who saw him in a thong on Beach Rd), MHP’s Mind

RUN:                                        ½ (that’s HALF a STAR)

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          10.99999 (whatever the highest is)

 

26 hounds showed up to the BOG on a rainy Saturday afternoon for the annual lingerie Hash.  Hash Cash Ciega was on hand in sexy red lace to collect cash for the run (you come now, you pay now!)  Mr. Happy Pockets-who told people to come early for a treat- handed out temporary tattoos for the hounds, most of which said things like “juicy slut,” “wanna fuck?” and “sweet cherry pussy.”  A manly Sissy showed up with his head shaved and no trace of women’s lingerie, so he donned a very macho “SUPER STUD” tattoo on his back.  Chicken Little Dick showed up in a little thong, fake boobs, and not much else, and quickly rubbed on a “wanna fuck?” tattoo on his bare ass.  Shit Pyle was extra delightful in a white pair of daisy dukes with the letters “OH YEAH” emblazoned on the butt, and a very, very stretched out sports bra.  MHP didn’t have on lingerie or domination clothing but still managed to put on a ‘slave’ tattoo.  Dogleg made his triumphant return to the hash with a lovely pink teddy and plenty of extra bras and panties for all those prudes who didn’t bring any.  To everyone’s disappointment, Dirty Girl and Soapy Snatch showed up with absolutely NO lingerie, and no intention of wearing any.   The box was announced to be the Gym parking lot at NMC, so the crowd of sickos and pervert hashers made their way over there. 

Soon, the hounds assembled before the hares MHP and Maxcheesmo for special instructions.  They only announced that the trail was 2.5 miles, and shouldn’t be that hard, even for the slow ones, or those scantily clad.  In absence of the tyrant, Dogleg ‘splained the rules to the FNG, who was this cute little chick from middle America named Natalie who came with Hop On Cock.  The two wore devilish matching pink camisoles and little red dresses.                  Before he left, Maxcheesmo handcuffed himself to Chicken’s ball in a disgusting gesture of prison love.  Second time hasher Tinian Todd was on hand for the festivities in one of Dogleg’s vampish unitards, and AH3 Vet Cock Collar was present in Some Korean woman’s bra. 

When ten minutes were up the pack of cross dressing Rocky Horror look-alikes was off toward the Riviera Hotel.  The trail stomped along on asphalt and diatomaceous earth for what seemed like an infinite amount of time.  On-on after on-on followed the road like Saipan’s newly installed mile markers that lead nowhere.  Pavement pounding continued as the group made it out of the slums of the NMC area, and made their way down to the slums of Chalan Piao.  Banger was sweating off her lovely make-up, and Bukkake’s not-quite-lingerie robe kept slipping off in the breeze.  Just Anoop was representing for the Canadians Helping Chamorros with a lovely purple ensemble that accentuated his lovely brown eyes.  And all the while, Chicken Little Dick swaggered along with his nuts flopping back and forth, and his ass just as bare and pale as the tombstones the trail went past in CK.

Trail got really exciting (note: read with extreme sarcasm) when the group of half naked runners passed through a Chalan Kanoa neighborhood rife with local parties, and staring children.  A couple children lost their faith in God once they saw Pyle un-wedgy his red panties out of his ass on trail.  One young boy ogled over Ass in her little black skirt, even though technically it wasn’t really lingerie.  The trail crossed Beach road at ostensibly the busiest part of the island on a Saturday afternoon- the corner by Town House and Blockbuster Video.  The hounds heard more honks than a blond holding a “honk if you love tits” sign.  There were gasps and chuckles, grins and looks of mortification to boot.

The closest thing to boonies were four sticks draped over themselves hounds had to run over when the trail veered toward Sugar Dock.  Some local fishermen, who were drinking, confused Big Pussy, Chicken, Bar Fine and some others into believing that the pack of nutty hounds went back out to the road.  So yet again, the hounds stood back on the corner of the busiest intersection in Saipan, clad in little more than lace and frill.  Realizing the rouse of the fishermen, the group headed for the logical on-home, which was some beach.  Chicken, who at this point had already heard three or four “Mr. Wertz???” along trail ran right by an innocent little female student of his, and she let out a mousy shriek. The image of his floppy nut sack, clad in white satin will be forever burned into her impressionable adolescent mind. 

The trail ended up at Kilili Beach where the hounds met up with MHP who decided to hold a ‘pre-religion soirée’ at A.J.’s outside bar.  Ciega, using her finely tuned “Shitty-trail  ESP” agreed to drive the beer truck in lieu of taking the horrible trail.  MHP treated for one free drink at the bar, and a bunch of Church’s Fried Chicken.  Nothing but the best!  While the hounds cooled off in style before religion, Sissy helped Chicken with his stroke, and the two hit golf balls into the ocean.  A Seinfeld episode comes to mind…

Soon after everyone descended like testicles down to Kilili beach and coolers and palettes were set up.  Just as it was getting dark, pretty-in-pink Tyrant Emeritus Dogleg piped up religion.  First up were the hares, who needed to explain themselves for setting such a shitty trail.  First MHP claimed that ALL lingerie runs are shitty, but everyone on hand who has ever run one agreed this was the worst.  Maxcheesmo, who was wearing a frilly matching panty and bra combo didn’t do much else to explain the shitty trail.  They did their down-downs and sat down.  Next up was FNG Natalie, who wouldn’t stop talking about the Mall of America with LaDrone, came up for her time in the circle.  She said she was from Minnesota, and she was an actress (Read: Waitress).  All the randy males wanted to see her shed her tight top, and were chomping at the bit to give her options.  Though she acquiesced to drinking her own beer, to everyone’s dismay.   Dogleg, who was looking for more palettes for the fire was told that MHP only brought two. This pissed off Dogleg, seeing as this was his first hash in over a month and he wanted to spend all night by the warmth of a palette fire.  Luckily, Cheeseboy was able to scrape up some palettes from PayMore, and even found a Christmas tree to roast.

At this point in religion, AAARA Chicken Little Dick finally covered up his little dick by slipping on Bar Fine’s purple slip, which evidently she didn’t need anymore.  Since the trail sucked golf balls through a garden hose, there were very few tales from the trail.  It was just about twenty or thirty minutes into religion when errant hound and backslider Hop-on-Cock came up to do her first down-down in many moons.  HOC received a stern reprimand from Ciega, who found out HOC backed out of a hare duty some months previous because she “didn’t like the Hash anymore.”  The bonfire spiked and the crowd let out a mellow “ooooh!”  The only thing HOC thought to do to repent for her sins was… show her tits!  And thus begun the era of nudity at the lingerie run.  As soon as HOC shed her top, and went down to her pretty panties, college ‘friend’ and girl who she made cum, Natalie also shed her top, revealing a small pair of perfect and anatomically correct hoo-hoos.  The crowd was livid at the sight of so much fresh flesh.  The two not only went up and flashed their four nipply friends in the circle, but also continued the spectacle by going back to their seats topless.  The men and lesbians on hand were given quite a show that evening.  Dogleg’s mammarometer was growing by the minute, and he even pulled it out of his pink teddy and showed everyone.

Maxcheesmo came up to the circle again, but this time he shed the boxers he was wearing underneath his panties.  This was a whole (hole?) lot more revealing, and there were catcalls from the ladies.  Pyle felt it was unfair that all the men were getting such a great show from the still topless Natalie and Hop on Cock, so he shed his tight white shorts that said “OH YEAH” on the butt, and went down to nothing more than a pair of stretched out red panties.  He then proceeded to spin, bend over, and shake his ass in front of everyone.  Whether it was out of pity or disbelief, no one knows, but Pyle got a very positive reception from the ladies in the crowd, who hooted and hollered at his oversized spectacle.  Banger sat and watched in mortification, especially when Pyle told everyone that they were Banger’s panties.   Vertical Lei came up and showed off her pretty number, which was followed by a visit from Bar Fine. Evidently the previous week’s Trash called her and Ray-Cyst’s Palauan a debacle, and a weak attempt at necking.  She wanted to set the record straight by improving the quality of her kissing, so she called up Ray-Cyst for another go.  What ensued was notably better than their first kiss, but in this author’s opinion lacked heat and voracity.  Sure there was rolling around, and tonsil tickling, but they can still give a better effort in the coming weeks.  Pucker Boy came up in his beautiful pink “I Dream of Genie” number to let everyone know that it was his and Sword Swallower’s Anniversary.  There was the obligatory “ooh” from the crowd as Pucker Boy invited her up for a lovely kiss.  Pyle made a comment that kissing Pucker Boy must feel like kissing a goat.  Sissy said it wasn’t bad.  PB later came up again to show off the hunky junk between his legs and dropped trou revealing his goods.  While PB deserves great honor for the brave showing, in the future, hashers should probably refer to Sword Swallower as “Pocket-Knife Swallower.”

Shit Pyle went back up to the circle again where he was finally, once and for all named Flaming Shit Pyle.  Speaking of flaming, at this point Cheeseboy threw the Christmas tree on the fire, but unfortunately no one made any attempts to jump over it, because there was a fresh palette to trip over, just underneath the tree. For some reason, congenitally ill Mr. Happy Pockets went mad and started tipping over coolers and royally screwed up the sacred nectar supply. Soon, the last of the fire was burning down, as was a hot and fleshy religion.  The area was policed, the vessel retired, and everyone joined in perfect harmony for the singing of Swing Low. 

 

 

EDITORIAL

Knowing how much our tyrant LOVES to see TITS, what a shame that he had to miss religion last week.  Aaaaah well, the constant showing most likely wouldn’t have been good for his heart as well as other blood pumping organs.  We all saw what it did for Dog Leg who kept trying to pull his short little teddy over his ever-expanding mammarometer.  Honor to Hop On Cock and Natalie for being outrageous hashers.  Honor to the Hash!

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4 p.m. during "summer") 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:                                               Haj CLD

FIRE MASTER                                          Not Haj CLD

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Barko Hepplewhite

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 Run #1058   2/26/05   Sissy

Run #1059   3/05/05    Beerhead

Run #1060   3/12/05    Billy Graham

Run #1061   3/19/05    LaDrone

 

 CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS


 

RUN #1055                              The”HIDING AT HIDDEN BEACH” Run

HARES:                                   COLD SHOWER, DIRTY YELLOW BALLS, AND GENERIC WHITE BOY

BOX:                                        HIDDEN BEACH

ON HOME:                               HIDDEN BEACH

CASUALTIES:                          THOSE WITH LEGS AND

                                                SKIN

RUN:                                     

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          0

CLDPDMMM:                            9000

 

48 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam, for a three hare run to be treated to another FREE hash.  There were three tourist FNG’s, including one old guy who had on black and white diagonal checked spandex pants.  This guy was a hasher  waiting to happen. His name was Yamazaki san and he spoke no English.  He was with Jun and Joyi (a Chinese girl living in Japan).  Anyway, the box was announced as Hidden Beach and the assembled headed out there.  Once we got near the parking area, there was a huge cluster fuck of Korean Tourists.  This long line continued down the beach access and really slowed people getting into the box.

In the box, the hares gave special instructions. These were 1) follow pink ribbon; 2) if you see white ribbon watch out for bees. When they were done the hares took off. With DYB running out the back, and the two others out the front, the hares took off.  3 FNG’s, with the girl translating for the others. Once the 10-minute head start was up, about 10 hounds tried going out the back of the box, up a cliff and began to follow pink ribbon which the hares swore they never saw before.  Kramden, sharing his experience and watching the hours tick away while people tried to climb out of the back of the box, said, “the hares would not put a clusterfuck at the beginning of the run. It would put too many people in the dark”.  So he and Beerhead went into the creek bed and sure enough found trail.  The cliff climbers ended up on an access road above the cliff and popped out on to the main road, back to the parking lot, and down into the creek bed and back on trail.  Some hounds just sat and waited at the on home KNOWING that it was going to be a circle jerk. But the rest of the pack followed pink ribbon and true trail into the limestone forest that hugs the coast line. Several times we were actually on the old East Coast Highway that use to run from Kalabera all the way past Old Man by the Sea.

Anyway, we continued through creek beds, up steep inclines, up limestone cliffs, and then we peaked and started heading down.  Eventually, we popped out on the OTHER hidden beach where the hares had spelled out a birthday greeting to VVB (who missed it since he flew).

From this beach we climbed up another cliff and followed a trail along the ocean until we reached the rope ladder (GWB’s) sole contribution to the trail since he was in the Philippines getting GWB junior worked on.  Down the ladder, through a huge crack in the rocks, and then back to the beach where we started it all.  This was an excellent example of a circle jerk. Many of the FRB’s walked up the beach and heckled those who were later, as they came down the ladder, Shit Pyle gave us a moon to show us what he thought of us.  Everyone made it in before dark, but Sissy and Wandering Menstrual almost could not make it down the ladder because of their Acrophobia.  CLD got a fire going and to get every one’s attention, the Tyrant had the first Christmas tree thrown on the fire.  True to form, CLD leaped over the fire.

Then Kramden piped up Religion and the hares were called forward.  They gave each other great honor for a while but then turned on each other when Kramden indicted them for leaving trash on the trail.  When they were done, the FNG’s were called forward, and they said they really enjoyed the run.  They were on Saipan for diving, but not the same diving that GWB did in Manila.  Although I think Jun might have been diving on the Chinese girl. Then Ciega passed out the cupcakes for Viener and then the Tyrant called for courtesies.  And let me tell you there were many.  Cracker Jack  brought up a bottle of  Tequila and VVB played Mexican Doctor with Cheshire Pussy.  Crackerjack also came up with a pin the tale on the hounds game for VVB. And there were many tails from the trail, and even tales of tail on the trail. Pyle got up and was talking about the last time he jumped over the Christmas tree and had to dive in the water in Garapan to put himself out, so the Tyrant re-named him Flaming Shit Pyle.  We also came up with a name for Heidi who was complaining about getting SOMETHING in her eye, so we named her Bukaki.  There were quite a few Palauans, including many with VVB for his birthday.  GWB got up again and had his pants pulled down, and there was an audible gasp from all the hash women. However he took offense and knocked CLD down since he was the one that pulled down his pants. CLD never let the vessel touch the ground.  Maxcheesemo started to cook hot dogs and about this time he started serving them.  Some more courtesies were done, and some more trees thrown on the fire.  This really excited the FNG’s.  Of course I told them not to try this at home since we are trained professionals.  As is always the case, all good things must come to an end, and so the Tyrant called for retiring the vessel, policing the area, and Swing Low.

  

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 p.m. during "summer") 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:                                               Chicken Lil Dick

FIRE MASTER                                          OPEN

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Tyrant For Life

 

                RECEDING HARE LINE

 1057                       2/19      Maxcheesemo

1058            2/26      Sissy

1059           3/5        Beerhead

1060            3/12         Billy Graham

1061            3/19         Ladrone

 

                  EDITORIAL

This past weekend’s hash was one of those that remind me of what I like so much about hashing.  There was absolutely NO pavement.  We were, at one time, on the old East Coast highway, but it is hardly recognizable after 25 years of being taken back by the jungle. It was well marked, it was short, it even had a ladder where there needed to be a ladder.  What more can you ask for. And we had 4 COUNT THEM, FOUR Christmas trees.  And the weather was beautiful. Runs like this, and on homes like we had, are what keeps me coming back, week after week, month after month, and year after year.

 


RUN #1054:                             The 23rd running of the Ladderan Tanke Trail (or a variance thereof)

HARES:                                   Shit Stain and Cheshire Pussy

BOX:                                        Kalabera Caves

ON HOME:                               Bird Island Beach Overlook

CASUALTIES:                          Some FNG, Leave It’s brain, basically everyone who had to attend religion

RUN:                                       

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          0

CLDPDMMM:                            500,000

 

Forty hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam Saturday for what would prove to be both a splendiferous and insidious evening for the Saipan Hash House Harriers.  In absence of both Kramden and Ciega, Swami Raajneesh was wisely chosen to be the evening’s Tyrant Emeritus.

Once the box was announced to be Kalabera Cave, the long procession of hashers made their  way.  Upon arrival at the box, some hashers may have been experiencing what the French call de ja vu, which in English translates roughly to, “haven’t we run this fucking trail a thousand times?”

                With no special instructions except “let’s hurry up so we can finish before dark” and “ONLY ORANGE RIBBON,” Shit Stain bolted from the caves like a big white booger from a big dark nostril.  Raajneesh ‘splained the rules to the many, many FNG’s, and the group waited in bated breath to either rerun the previous Tuesday’s Full Moon trail, or run the Ladderan Tanke Trail, again. 

The run began promptly and soon the pack, led perfunctorily  by Cold Shower (big fucking surprise), headed east toward the boonies and the L & T trail.  Cold Shower, who evidently was using all his brainpower at that moment to run really, really fast, saw what he thought was the beer truck driving errantly along the main road.  In his finite wisdom, Cold Shower lied down in the middle of the road, waiting for the beer truck driver to… well quite frankly this writer has no fucking clue what he was expecting.  But when a large Palauan man who was definitely not Bar Fine (the beer truck driver) jumped out and asked what the hell he was doing, Cold Shower shouted some Dutch curse words and offered the guy some magic mushrooms in apology.  The trail snaked immediately into the boonies and wasted little time heading up the hill and over to the nature trail.   As soon as the pack entered the boonies, there was a great Kool-Aid acid trip of brightly colored ribbons littered throughout the trail.  This would be great for the Palauan guy who was probably tripping nuts off Cold Shower’s Happy Dutch Mushrooms, but it was not great for the pack of hounds who had to sift through myriad colored ribbons like detectives to find the orange ones.

As the group would later find out, Drool Bag REMOVED an on-back from true trail, because in his infinite and Zen-like wisdom of Hashing, it did not belong there.  This would later lead an already abysmally slow Shit Pyle, Dirty girl, and Soapy Snatch chasing their tails around in circles on the trail.  With most of the pack in except those stragglers, Shit Stain feared the worst and headed into the jungle equipped with a flashlight, and some emergency chicken wings (for Pyle). 

                While the hares were out on life-guard duty, the stragglers finally sauntered onto the on-home ready to indict the hares for “S-H-I-T-T-Y T-R-A-I-L,” especially one as poorly labeled and confusing as that one.  But Shit Stain was quick to explain that the trail was terrifically marked, and only through Drool Bag’s chicanery were the wayward hounds lost.  Religion started soon after the pack crammed onto the steps of the Bird Island Beach Lookout, a somewhat uncomfortable yet nice change from the usual parking lot on-home.  Chicken Little Dick, who was too busy masturbating to run the trail, showed up just in time to fill the role of Religious Advisor.  The fire was made, and religion was piped up by Raajneesh.  The many FNG’s were first called up, and were asked the sacred questions, and drank the sacred nectar.  Cum Cheap didn’t let the group down and continued his streak of bringing fresh meat to the hash.  Donkey Dick brought two Japanese girls who wanted to meet ‘that bald scaryman on the Visitors Channel’ but alas, Kramden was in absentia.  Dirty Girl brought one of her dirty friends along, who to the dismay of the group did drink beer.  There were some Japanese guys there too, and one of them was named Stomach!  The crowd got a kick out of that, and unfortunately Shit Pyle showed everyone that he, too had a stomach.

At this point one couldn’t help to notice the air start to grow thick with tension.  Chicken, who has a strong aversion to people yelling “OH YEAH” was starting to become perturbed with Pervert Hoover, who was averaging one beer every ten minutes, and three “OH YEAH’s” every ten seconds.  As if matters couldn’t be worse, the 70’s pornstar-shorts-wearing vampire, Leave It, for some idiotic reason starting imitating Pervert and began belting out “OH YEAH” also.  God will Damn Leave It for his horrible fashion sense, and his lack of originality.

Chicken, who was trying to maintain a jovial and convivial environment for the many backsliders and FNG’s, wasn’t having any of the “OH YEAH’s” anymore.  He threatened to start hitting anyone who screamed the infernal expression with an empty beer can.  In CLD’s defense, he did warn everyone to move away from anyone screaming “OH YEAH,” or else they also ran the risk of being belted.  Leave It obviously didn’t believe Chicken (or didn’t care) and kept up his tomfoolery, and got jacked in his big pale skull with an empty Miller Light.  Ironically, Chicken tried to hit Leave It but missed; it took a crack from a MGD thrown by Shit Stain to shut Leave It up.

Instead of reacting like a human being and just telling Chicken to go fuck himself, this brutish, alcohol bloated, brainless, twat of a man-child started whizzing Full Beer Cans indiscriminately into the crowd managing to hit a pretty, young FNG in her head.  To say the least, the crowd was incensed, and Chicken Little Dick’s eyes were literally outside his skull as he marched up to Leave It and began verbally pummeling the man with a list of expletives longer than  this entire trash.  You may use your imagination to fill in the gaps.  The result, though, was Chicken demanding the thoughtless Leave It to Leave Religion, or else Chicken would start pounding the crap out of him.   Everyone waited in anxious silence as CLD –like a ornery Mississippi prison guard with a too much power- and Leave It –like a child who just shat himself- stood at a dead standstill waiting for the other to budge.  Leave It (who left his brain at home with his Beaver) evidently didn’t think he did anything wrong and wouldn’t scram.  Chicken, let up, short of having an aneurysm, and having to fight Leave It.

Religion attempted to go back to normal, and CLD and Raajneesh tried to corral as many people as possible up to the circle.  But the crowd was somewhat disillusioned at this point.  The mood was just about as irritable as Dubya’s bowels when “Fahrenheit 9/11” came out in theaters.  Though, religion would continue on regardless.

Chicken and Raj sang songs, people drank more down-downs, Pervert told some halfway decent jokes, and Donkey Dick jumped off the wagon for 5-6 down-downs- all in the name of improving the mood. And miraculously, things actually started getting better!. 

Jesse, a new hasher got two names in one night- he finished the trail in sandals and was originally dubbed “Camel Toe.”  Then he got back up and told a great pussy joke (to Cheshire’s chagrin) and was renamed “BIG Pussy.”  Chicken propelled religion forward with a Fascist regime of mandatory down-downs, and soon even the most quiet of hashers were in the circle.  Ray-cyst did a down-down and protested his name, which CLD threatened to change to James Earl Ray if he continued to gripe.  Ray-cist then did a lame kiss with Bar Fine, which prompted Cheshire and Shit Stain to come up yet again to the circle and show us “how a real Palauan goes.”  What followed can only be shown on HBO after Midnight.  The two were sucking the filling out of each other’s teeth  when a drunk and rowdy Pervert ran up and started humping their leg.  There  was some vomit involved, and even after all the earlier commotion, yet another “OH YEAH” sailed over the crowd like a lead balloon.  Then  Pervert got sick of saying “OH YEAH” and started calling everyone BITCH.  It was charming, bitch.

Pyle tried to indict Drool Bag for stealing an on-back that got him lost, but he was nowhere to be found.  Neither was Vertical Lay, coincidentally.  The two would later show back up to religion with conflicting testimonies. 

Soon the night drew to a close, the area was policed and Swing Low was sung, putting an end to religion like a bullet in the brain of a broken legged horse.

 

Shades of Brown- Editorial by Shit Pyle

Last Saturday, people asked me what the hell I was thinking as I tried to jump over a six-foot  wall of fire at the 1052, where I ended up giving myself 2nd degree burns and injured my pride pretty  dreadfully.  My answer was simple- I wasn’t thinking.  As reported  in this trash, Cold Shower also made a thoughtless error, when he assumed that the yellow truck driving down Kalabera Cave road was the beer truck, and could’ve killed himself in the process.  And, it goes without saying that Leave It’s brain was devoid of thought when he lobbed beer-grenades at his fellow Hashers and our guests from Japan and China.

There is, though, one critical difference between the actions taken by Cold Shower and myself, and the one taken by Leave It.  Cold Shower and I both did dumb-ass things, but we only put ourselves in harms way.  Leave It, on the other hand, risked the safety of his brethren hashers, as well as our guests.

All three of us were thoughtless and careless. In my case I was dehydrated and I had knocked a couple beers down, in Cold Shower’s case, his brain had diverted all his blood and oxygen to his equine-like muscle structure. Leave It, on the other hand, may have been a little drunk, but it did not seem likely that he was drunk enough to start assaulting people. Simply childish.

There is nothing wrong with making an ass out of oneself.  The only person who gets hurt is oneself.  And while I frown upon taking moral stances, it is clearly morally reprehensible for adults to causelessly assault others, especially in an egalitarian brother/sisterhood such as the Hash.   Leave It is an adult, a professional and a Lawyer to boot, and has no right acting in such a flagrant and reckless manner.  Next time you want to hurt someone, abuse yourself, asshole. And do it at home, not the Hash.

               

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4 p.m. during "summer") 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:                                               Haj CLD

FIRE MASTER                                          Not Haj CLD

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Barko Hepplewhite

 

 

    RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

Run #1056   2/12/05    Mr. Happy Pockets

                                                LINGERIE RUN

Run #1057   2/19/05    Maxcheesmo

Run #1058   2/26/05    Sissy

Run #1059   3/05/05    Beerhead

Run #1060   3/12/05    Billy Graham

Run #1061   3/19/05    LaDrone

 

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 


RUN #1053                              The”SO DONKEY DICK REALLY CAN SET A RUN” Run

HARES:                                   DONKEY DICK

BOX:                                        SUICIDE CLIFF FARM

ON HOME:                               COWTOWN BEACH

CASUALTIES:                          BAR FINES LEGS

RUN:                                     

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          10

CLDPDMMM:                            7000

 

18 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam for the in spite of the fact that Donkey Dick was setting the run. I was shocked to hear that CLD and Crackerjack wimped out for exactly that reason.  Well, their loss because it was a great run.

Wandering Menstrual was busy as usual and provided the only FNG for the week, Edmund.  I wonder what she promised him for cumming on the hash.  Donkey Dick announced the box as Suicide Cliff and Kramden must have ESPN because he wore his Run #282 shirt, “Adventure on the Banadero Trail”, which was set by Beerhead and Weird Al many years ago (you do the math, I am too tired).

We all drove up to Suicide Cliff and waited for Pucker Boy in his brand spanking new beer truck.  He finally showed up, we put our gear in the back and then headed to the little farm road about 200 meters from the top of the cliff.  Donkey Dick gave us the special instructions, flour only, and then took off.

The Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the lone FNG and then started talking up the crowd.

After the 10-minute head start, the pack was off and ran right out to the main road, up towards the monuments, and immediately into the Banadero Trail.  The weather was perfect and cool, it was over cast, and it was all downhill.  What more could anyone ask.  Eventually however, we made it down to the bottom of the cliff and popped out by the parking lot near the Korean Memorial.  From here an arrow took us across the street to the Banzai Cliff Road.  The trail continued on this road all the way past the memorials, and to the dirt road at the end.  This is a mountain bike trail that Marianas Trekking keeps clear, and it winds it’s way West paralleling the dump road.  We ran across a Korean couple who were walking the trail in the opposite direction with their two kids.  We ran past Larry Hillblooms cigarette boat which lies abandoned in the jungle.  We also ran past the remnants of the UMDA building on the Cow Town proper. Eventually we popped out on the Cowtown Road and down to Cowtown Beach.

In the absence of everyone else, the Tyrant took the pallets by the horns, and with some assistance from Soapy Snatch, was able to get a great fire going.  Eventually all the hounds came in and a vehicle run was done.  The Tyrant piped up Religion and called the lone hare forward.  Donkey Dick told us all about his half marathon in the morning and how tired he was in the afternoon and blah blah blah.  Next we got the FNG up, and Wandering Menstrual, all cleaned up and fresh smelling, got back just in time to get honor for making Edmund Come.

Then the Tyrant insisted that everyone around the fire get up and do a down down since the circle was so small.  There were some boy on boy Palauans.  Boy on Girl palauans. Girl/Boy on girl Palauans, but Sissy is still Gay.

Rajneesh coaxed Bar Fine into putting a spike in the DLMM which everyone was grateful for.

At 7:15 the Tyrant called for Father Abraham and this was done with great gusto.  Then the Tyrant called for policing the area, Swing Low was sung, and the assembled carried the coolers and other stuff up the rutted road.  Most people headed to Hamilton’s because it was so early.  The Tyrant of course went home.

 

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 p.m. during "summer") 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:                                               Chicken Lil Dick

FIRE MASTER                                          OPEN

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Tyrant For Life

 

1055           2/5       TANDOORI CHICKEN

1056            2/12      Mister Happy Pockets

                                 LINGERIE RUN

1057            2/19      Maxcheesemo

1058            2/26      Sissy

1059           3/5         Beerhead

                 

 EDITORIAL

I may have been a little cranky at the hash this week, but I deserve it.  For the last 20 years I have stood up at the front of Religion and listened to the entire BS from the heckling crowd AND from those who choose to come up and do a down downs.  So I figure, once in a while, aside from the full moon hashes, I get to heckle back.  Besides, I have has a lot of nervous energy to burn off lately and this seemed like as good a time as any.  It was a nice and cozy crowd and it was good to have Rajneesh as my RA. 

But seriously folks, Dogleg could not be with us this past week (and due to local custom he may not be back until February).  His brother-in-law was killed in a head on collision with a 16 year old girl at 1:30 a.m.  Believe it or not, but alcohol was involved as well as dangerously high speeds.  The engine on the pick up was ripped completely out of the truck.  Two boys in the back of the pickup, (15 and 17 years old, at 1:30 am!!!) received multiple injuries and are still hospitalized.  I do not drink.  I can not drink.  I have nothing against people who drink.  But this was no accident.  When a person gets behind the wheel of a care and has been drinking, that is pre-meditated murder in my book.  Think that is harsh?  The 16 year old girl was a beautiful Japanese teenager.  There will be no open casket for her.  She was too badly mangled in the accident.  What a tragic waste.  Please folks, if you are going to drink and drive, please do it after I am already home in bed.  I do not want to be a victim.  And wear your seatbelt.

 


RUN #1052                              The”KOWPADDY RIDES INTO THE SUNSET” Run

HARES:                                   DOGLEG AND MAXCHEESEMO

BOX:                                        TANAPAG PCB FIELD

ON HOME:                               ACHUGAO BEACH

CASUALTIES:                          PYLES FAT CALVES

RUN:                                     

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          10

CLDPDMMM:                            7000

 

49 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam for the last run for Kowpaddy.  He had been announcing it since last year and now that time had come for him to FINALLY leave us in peace.  There were shirts for sale from Chicken Lil Dick for the Kowpaddy Kollege.  The box was announced and the Tyrant gave SIMPLE instructions on how to get there.  But Catherine ended up going to Capitol Hill for some reason. Anyway, once everyone was in the box, and the special instructions had been given, and the hares took off, the Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to a bevy of FNG’s.  There was Mr Ji, Li Yin,  Eunja, Paul, Anoop,  Eudalia, Anneka and Heiner (Cold Showers Parents), who were left to fend for themselves. (Just like he did with Rough Rider that time that he got his hash name.  But that as they say, is another story.  After the Tyrant ‘splained the instructions, Drool Bag did it all over again for the Chinese who he figured did not understand.  And no matter how hard the Tyrant tried to dissuade them from listening to him, they would not heed the warning.  Even after a vote by the assembled, they still did what he said and came in, in the dark, in the back of the beer truck.  After the 10-minute head start the pack was off and followed the trail of the beer truck which had headed east on Chalan Sisonyan towards Wallace Highway.  The pack followed trail all the way to Highway 30 to an arrow near a garment factory on to Paipai Drive.  We followed this old road which runs parallel to the big street.  Eventually we hit a checking which took us into the jungle and into Sadog Mamis (which loosely translated means Sweet Creek).  We followed the creek up stream for a long time before hitting any water that could not be avoided, although Anoop and Kowpaddy tried very hard not to get wet. Kowpaddy took many pictures along the way, some with the Tyrant, some without, but I am sure that one or two will be gifts for the Annual Christmas exchange next year.   But soon we were at least ankle deep in some very cold water.  We continued on up the stream, past several really cool waterfalls and some sandstone creak cliffs that made it very easy to climb up.  We past quite a bit of wartime flotsam including lots of crashed airplane parts, truck tires and axles, railroad tracks, and even several big cooking vats for the molasses which was turned into run.  Eventually we got to Sodog Dogas (which means Pebble Creek), which more or less took us across the almost completely covered Talofofo Road.  We past several old Japanese era roads, drainage ditches, and house foundations as we traversed the hillside.  Eventually we popped out above the Big Blue tank on Awwurh Drive. We could hear the babbling brook on the other side of the road. It was pretty much straight down the hill to Wallace Highway, across the road, to the beach and then north to the beach south of Aqua Resort Club. Already waiting were Sissy, Donkey Dick, and Shit Pyle who blew off the hash in favor of some Tempting Triathlon or something.

As the pack trickled in, everyone dove into the hash snacks and talked about what a great run it was.

Once everyone was in (including seven stragglers who was brought in by Dogleg after the first vehicle run, Dirty Yellow Balls started a fire and the Tyrant piped up Religion. The hares were called up first and described how this run was done in honor of Kowpaddy since he BEGGED for Dogleg to do it for his last run,  Dogleg also gave great honor to his co-hare Maxcheesemo, honor which was returned when Cheeseboy got up and did his down down.  Next his Eminence, Hajj Von Slimetoven of the Agana Hash did his down down and complained because the Tyrant was sitting down before Religion.  Get over it.  Then it was time for the FNG’s to come up.  And most of them did ok, except for Li Yin, who did not speak much English and did not understand the options so drank the first Beer of her life. Next there were many courtesies to this fantastic run and the first of three Christmas Trees was thrown on the fire, and CLD showed his weenie like he did last week as he leapt over the burning bush. In the meantime, Cheese Boy started roasting weenies behind the Tyrant, and people surreptitiously snuck up behind him and got their hot dogs.  After all the courtesies were done, Kowpaddy was called up to do his shoe down down.  Someone asked him to do the Johnny Harelip joke and he did, but the new Kowpaddy of Lake Havasu Cty has no timing.  However, many decided to get up after and drink out of his shoe, and in true Kowpaddy fashion, he WOULD NOT SHUT UP!! People could hardly blow smoke up his ass without him going off on a tangent about some of his exploits.  So this dragged on for a while, and he passed the obnoxious mantle on to Pervert.  Then Dogleg insisted that Mae East (Kinky Lay) get up and do a shoe down down (or show her tits…thus the huge spike in the DLMM).  Mae East told us the story of how Kowpaddy stalked her until she succumbed to his advances.  She also told the story of the spite poop he left in the toilet after their first marital spat.  What a classic tale it was.  The last tree was thrown on the fire and this time Shit Pyle (with his spandex biker pants from the triathlon) tried to leap over the burning bush.  He received third degree burns on his legs, the cold shoulder from Banger, and hopefully enough sense not to do that again until either his dick shrinks to the size of CLD, or his body shrinks to the size of  a normal 200 pound man.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 p.m. during "summer") 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:                                               Chicken Lil Dick

FIRE MASTER                                          OPEN

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Tyrant For Life

 

FM106         1/25         Ass/Crackerjack

1054            01/29   OPEN

1055           2/5       TANDOORI CHICKEN

1056            2/12      Mister Happy Pockets

                                 LINGERIE RUN

1057            2/19      Maxcheesemo

1058            2/26      Sissy

1059           3/5         Beerhead

                 

 EDITORIAL

Alas, we see the departure of another staple of the Saipan Hash.  Just like the hash, you either love it or hate it.  That was Kowpaddy.  You either loved him or you hated him.  Or sometimes you loved him.  And sometimes you hated him.  Or sometimes it was a love/hate relationship.  Or sometimes you just wished that he didn’t like the sound of his own voice so much.

But, I have been told that those things which we dislike in other people are the things we dislike most in ourselves.  It is true; I do love the sound of my own voice.  That is why I yell on on so loud when we are near a mountain or cliff so I can hear the echo.  And sometimes I do get carried away talking too much about the old days and how it used to be.  The only difference is you either love me, or you adore me, or you admire me.  I can think of only 2 people on this earth this earth who would like to see me strung up by my dick with my intestines wrapped around my neck, hanging from a coconut tree on Beach Road.  But neither one of them runs the Hash so who gives a shit.

Anyway, I may have given him crap, but in a twisted, perverted way, I will miss Kowpaddy.  I will also miss Kinky Lay/Mae East, because she is just about the sweetest Oriental I have ever met. (And in my time I have met a few).  Unconditional love is hard to find, but she glows with it.

Farewell and Sayonara.

 


RUN #1051:                             The “DDKPPK” Run (Donkey Dick/Kow Paddy Pub Krawl)

HARES:                                   Donkey Dick, Kow Paddy

BOX:                                        Bank of Guam (how original)

ON HOME:                               Carolinian Ut

CASUALTIES:                          Kow Paddy, Ass, Tits, and that Ken doll looking guy from L.A., Jim, Dogleg’s hair

RUN:                                       

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          3 (even with ‘Tits’ at religion)

CLDPDMMM:                            500 (maybe)

 

                The drunken debauchery of the SH3 usually begins after a healthy dose of running (to work up a thirst for beer). But not this run! Kow Paddy, whose days on Saipan are less than his IQ, thought it fitting to hold a pub crawl run for his last hared hash.

Donkey Dick –a devoted Kow Paddy fan- eagerly accepted KP as co-hare to help with the difficult task of hacking a trail through the thick boonies in Garapan.  Actually, as Donkey Dick knows VERY well, the only bushes to be found in Garapan sit in tinted Toyotas and answer to ‘Nihou.’

Because of the confused and drunken state of the hares, the many hounds had to wait for what seemed like an eternity at the BOG with no instructions from Donkey Dick and the only thing from Kow Paddy was ‘Are you drinking with me Jesus?’ and ‘Tain’t no one can kill the Kow Paddy, mother fuckers.’

It was soon after announced that the run was going to be a pub crawl (no surprise).  Kow Paddy insisted he put a message on the SH3 YAHOO board telling everyone to “Bring Plenty of Money!”  It was also announced that the box would be (again, no surprise) the Bank of Guam.

After some more drunken KP revelry, the hares were off to some clandestine location in Garbagepan.  Just moments later while Kramden was ‘splanin’ the rules to the FNG’s, the hares could be seen doing a very lively dance routine from the balcony of the Hard Rock Café.  Now, only Droolbag/ Bite’n’Suck would’ve had difficulty figuring out where to head first on the pub crawl run, but luckily for everyone, he was off somewhere lying (I mean lawyering).

The hounds broke box and immediately made way through DFS screaming all sorts of obscenities and cursing  ‘that dirty bald Mexican, Wolf’ for all the DFS employees to hear.

The first leg of the pub crawl came to an anticlimactic end in Hard Rock, where the hounds and the hares came together as one people to enjoy happy hour beers and poor service from the lovely wait staff.  The newly mutton chopped Shit Pyle huffed his way into Hard Rock already dripping with sweat to the chagrin of the other hounds.  That tall blonde from PIC (NWATPIC) Catherine wasted no time digging right into the cheap beer as she and her lady friends started power-chugging Meister Brau at the bar and doing shots of Yeager.  Pervert Hoover was unfortunately chosen to be the video master on trail and kept filming Ass’s sister’s massive jugs. 

Without too much hubbub, the hares were again off and after some tough bargaining (you come now you pay now!) Ciega very generously gave them a four-minute head start.  The trail then snaked through China Town, to give it some credibility, but soon made its way back to Garapan.  The next stop on the pub crawl was coincidentally Sissy’s nickname in college, Beefeater. 

Still shy of a heavy buzz, the hounds sat and enjoyed the air conditioned bar and cold beverages from the gorgeous Filipina bartender.  Kow Paddy convinced some pub locals he was ¼ Carolinian and told them they shared the same second cousin, ‘Big Lulu.’ 

The group was off again, this time snaking through the puddly streets of Garapan to the Hyatt.  The normally upscale atmosphere of the Hyatt was crashed by the presence of a pack of buzzed and sweaty hounds.  The group convened beachside for another drink, putting some people over that magical and invisible line called drunkenness.

Here’s where everything started to go downhill for the hares: the run continued along the beach, yet the only markings where in white powder.  Way to fucking go hares.  Next the trail continued through the Dai’Ichi where an uninformed janitor swept up all the on-on’s before half the pack saw them.  Again, way to fucking go hares.

After some confusion and drunken wandering around Garapan, the pack (minus Ass, her sister and L.A. Ken Doll) made it to the Dai’Ichi karaoke lounge where the trail’s real fun began.  After Pyle and Tiny Dancer finished all the free cat ribs and fish fry, there was nothing left for the hounds to do but drink and sing bad karaoke.  Kow Paddy, now ‘Irish village drunkard’ drunk, was rambling something into the microphone to the dismay of a wedding party that thought they were going to have a nice time.  It became a total Hash gangbang session when the wise and sober (you’re not drinken with me Jesus?) CLD picked Swing Low on the Karaoke machine and no words can describe twenty or so hashers piss drunk belting out Swing Low in a swanky hotel lounge.  It will be something not soon forgotten.

The pack made its way to the last bar (thank god) on the crawl, which was Mom’s, and soon after made its way to the On Home at the Carolinian Ut.

Soon after sunset, the tyrant piped up religion and the real drunkenness ensued.  At this point in religion, Ciega’s tolerance for Kow Paddy’s disrespect of the vessel was at a level yellow: hightened risk of a Ciega ass stomping.  Just like any good fight on terror, Ciega’s level was bound to go up. 

Among the FNG’s were two new recruits that came with Wandering Menstrual and Paul.  The two FNP’s (as DD referred to them as) were told by Paul that they wouldn’t need any money for the Hash.  The Tyrant, smelling a Hash name soon called Paul up afterwards and told him for this heinous crime he committed, he’d be named ‘Cums Cheap.’  The circle got a laugh from this name, but everyone agreed the name was much better than ‘Butt Come.”

Ass’s sister (the one whose jugs Pervert couldn’t stop filming) was called up, and even before she was asked the sacred questions, she was bestowed the name of “Tits” for her ample and well shaped fun bags.  Thus, forever more, she and her sister will be known as “Tits and Ass.”  Heidi, Ass’s Co-Blonde and heterosexual life partner, would not be likely to deal with this well, since Heidi has been vying for the name Tits for some time.  No one ever said the Hash was fair (Look at Butt Come).

After the FNG’s, Banger and Shit Pyle gave a trip report from Bali that lasted almost as long as their trip did.  The two evidently were able to go to (and complete in a decent time) two Bali hashes, and were accompanied along the way by Ass and Heidi as well as backslider’s Pixel Dick and Finger Licking Good.  Banger sung her song for the Bali hashers, and they loved it, and her (jugs).

At this point, KP was so intoxicated little cartoon bubbles where floating above his head, and the words “shut up Kow Paddy” hung in the air like humidity.  Ciega was on Kow Paddy beat down level Orange, approaching the Osama Bin Laden-esque Level Red.  Would KP cross the line?

Kramden brought pine-fresh Christmas trees to the hash for a post-x-mas tree burning (At least he didn’t burn books.  Sieg Heil, Tyrant).  The trees went up faster than Pervert’s blood pressure while filming Tits’ tits. 

Still not drunk (but just as dumb as ever) CLD found it necessary to prove to everyone that yes, he does in fact have a little dick, and ran through the burning Christmas tree fire naked.  The smell of singed pubic hairs was almost strong enough to overpower the smell of burning pine.

Dogleg, who was not as dumb as CLD (but much, much more drunk) also felt it necessary to run and jump through the fire naked, and put the smell of burning pubic hair at a critical capacity.  Speaking of critical capacity, Ciega’s capacity for Kow Paddy’s insolence was gone, and she hit beat down level red with a blood chilling “Fuck you Kow Paddy!  I don’t like you, and to tell you the truth, I’m glad you’re leaving.  We won’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore!” As she said this the temperature dropped low enough for the burning Christmas tree to freeze, and for CLD’s wiener to go into negative inches.

Kow Paddy and Sword Swallower (who should’ve been named beer swallower for her amazing drinking display) continued to talk, Shit Pyle continued to be chubby, Sissy continued to hit on all the men folk, and Tits’ tits continued to stand up and beg for milkin’. Soon it came time for the group to police the area and sing swing low for the second time that evening.

 

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:                                               ????

FIRE MASTER                                          Not CLD

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                        

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

1038            10/9         Ciega & MHP All-slimers Run

1039            10/16       Dogleg & ????

1040            10/23       OPEN

FM103         10/28       Thurs. Full Moon - Shitstain

1041            10/30       OPEN Halloween!

1042            11/06       OPEN Potential End of World Hash

1043            11/13       OPEN

1044            11/20       Kowpaddy Thanksgiving

 

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE. 

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS


 

RUN #1050                              The” I’LL NEVER HARE A COMMEMORATIVE RUN AGAIN” Run

HARES:                                   SHITSTAIN & CHESHIRE PUSSY

BOX:                                        KALABERA KAVE

ON HOME:                               PAU PAU BEACH

CASUALTIES:                          SHITSTAINS SELF                                   ESTEEM

RUN:                                     

RELIGION:                               

DLMM Rating:                          3

CLDPDMMM:                            8500

 

68 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam for the AGPU of the Saipan Hash House Harriers.  Actually this crowd was a lot larger than I thought it would be, since it was on January 1st.  Balls of Steel was there from Guam. Hajji Peewee drove the beer truck having just had an appendectomy the previous week.  The hares had done much planning and like the man said, the best laid plans of mice and men, are sometimes gang awry.  The shirts we were told would be distributed at the On Home.  The hares announced the box as The Last Command Post.  So the assembled headed up there only to find out that we had to load into pickups and go to the Real Box which was Kalabera Kave.   Actually, a bus was supposed to take us.  Only the bus never showed up. Well, not exactly.  When we got to the Kalabera Kave, the bus was parked at the entrance.  So we all walked past the bus and up to the cave.  We could not go in because of the tape, so we stood outside, except for CLD who proceeded to break the branches from a broken tree until the FNG Archeologist who put the tape there threatened to cite him. The hares gave special instructions about orange ribbon, old and new, and flour.  They mentioned a water stop about half way and then they took off.  The Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the FNG’s and after the 10-minute head start, the pack was off.  Dirty Yellow Balls and Farticus, who arrived late, and saw which way the hares went, would not lead the pack.  In fact they went the wrong way.  True trail headed out towards Bird Island.  There was no checking but someone spotted a ribbon on a branch about 50 feet off the road at the tree line and the pack went into the jungle here.  Beerhead and Pervert kept running out to the main road.  Pervert turned around, but Beerhead went on her own little odyssey and was joined by CLD after the second boonies and ended up going to Wing Beach and not making it to the On Home until after dark.

 

The true trail went up the side of the hill until we connected with the Laderan Tangke access road (which is still completely trashed from Chaba). From here the trail almost made it to the Laderan Tangke trail head but went into the jungle on the right again.  This was very thick but well cut.  We found, in the middle of the jungle, the beer stop. It was an old Budweiser step van.  How it got there I have no idea. From here the trail went down the mountain and came out behind the JG Sablan quarry, above the golf course.  We got down to the road and then a checking at the golf course ring road took us around the golf course.  Another checking into the jungle took those stupid enough to follow it into the second boonies.  Kramden, Wrecktum, Ciega, and others chose to go to the main road and came out by the Marianas Resort.  While everyone headed south towards Nikko, Kramden and Wrecktum went down towards the beach hoping to cut off the hares who they suspected were going along the shore to Wing Beach.  They got down to the shore line, up a cliff and stumbled on to a bevy of bathing beauties.  It was a group of Japanese tourists at the spa tittering at the two old farts coming up out of the ocean.  From here the trail went right over to Pau Pau beach and the On Home. Heinus Anus., who babysat the ice and drinks all day, was also checking people in.  The pack slowly made its way in and picked up their t-shirts. The usual snacks were available and everyone was pretty good about not touching the food under the foil.  The DJ was already there playing some great music as the hounds trickled in.  A vehicle run was called and the first group took off to get their cars.  A second vehicle run was done and it was no use for the Tyrant to try and keep the PIG Hounds from getting at the food, so he jumped in line first.  There was chicken, chicken, more chicken, and eventually a huge smoked ham.

 

After everyone ate, the Tyrant piped up Religion. A wonderful fire was built in a draw and it made a quite nice amphitheatre for the spectators.  The hares were called forward and explained how they would never do this again.  Next visiting hasher Puck You from the Tokyo Ladies Hash House Harriers.  The FNG’s were called up next and there was a cute little hard body named Nikki, and a cute little Chinese teacher whose name escapes me.  There may have been others but I can not remember them.  Next we had lots and lots of courtesies and down downs to the run.  There were also many discourtesies to the hares for real or imagined injustices.  At least one Christmas tree was thrown on the fire, as was the Our Lady of Perpetual Bottle Rockets Cathedral which kept blowing up as it was engulfed in flames. Then we called Two Timing Bitch up for her Shoe Down Down.  The Tyrant gave her the Hash Admonition to carry on the tradition.  Then many people came and drank out of her shoe.

 

Eventually, Religion got boring and the Tyrant called for policing the area and retiring the vessel.  Then it was time to open the dance floor.  It was so much fun dancing on the red ants.  Wandering Menstrual and Paul can really cut a run. The music was great. The beer and soft drinks were cold, and it was a really lovely evening.  Around 11 pm the Tyrant went back to work, and everyone else went home.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 p.m. during "summer") 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:                         Chicken Lil Dick

FIRE MASTER                    OPEN

HASH CASH                      Ciega

TRAIL MASTER          Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN   Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE              Tyrant For Life

 

RECEDING HARE LINE

1051            01/08/2005  PHARTICUS

1052           1/15/05  CHICKEN LIL DICK

 

EDITORIAL

Even though we gave them a lot of shit, I want to give credit to the hares for taking on the responsibility for this suspicious occasion.  And since we are talking about commemorative runs, run 1100 will coincide with the 21st Birthday of the Saipan Hash.  So, the theme of that particular has will be Saipan Hash House Harriers comes of Age.  We WILL have t-shirts, we WILL have a commemorative booklet.  I know that we tried this for the 1000th and it kind of fizzled out.  But I really think we should have something spectacular for the birthday run and the 1100th.  Also, we need hares for this run, and all the hares will have to do is take care of the trail.  Ciega and I will take care of the rest.

 

Two Timing Bitch was upset because the Tyrant would not drink out of her shoe.  She was also upset because he did not ask to see her tits.  If she came to the hash more often, she would know that the Tyrant does not drink alcohol and shoe down downs can only be done with sacred nectar.  And the last time Two Timing Bitch showed me her tits I ended up in the hospital. She will be missed.


 

 

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