SAIPAN
HASH TRASH
issues 1050 -
1059
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,
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