SAIPAN HASH TRASH
issues 1060 - 1069

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RUN #1069:                           The “Pyle should be more careful with his personal possessions” Run

HARES:                                 Flaming Shit Pyle, Pervert Hoover

BOX:                                      Casa de Pyle

ON HOME:                            Marine Beach

CASUALTIES:                     Spider Woman, Voodoo Mama

RUN:                                      ¶¶¶1/2

RELIGION:                            ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:                     9.63

CLDPDMMM:                      ~6000                                                     

 

How long will it take Pervert Hoover to live down his reputation for setting shitty trail?  How many co-hares will he take down with him in the process?  The answer remains to be seen, obviously, because

 the smaller-than-normal crowd of just 20 last week can only be attributed to the Pervert rep.  And that’s too bad, because apparently Pervert has finally learned how to set decent trail.  Or, perhaps, he

 still sucks, and it was only a case of Flaming Shit Pyle carrying him.

 

In any case, no one who gathered at the BOG last Saturday expected much beyond “a trail”, and cold beer at the On-home.  And that, my friends, is all that should matter anyway!  Oh, that and the good

 company  of your fellow hashers (ahem…)  The announcement of the box at Pyle’s house raised our expectations just a little, since it pretty much assured us of re-running the March Full Moon Hash,

 which had been reported to be “pretty good.”  So off we headed to the infamous “Lego House” across from the Santa Lourdes road, where we gathered among the pyles of dog shit and rotting fruit at

 the back of the ridiculous abode.  Special instructions were overwhelmingly complex, and everyone tuned them out.  Visiting Agana Hasher “His Royal Rudeness” (formerly known as Rude Boy) was

 obviously confused – they like to run ‘em simple and stoopid down in Guam.  They have to, because that’s just how they are!

 

So the hares set off, and to their credit, we didn’t see which way they went, despite being able to see the main Lourdes intersection from the Box.  With no FNGs present, the crowd had far too much time

 on its hands than can possibly be safe.  Especially when the hares set the Box at their house – another no-no, we were told, of the Agana Hash.  We soon found out why – in the process of snooping

around the back, Dogleg discovered that Pyle had carelessly left his storage room unlocked, which CLD immediately exploited – finding a ready-to-go mountain bike, and even a helmet.  That find, combined

with Pyle’s less-than-wise decision to share every detail of his trail with CLD during the previous week at w**k, led CLD to the obvious decision to steal the bike and ride it to the on-home.  At least he had

 the courtesy to not tell us where that was.

 

Once out of the box, the entire pack followed Dogleg, Semen Biscuit, Oly, and Voodoo Mama down the Lourdes road to an on-back, which apparently those who ran the March Full Moon knew all about,

 but still followed anyway.  Fucking sheep!  The pack then ran south on Cross Island Road, with CLD riding alongside the FRBs, to the start of the boonies heading into a shallow ravine off to the east.  This

 ravine eventually leads to Marine beach, but the trail did not go that way, and instead followed the side of the hill back around toward Santa Lourdes, through the well-cut but rocky trial used in the March

 Full Moon run.  Dogleg noted the distinct smell of diapers in here at several locations.  At first, the odor was an almost precise match for the scent of fresh Huggies.  Had Dogleg stumbled upon the secret

 ingredient of commercial diaper perfume?  If so, it was apparently in the form of a voracious, invasive vine with tiny pink flowers.  Unfortunately, the odor soon gave way to that of heavily soiled diapers.

 The source of this odor was less clear.  But that’s just one of the many paradoxes of living on Saipan – you can, within seconds, pass from places of astonishing natural beauty, to places reeking of

 urine and pyles of human shit.  Ah!  Paradise!

 

Soon the pack found itself in the backyard of some homes just below the Santa Lourdes shrine.  Trail led past these homes and into a series of farm roads that were open last year, but for some reason

 are now almost completely overgrown with weeds and mimosa.  It was scratchy, itchy, and it made Dogleg bitchy.  Just ask Knob Polisher.  But after a while, trail headed back into the tangan-tangan, and

 began drifting toward the area of the Legendary 1000th.  There was a white ribbon tied to a tree in here, which reminded Dogleg that the hares had said something about that in their special instructions.

 What was it they said…..  Oh fuck!  Bees!  Dogleg screamed like a little girl (just ask Knob Polisher) and ran, as four of the nasty little fuckers buried their ass-needles in his shoulder.

 

Soon Dogleg found himself out in the middle of a huge, fresh field of dirt.  The FRBs could be seen running around in confusion at the far end, and in between was a shallow trench in which the hares had

 placed the water stop, and inscribed the words “OH YEAH!” on the opposite slope.  What we did not know was that Pervert Hoover had been there just moments before, and had scrambled like a spider

caught in a bathtub, unable to get himself up and out of the trench.  So, he had taken the opportunity to catch his breath while he laid his favorite words in flour.  But the FRB’s didn’t know that, so they

bumbled around ineffectively, looking for flour all the wrong places, working their way along the edges of the field.  This allowed Dogleg to catch up, as it was obvious to him that the trail probably led

straight to the open fucking gate that was visible from all points.  This put the FRB pack right out onto the As Teo road, but close to its end.  This tempted Dogleg to run back to the corner at Tiny Tim’s old

apartment, but he was wrong, and he lost his precious positioning within the FRB pack.  Not that it mattered.  The FRBs once again got all fucked up by yet another of those tricky, dastardly open fields,

this time just a little before the very end of the road, after passing through the yard of a Chamorro guy who was working on his car and did not notice all the haoles running past until it was too late.  Sure

enough, there at the end of his field (which was studded with holes for his future betelnut plantation – ”Lanya, just please don’t sue me when you fall in, ne?”), were the FRBs, running about aimlessly,

oblivious to the ribboned fucking cave that had been carved into the wall of tangan-tangan in front of them.

 

Fortunately for Pervert Hoover, the FRBs were also oblivious to the fact that he was hiding right there, having been overtaken just as he was entering the boonies.  But what a great place to hide – the

forest was studded with limestone pinnacles, faults, and small cliffs, through which the trail descended.  Pervert was treated to a front row seat as he watched this gang of idiots pass by, and then

quietly followed in their tracks, no doubt one of the few useful skills he learned while negotiating with South American drug lords with Oliver North back in the ‘80s.  Soon the trail came out onto Tom

Pangelinan’s road at Marine Beach, and then followed the ravine down to the on-home, which was on the north side of the beach, across the sandy gully.  CLD was waiting there with Pyle, who was

very obviously not pleased that his hero had flown his trail, let alone having done so by stealing his mountain bike.

 

It took a while, but eventually we got all the coolers and pallets carried down from the truck, and a vehicle run was dispatched.  Even the slowest runners had made it in early, and religion was able to

start before it got completely dark.  It was a beautiful night, and despite the relatively small crowd, religion was rowdy.  Pervert and Pyle exchanged many stories and accusations about setting trail, and in

the process, drank far too many sacred nectars.  Though you can’t blame the alcohol entirely, it certainly had a factor in Pervert’s excessively perverted behavior that night.  Mismanagement apologizes for

any unpleasant experiences you may have had that were related to this.  However, Mismanagement makes no apologies whatsoever for Dogleg’s peanut tossing, which was prompted by Banger’s

refusal to say anything of substance while she held the vessel, cheaply imitating Ciega by attempting to wait for Knob Polisher, Spider Woman and Sissy (who had shown up late) to shut up.  There were

several courtesies for the trail, which was surprisingly good, there were a couple excellent showings of tits, and there were a few attempts at humor, but sometimes there’s just no need for jokes when

people are being stupid enough to be funny in and of themselves.

 

Kramden was in a strange mood that no one could really understand, and insisted that the crowd perform Alloutte.  The only problem was, there were more men than women, and there were no women

who had ever performed Allouette before (not to be confused with … oh, never mind).  So Hajj Chicken Little Dick crossed over to the other sex (as he is sometimes rumored to do) and became a woman

for the evening, leading perhaps the best female version of the song in the entire history of the SH3, lampooning Kramden’s physical, uh, unique –etties.  “Do we like their strange moustache?  Yes, we like

their strange moustache!”  Although fun, Allouette marked the end of religion.  Kramden, again in his strange mood, conned a few of us into staying on the beach and looking at the stars.  Looking for

answers, apparently, to questions which us youngsters could not possibly comprehend.  Ah, to be old!  Well, apparently it got old quickly, and after about 5 minutes of lying on the beach, looking at the

stars, Kramden said “fuck this!” and we all discovered that we had been screwed – stranded at Marine Beach with only Ciega’s car to get us out!  But somehow we were all able to fit, and took off on the

long journey back to our cars, which involved a long stop at Ciega’s house while we waited for Kramden’s son to pick us up, and an even longer ride back to the BOG in the back of Kramden’s truck.  A

few hashers headed off to Hamilton’s from there, where a few of the (smart) early departers were already dining and drinking.  The rest of us just gave up and called it a night.

 

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                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dog Pyle

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

FM 110       5/24         Crackerjack & CLD (Tues. Full Moon)

1071            5/28         OPEN

1072            6/4           Kramden & MHP

1073            6/11         Wiener Von Brown

1074            6/18         Sword Swallower & Oly

FM 111      6/22        Pussy-Stain (Wednesday BIG RUN)

1075            6/25         Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

1076            7/2           Pervert Hoover

1077            5/21         OPEN

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

EDITORIAL

 

I fondly remember the first time I experienced naked bronco cooler riding.  I remember “helping” a voluptuous Hash woman get up on top of the cooler for a ride, and being verbally reprimanded by Dick

Chair Tracy, who said to everyone:  “No touching!  That’s the basic rule of naked bronco cooler riding – absolutely no touching!”  I hadn’t done anything perverted, but I immediately understood the reason

for this:  things can get quickly out of hand when alcohol and nakedness are involved.  The same goes even for alcohol and non-naked, but typical raunchy hash behavior.  Please keep your hands to

yourselves, children, lest we find ourselves with no more Hash women, or worse, in court saying “but she liked it!”

 


 

RUN #1068:                 The “CELLS CRYING OUT AND OTHER LOVE STUFF” Run

HARES:                       SHITSTAIN AND CHESHIRE PUSSY

BOX:                            MARPI RADAR

ON HOME:                  WING BEACH

CASUALTIES:             VOODOO MAMA

RUN:                           ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                  ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:             8

CLDPDMMM:             ~4000                                     

 

About 30 hashers showed up for another Pussy Stain run.  There was no pre-selling of the run so very little was expected.  There were no FNG’s and no Canadian Sailors. Ciega was off gallivanting

 around on the West coast of the US and Dogleg was home nursing a cold. Flaming Shit Pyle and Banger were also missing, as was Pervert Hoover which was rather surprising. And Butt Cum once again

 planned a party on a Saturday night, thus yanking a bunch of erstwhile hashers away from the Saturday afternoon festivities.

 

The box was announced as the Radar Station in Marpi and that is where we headed.  Once there, we were herded into the building which used to house all the electronic equipment and which took years

 to build and millions of dollars.  The CNMI government let it go to shit in less than a year.  But hey, what does that have to do with the hash?  So the hares were off reminding us that flour and orange

 ribbon only, and some other complicated marks representing Bees, would be the only marks on trail that we should follow. So after all the confusion, they were off.  Ten minutes later we followed.  Billy

 Graham went immediately into the jungle in the north and came back and said that there was nothing but cliffs.  The rest of the pack had already gone back towards the main access road and found

nothing.  So we headed back to the checking, which was right outside the box, and went to where Billy Graham said there was nothing and found something. The trail went right down into the jungle and

 headed down towards the Laderan Tangke trail.  Somewhere in here, Voodoo Mama slipped and let out a howl. Cold Shower heard the cry and said, “are you alright?”  Voodoo Mama, in such pain that

 she could not speak, did not speak, so Cold Shower kept on going (just like the time he left his wife in the jungle after dark and got is name because when they got home he was not going to be getting

 ANY!)  She eventually needed stitches the cut was so deep and bad.  The trail popped out on the access road and then went back into the jungle.  There was lots of down hill now, and although it was

 steep there were no death defying cliffs that we had to risk our lives to climb up or down.

 

Eventually we came out behind the Marianas Country Club.  The trail then went into a farm where a wild calf, a wild cow, and an even wilder Bull scared the Bejeesus out of Pervert, Sissy, and Short Time

(who ended up waiting almost 45 minutes for the bull to get out of the way).  The trail then went down another hill, and on to the FEBC road.  From here it was a straight shot to the main road where

Wandering Menstrual, Kramden, Pervert, and Sissy ran into the Governor and his body guard running in the opposite direction.  Back into the jungle and then down to Wing Beach.

 

CLD gathered drift wood to start a fire and got a nice warm and toasty going. As we waited for the missing hound, Bukaki and the Tyrant exchanged jokes and naturally the Tyrant’s funny bone and this

 gave him the giggles for the rest of the night. A vehicle run was done and we found out where Short Time was (via cell phone) and she eventually came in after dark.  The Tyrant piped up Religion, called

 CLD up as his RA,  and the hares were called forward.  During their courtesies they announced that on the very spot where the beer board was, Shitstain actually proposed to Cheshire Pussy. There

 were lots of ooohs  and aaahs, and then Religion continued. Many courtesies were given Voodoo Mama told the Cold Shower tale from the trail, and there were even some attempts at humor.  Everyone

 was coaxed up to do a down down, including Wandering Menstrual (who did it the Palauan Way with CLD) and Short Time who drank it all by herself.  More courtesies were done; there were probably

 more tales from the trail, but who can remember.  Anyway, eventually the vessel was retired, Swing Low was sung, the area was policed, and the assembled headed to Hamilton’s or the party at the

 beach house.

 

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                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dirty Yellow Dog Balls

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

1070        5/21      Vertical Lay

FM 110    5/24      Crackerjack (Tues. Full Moon)

1071        5/28      Red Squirrel

1072        6/4        Soapy Snatch

1073        6/11      Kramden

1074        6/18      Sword Swallower & Oly

FM 111  6/22     Pussy-Stain (Wednesday BIG RUN)

1075        6/25      Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

Editorial

 

As my father likes to say, when he is in his cups, “I’ve was in love once…..MANY TIMES”.  Well, like father, like son.  I love falling in love.  That is why I have been married so many times.  It is the chase

 that I enjoy. It is the romantic lovey dovey, playing footsies, sneaking around behind her husbands back kind of stuff that MY Cells cry out for. But alas, I have outgrown the romantic lovey dove stuff.

 

So it was kind of cute to hear that Shitstain and Cheshire Pussy are contemplating jumping the broom again. And it is cute to see another couple head off into the sunset on the hash.  And it is bittersweet

 to see yet another couple, so newly starting, to end so abruptly.  But, as the song goes, Love Hurts.  Yeah, HURTS SO GOOD.  People ask me what was wrong with my first two wives and I tell them the

 truth.  They made the same mistake.  They married me.

 

When love is involved, we always seem to make the same mistake and look for the same kind of partner.  I was always looking for someone to take care of me.  And all 3 of them did. They all had pretty

good racks too! So the next time you are falling in love, see what about your current partner you don’t like, why you are looking elsewhere, and if you look deep enough, you will find that thing that you do

not like in your current flame. Believe me; I know what I am talking about.  That is why I am the Tyrant for Life.

 


 

RUN #1067:                 The “I want some of what Oly’s been smoking” Run

HARES:                       Oly

BOX:                            Cowtown motocross track

ON HOME:                  Log-jump station, Marpi pathway

CASUALTIES:             Droolbag, Cum Guzzling Gutter Slut

RUN:                           ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                  ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:             8

CLDPDMMM:             ~4000                                     

 

Something close to 30 hashers showed up for what was expected to be a much better run than the previous week’s “full moon” trail.  Even though, in all honesty, no one really expected much.  The hare

was, after all, only Oly.  But at least we knew that we would not be exposed to potentially fatal falls and odd, in-betweenium start times.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that, just that most hashers

tend to have more fun when they are not apprehensive about falling to their death, in the sunset.  That, and Oly is just plain cute.  And, he sets cute trails.  Or at least that’s what Maxcheesemo told me

 earlier today, on the phone.

 

Besides the usual crowd, we were also joined by visiting Hashers ‘Fertile’ and ‘Cum Guzzling Gutter Slut’ from Japan, and a couple of junior sailors that Joan of Arc made come.  We also had some

 backsliders like Ladrone and Dirty Yellow Balls, and the previous week’s hares, Cheshire Pussy and Shitstain, who were avoiding Dogleg like he had written an insulting Hash trash about them, or

 something.  Sheesh.

 

The Box was announced, and as often happens, a lot of bumbling and indecision about who was riding with whom ensued, requiring the rest of us to wait around forever at Cowtown once we got there.

  This gave plenty of time to speculate on the trail, while we enjoyed the clouds of fine dust generated by all the motocross boyz.  Much of the discussion revolved around whether certain individuals

 would fly out toward the dump, instead of following trail like the week before, but it was agreed that Oly’s trail was probably too cute to miss.  Once Oly finally showed up, we shoved our bags into his

 cute little CRV, and were placed into a narrow box on the side of the road, in plain view of the track.  Oly ‘splained the special instructions, and then ran off into the motocross track, and was not seen

 again.

 

Being stupid, as all hounds are, this observation did not prevent us from taking the first, long on-back beyond where Oly had disappeared, and out across the open fields of Cowtown, where we very

 plainly did not see Oly run.  I blame Maxcheesemo and Cold Shower, because they were in the front, and found the “YBF” (You Be Fucked) on-back at the trail to Banzai.  Wait a minute there

–Maxcheesemo, at the front????  You betcha!  The Cheeseboy was showing off his “new body” – the result of three or so weeks of post-Xterra mountain biking.  The funny thing was, he didn’t look like

he had a new body.  But he was, in fact, much faster than usual, and within no time he had caught back up to the rear of the pack, which was following Beerhead into the boonies back toward the dump,

 across the still-smoking remains of a fresh grass fire.

 

The action was hot and heavy in here, with plenty of open space between the dried out tangan-tangan to shortcut around the slow people.  Maxcheesemo soon found himself near the front again, just

 behind Dogleg and Droolbag.  All it took was a simple cut across a curve in the trail, which of course Droolbag followed, to put the Cheese in the lead.  More or less.  Not counting Cold Shower and Semen

 Biscuit, who were too far ahead to count.  Soon we were back out on the road by the dump, and then up the side of the fence, headed toward the leachate pond.  A couple of false trails at the corner of

 the fence took care of the FRBs, and soon Maxcheesemo was in the front, if only for a moment.

 

This was where the climbing began, which pretty much characterized the rest of the trail.  We climbed up the rocky hillside behind the dump, until we hit the paved road above.  After a brief clusterfuck

 (never follow Droolbag), we entered the boonies again, just by the little park bench on the pathway.  We followed some Fish & Wildlife transects up toward the top of the ridgeline, but it was a steep

 climb, and the trail made many turns.  Not surprisingly, this confused Droolbag, and soon he was heard off to the left, heading up a cliff, where one of the sailor FNGs (who was really fast, by the way)

 was off trail:

 

Droolbag: “On belay!”

 

Sailor: “Don’t come this way!  I think I’m off trail!”

 

Droolbag: “OK!  I’m coming!  On on!”

 

The rest of us continued on.  Dogleg found himself struggling to keep up with Maxcheesemo, but the Cheesy One’s new body was just too much.  But Dirty Yellow Balls was apparently the most insulted,

 struggling just to stay up with Dogleg, let alone Maxcheesemo.  Once they hit the top of the ridge, which was also the on-home, he shamefully elbowed Dogleg aside, and sprinted in front of him to the on

-home.  Later, he explained in his thick Fijian-Indian accent that “I may be getting in bad shape, but if I had let Dogleg beat me to the on-home, I would have been too ashamed to go home to Tandoori

 Chicken.”  Fuck you, squishy boy!

 

Yes, the on-home was right at the top of that ridge, just 30 minutes into the run, at a large clearing along the pathway containing the “log hop” exercise station.  Shit Pyle was waiting there with a shit

eating grin on his face, and Oly was happily drinking his beer, proud that he had not been caught by Cold Shower.  Due to the shortness of the trail, the rest of the pack was not far behind.  Even Hajj

Kramden could be heard coming up the hill behind the FRBs.

 

There was an unusual amount of cuts and scratches on trail that day..  People like Droolbag and the visiting Cum Guzzler came in with long, bloody gashes on their legs.  But then again, “people like

Droolbag”, oh never mind.  And as always, there were a few stragglers, but even they finished up in relatively short order, except for Mr. Happy Pockets, who was nowhere to be found.  The first of

several vehicle runs turned him up back at the Box, the victim of a poor decision to fly.  Didn’t he know any better?  People just don’t fly on Oly’s trails!  They’re too cute!

 

Religion was strange.  There were brief bursts of activity, followed with long stretches of boredom, punctuated by the backlog of “letters to mismanagement” that have accumulated in Dogleg’s and

Kramden’s mailbox since Chicken Little Dick’s last outburst.  A couple were funny, but most were dumber than shit, and Kramden found it nearly impossible to read even the lamest of them without choking

on his giggles.  This enraged Chicken, who eventually tore the best one out of Dogleg’s hand, and ate it.

 

Oly got up and told a bizarre story about a lizard he saw on trail, which communicated telepathically with him for several minutes, before letting out a scream that sent Oly running away in deep, psychic

agony.  No, really.  Beerhead managed to talk Dogleg into drinking her beer for her, in exchange for showing him her tits, but no one else could see them (they had to use their imagination ….

bzzzzzzzzzzzzz!).  Several bad jokes were told, including one by Maxcheesemo which nearly ended religion, and Pyle decided to fill in for Pervert Hoover by coming up for at least six totally pointless

down-downs.  After the sixth, Chicken sang a mean song about Pyle: “Piggy’s got the conch”, and Pyle understandably retaliated, but by not-so-understandably throwing a full beer can at him.  Hmmm,

wasn’t there an editorial about that a few months ago?   Shitstain complained about something that happened on the previous week’s trail.  Again.  Finally religion died of its  own accord, and several

people stayed back to watch the fire burn down, and to look at the stars (which were amazing from that site) through Dogleg’s binoculars.  No, really.  Everyone else headed off to Hamilton’s for the on on

on.

 

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                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dirty Yellow Dog Balls

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

1069        5/14      Flaming Shit Pyle

1070        5/21      Vertical Lay

FM 110    5/24      Crackerjack (Tues. Full Moon)

1071        5/28      Red Squirrel

1072        6/4        Soapy Snatch

1073        6/11      Kramden

1074        6/18      Sword Swallower & Oly

FM 111  6/22     Pussy-Stain (Wednesday BIG RUN)

1075        6/25      Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

Editorial

 

It has been a long time since we talked about historical artifacts.  We need to remember to leave them alone.  The Hash developed a bad reputation among the local Historic Preservation Office many years

ago, and for good reason.  Certain Hashers, all of whom are no longer around, were a little, shall we say, overenthusiastic about the artifacts found on trail.  Some of these people would just take the stuff

home, until they had so much they didn’t know what to do with it.  The worst, however, were the “amateur archeologists” who, um, did things we had better not repeat here.  The simple fact is these

people were committing crimes.  And not just by breaking the law, but also by ruining the fun for the rest of us.  I love to cut trail through the boonies and find sake bottles, canteens, and gas mask

canisters laying around.  I’m sure everyone does.  But people who take these things rob the rest of us of that enjoyment.  And what were they going to do with all that stuff anyway?  I know because I

saw these people leave island, and leave most of that stuff behind.  This was a while ago, and I don’t know of anyone doing that stuff these days.  So this is just a reminder.  Please keep the rest of us in

mind.

 


 

RUN #1066:                           The “Perineum” Run

HARES:                                 Shitstain & Cheshire Pussy

BOX:                                      Jack Salas’ Pavillion, Otdot Road

ON HOME:                            Jeffrey’s Beach

CASUALTIES:                     none

RUN:                                      ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                            ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:                     8.9

CLDPDMMM:                      ~6000                                                    

“ALL-ANAL HASH BANGERS, VOLUME 12”

SCENE 17

 

[We enter Shitstain’s bedroom.  Shitstain is moving furiously back-and-forth on top of Cheshire Pussy.   Shitstain, clearly, is nearing completion:]

 

Shitstain:  Uhh!  Uh! Uh! UHHHHHhhhh! ………  Aahhhhhhh!

 

Shitstain rolls onto his back.  Cheshire pussy rolls onto her side, in the opposite direction, reaching for her Jackrabbit© vibrating dildo.

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………

 

Shitstain:               Goddamn it, Cheshire Pussy!  Why can’t I get Dogleg to follow my trails?  Why can’t Dogleg respect me?  I mean, I do everything I can to set killer trails.  I even tell everyone what to
expect on my – oh, I mean our – trails, just so they’ll know how great it will be.  So why won’t Dogleg run them?  Why does he always have to fly and be such an asshole?

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………mmmmmmm……….

 

I just don’t get it!  I mean, there were 26 other people that didn’t fly, and who ran our awesome trail.  They thought our trail was awesome, right?  I mean, some of them said so, right?  What did I do wrong???  We didn’t even dress alike!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………oooohhhhh……

 

[Shitstain rolls onto his side, away from Cheshire Pussy.]

 

Maybe I should run through my trail design again.  But why?  I mean, we both ran through the trail design at least twenty times before setting….  I just don’t get it!  Was it the cliff?  How could it be the cliff?  We had Droolbag!  Nobody could have been afraid, with Droolbag there belaying them.  Think, Shitstain, you’ve got to think your way through this….  Let’s start at the beginning…  The Box!  Oh my God!  The Box!  It must have been all the pig shit at the Box!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………noooooooo….

 

You’re right.  It couldn’t have been the smell – Dogleg smells that kind of shit all the time anyway.  Maybe it was the other hounds.  Yeah, maybe it’s not even me after all!  Let’s see, who was there that could have offended Dogleg…  Maybe Buttcum?  Dogleg’s been all bent about lawyers lately.  Or maybe Spanky?  Or Voodoo Mama?  Knob Polisher? Droolbag????  Nah!  None of those guys are even real lawyers!  Maybe it was Costello?  Hmmmm….

 

BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZ…………

 

Maybe it was Pyle?  Yeah!  Maybe Dogleg was afraid of getting stuck behind Pyle at the rope!  No.  That’s ridiculous.  It couldn’t have been Ass or Bar Fine either – I’m sure Dogleg would have loved to look up their shorts while they were climbing the rope.  Did you see how he was molesting them with his laser?  What a fucking perv!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………

 

No…. It must have been something about the trail.  But I just don’t see how that could be possible!  I just don’t see how I could have made it any better!  Could it have been the 360° check at the first ranch?  Oh fuck! (smacks himself on forehead)  Cheshire!  I told you that was too complicated for those idiots!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………… Ohhhhhhh!

 

Was it that first ravine?  I don’t understand how that could be possible…  I gave them climbs, I gave them rough rocks, what more did I need?   What’s that, honey?  Oh sorry!  Of course I meant ‘we’!  Hmmmm….. You know, it could have been the climb down to Old Man by the Sea.  I heard that the trail got pretty fucked up there, with people trying to get around that killer down-climb, and having to jump off that last cliff and all.  I honestly just can’t understand why that would have turned off Dogleg, though…

 

BzzZZzzzzzzZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZz…………Dogleg…

 

I know, honey.  He’s an asshole.  And the big climb up to the second grotto – I’m worried that could have been it, but again, I had Droolbag!  So that couldn’t have been it!  OH!  Bingo!  I know what it was!  How could I have been so stupid!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz?

 

It was that long section of coastline!  Of course!  You remember how Dogleg was bitching about the early start time of the Hash?  It must have been that long section of coastline, and how the moon wasn’t even up yet!  That must be it!  He was upset that we ran along one of the best possible places on island to view a moonrise, before the moon had even risen!

 

BzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz……  Dogleg….. rising…..

 

I know!  What an asshole, huh?  But there was no way to do it otherwise, without making everyone climb that cliff in the dark!  And that would have been way too hazardous, right?  Unless there was some other way to get through that area…..  Hmmm….  Nope, I’m absolutely certain that our trail was the only possible path through that 4-square mile area of Saipan.  Unless… Honey?  Do you think there might have been some other way up out of Old Man by the Sea?  Maybe that would explain why Cold Shower caught us so quickly!

 

BzzzzzZZZZZZZZZZZchgthhthhtt!     Zzz!   Chghttttt!!!!   Uhhhh!  Dogleg!!  Catch me!!!!

 

Oh well!  Fuck Dogleg!  It’s his fault he missed that killer cave descent down to the on-home at Jeffrey’s beach.  And you know, it’s probably a good thing Cold Shower had already caught us, because Dogleg didn’t even try to get my shorts, and Chicken kept his lecherous paws off you this time, too.  It’s a damn good thing they didn’t know you hadn’t been caught yet, honey!

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz……….. Dogleg and Chicken!!!!!

 

[Cheshire Pussy rolls onto all fours and reaches over to the nightstand, pulling out a second, smaller dildo.]

 

I know, honey!  They’re such assholes!  Did you see the way those two conducted religion?  Who gave Chicken the right to be Tyrant?  And I certainly hope you did not “accept Chicken Little Dick as Tyrant of the Saipan Full Moon Hash House Harriers”, like he was asking everyone to.  Honey, did you accept Chicken?

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz  Ohhhhhhhhhh!   Dogleg and Chicken!

 

And did you see those two get all worked up about the tits that night?  What a couple of children!  I’ll have you know I averted my eyes.  Your tits are all that I will ever need!

 

Bzzzzzzzzz…… mmmmmmmm….. Dogleg….. Chicken!

 

And why did Buttcum and Felcher have to bail out on religion?  They promised me they would come!  What kind of roommates are they?

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzz….. Dogleg……  Chicken……my butt…. coming!!

 

And what was the deal with them changing Dogleg’s name back from “Jewboy” to “Lord High Dogleg?”  What the fuck?  Does Dogleg think he’s God or something now?

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…  Oh GOD!   Dogleg and Chicken!

 

And all that “perineum” crap.  Who the fuck wants to hear about that kind of shit?  You’d think those two had never even seen a vagina, or an anus, they way they obsess about them.

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…..  Vagina and anus!    Dogleg and Chicken!!!!!  Ohhhhhhh….

 

Is something burning?  You’re not smoking again, are you?  You know how I feel about that.  I honestly just don’t understand what it is about those two.  I’m so pissed right now.  I know I’ve been a little obsessive about this lately.  I’m sorry.  What were you saying honey?

 

OH!  OH!  OH!  Dogleg!   Chicken!!   Vagina!   Asshole!    OOOOOOHHHHHHH!!!!!

 

I know they are honey, I know they are.  I just want to go to sleep and forget about it all.  Could you hold me?

 

This hash trash was a work of fiction.  Any similarity to actual hashers or actual hash events, intentional or not, is purely coincidental.

 

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