issues 1060 -
1069
RUN #1069: The “Pyle should be
more careful with his personal possessions” Run
HARES: Flaming Shit
Pyle, Pervert
BOX: Casa de
Pyle
ON HOME:
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
So the hares set off, and to their
credit, we didn’t see which way they went, despite being able to see the main
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
but still followed anyway. Fucking sheep! The pack then ran south on
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
urine and pyles of human shit. Ah!
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
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
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
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
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
BOX: MARPI RADAR
ON HOME:
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
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
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
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
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
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,
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.
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)
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
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
AAAARA: CLD
FIRE MASTER ????
HASH CASH Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE Dog Stain
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1068 5/7 Pussy-Stain
1069 5/14 Piss Break? 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)
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP. IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
SCENE 18
[We open in Dogleg’s bathroom. Dogleg sits on the toilet, head back and eyes
closed, masturbating furiously. He is
naked, except for a climbing harness and a sack of climbing chalk, which covers
both his hands, half up to his elbows. A
narrator (James Earl Jones) speaks as the camera closes in:]
Narrator:
But why was it that Dogleg decided not to run Shitstain’s trail? Er, I mean Shitstain and Cheshire Pussy’s
trail?
Dogleg:
Oh! Oh! God!
Oh! Oh! DROOLBAG AND VERTICAL LAY!!!!!!! Uhhhhhhhhh!
UHH!
[Dogleg convulses, striking the back of his
head on the porcelain tank, and slides unconscious to the floor. Fade to black. Cue porn music. Roll credits.]
RUN
#1065:
The Rainy Ravine Run
HARES:
Messiah, Salty Gash
BOX:
Botanical Gardens (Just like TV!)
ON
HOME:
Above
CASUALTIES:
Droolbag’s Head (Bzzz!)
RUN:
¶¶
RELIGION:
¶¶¶3/4
DLMM
Rating:
3
-- I Ching (BC 1150)
-- Gary Sow
-- Jack Handey [Deep Thoughts],
-- Haj F. Kramden, Sir!
It was wet. Hemmingway felt the rains represented a
cleansing. On the Hash, rain means slipping and falling, a lot.
Many hounds showed up under the ominous visage of engorged rain clouds, dotting
the afternoon sky like flak aimed at encircling fighter planes. The
weather had maintained through most of the day, allowing temperate
weather for the Tagaman triathlon, but it could not hold off any longer.
Triathlete extraordinaire Messiah was roped into setting trail with Salty Gash,
presumably through the finer skills of her feminine wiles. Slowly but
surely a hearty group of hounds assembled at the Bank of Guam where Kramden,
just like he does on the Visitors Channel announced “Attention!
Attention! The box will be the Botanical Gardens!” Mr. Happy
Pockets was on-hand to give out the long awaited SH3 Dog Tags to an eagerly
awaiting mass of Hashers. Once that mess was untangled, the group was off
to the Botanical Gardens, flush on the opposite side of the island.
Once there, the spry bunch bounced around impatiently to begin hashing,
jangling all the way with their newly donned dog tags. Yes, it was
noisy! Evidently the daring and carefree Hashers did not use protection,
and took the rubber stoppers off their chains! Sissy, who has long
advocated the use of rubber stoppers scoffed peevishly at the brazen bunch.
The hares, who looked like out-of-work porn stars with their sinewy muscles and
San Fernando Valley ‘fuck faces’ were off without giving any special
instructions. Since there were no FNG’s, the group milled about while
enjoying the flora at the Botanical Gardens. Sissy and Cold Shower were
paid many compliments (which they generously accepted) for coming out to Hash
despite participating in the complete grueling Tagaman.
After ten minutes the hounds were off, immediately finding a checking on
Hashers continued along trail while the engorged cumulus rain clouds sat
patiently upon the horizon, holding their liquid, ready to explode like
over-filled water balloons on the hounds below. To add insult to injury,
the trail was marked in very precocious pieces of toilet paper and flour - both
waiting to disintegrate at the slightest drop of rain.
Trail was a steep path hacked out of thick jungle that headed down towards
And like the almighty flood brought upon the Earth in the Old Testament,
the rains came down upon the Hashers, presumably to punish them for their many
sins (Lawyers, Lawyers, Lawyers!). The rains began to fall and did not
let up for what seemed like months and years. AND, what better place to
end up in the pouring rain than, you guessed it, A RAVINE! What little
flour still remained along the road pointed trail into the direction of a
ravine running down to Lao Lao. At this point Pervert “I can’t believe I
tricked her into marrying me”
The part of trail that ensued was like a rocky water slide that someone turned
the water off of halfway down. The ravine was hardly marked, but most
hounds (as stupid as they are) assumed correctly that the trail followed the
ravine down to the beach. Some sort of kinetic all-body yoga movement was
required to maneuver down each slippery rock in the steep ravine.
No good footholds could be achieved in the wet slime covered stones, and the
process was slow and agonizing for most.
The rains continued to poor down, washing away flour and sin alike. When
hounds made it out of the ravine, they found a poorly marked road run that
passed Lao Lao Bay Beach, and continued along the road (kind of).
Evidently hares and their recruited volunteers had to come back out and
re-flour most of the markings, hoping not to lose any hounds.
Eventually, all hounds made it in as a brisk walking trio of Kramden, LaDrone
and fresh off of injured reserve Ciega ran into a lost Pyle (didn’t see any
on-ons, because they melted!) and reached Craig Church’s unfinished house which
was the on-home.
The rains subsided just as everyone finished trail, and the crowd assembled as
soon as the non-fire masters could dry enough wood to start the fire.
People changed into clean dry clothes, and made their way over with the coolers
and Kramden piped up religion.
It was serendipity that the on-home wasn’t the beach, because of the rain, and
the view from the cliff line overlooking
Pervert
Drool Bag, who left with a handful of other Faggots (not like that’s a bad
thing) to go to the Tagaman banquet, was talked about quite lovingly.
First Sissy, who got up and told us his trials and tribulations from Tagaman,
said that Drool Bag so generously offered him ‘goo’ before the Tagaman.
He proceeded to lap up every drop (almost a direct quote…). Shit Stain
next got up to tell a tale-from-the-trail about Drool Bag. It went like
this: Drool Bag runs haphazardly through the jungle, Drool Bag gets stung by
bee on head, Drool Bag screams in agony, then Drool Bag asks Shit Stain to piss
on his head to help control the stinging pain. Shit Stain must’ve been
high or pee shy, because he actually passed up an opportunity to piss on Drool
Bag, and on his head nonetheless.
Following suit in talking about Drool Bag and bodily fluids, Pyle came up and
told a tale-from-Tagaman about him. Maxcheesmo and Pyle were volunteering
and directing Taga-runners when a pained Drool Bag ran by them, and proceeded
to run off course and veer to the side of the road. There, he proceeded
to take a massive diarrhea crap right on the road, wipe his ass with a rock and
continue to the finish line without skipping a beat. Quite impressive.
Even more impressive was Pyle’s “Doughnut Hero” story from Tagaman.
Evidently when Sissy was coming onto the run portion of the Tagaman and he was
starving and had no food packed. He screamed desperately to Pyle,
“Quick! I need something to fucking eat, a cookie, a doughnut,
whatever!!!” Pyle, the true friend he is sensed Sissy’s desperation and
sprinted passed Sissy on course, and double-timed it to Winchell’s, which he
reached after a 100-meter dash. Sweating and panting, Pyle barges into
the bakery and proclaims, “Quick, I need a doughnut now!” Not realizing
he was a fat panting man in a bakery demanding a doughnut. The people in
there all laughed hysterically (as did everyone at religion as he recited the
tale) until he clarified that the doughnut was for a Tagaman athlete.
The laughs continued on, and many more people got up to tell tales.
Ciega, who hadn’t run for a couple weeks, was in high spirits recalling her run
with Kramden, LaDrone and Pyle. She basically ragged on LaDrone and Pyle
for walking so slowly in front of her as they all neared the end of trail.
Those pussies.
MHP came up and honored Shit Stain and Pucker Boy for outstanding trails by
giving them the sacred “Machete Award.” Sword Swallower came up
afterwards and reminded everyone of Viagra’s going away party the coming
Friday. Wow, I hope the Hash doesn’t get soft without Viagra…
Dogleg took an opportunity to remind everyone about the sacredness of the Hash
and the Hash message board, and encouraged everyone to respect their fellow
Hashers by respecting their privacy. And he did a down-down.
Soon the fire burned down, the sacred nectar grew low, the area was policed and
Swing Low was swung.
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
Judy Blume
1068
5/7 Pussy-Stain
1069
5/14 Pervert-Pyle Run
1070
5/21 Vertical Lay
FM 110
5/24 Crackerjack (Tues. Full
Moon)
1071 5/28 Red Squirrel
RUN #1064: “Anal Perversion”
Naftan Point Run
HARES: Butt Cum, Felcher
BOX:
ON HOME: Naftan Point (or
peninsula)
CASUALTIES: Droolbag’s Mind
(again), Pyle’s Knee (again), Pervert’s Pride (again)
RUN: ¶¶½
RELIGION: ¶¶¶½
DLMM Rating: ~1
An excerpt from Shit Pyle’s
Journal: Saturday, April 9th (Xterra Day, WOW!) Dear diary, wow,
today I did the Xterra swim and Ciega was so proud of me! She might even buy me a cake and sing me that
special Pyle song she sings when I do something good! Good times.
I am so glad I’m allowed to
hang out with athletes, and not made to wait in McDonald’s while sporting
events are going on, like mommy and daddy used to make me. I even mustered up enough strength after that
tough swim to run the Hash. It was set
by Butt Cum and Felcher. Wow diary, I
wish I had a clever hash name like Butt Cum, or even Felcher. They must feel so special having such pretty
names. Wow. =)
Anywayz
diary, I was scared to do the Hash after falling to my near death on Sword
Swallower’s
Well,
anywayz, we all started at
So
next we broke box and started running. I
was walking because Mom says I have a weight problem and that running will
break my girlish ankles like twigs. I
saw Dan from Dan Dan, and he is a movie star!
He was RAM in TRON! Oh MY GOD!!
TRON-ON! I mean, ON-ON!
So
diary, it was really scary, the run started to follow the cliff line, and I was
scared. I didn’t want to fall again, and
hurt myself, and get all banged up again.
I walked real careful by all the cliff line, and tried to not get cut by
all the sticks that Butt Cum cut badly.
I don’t want to be mean to him, but he made me feel bad when he made us
crawl through that part of jungle that wasn’t cut at all. I mean, C’mon, have you ever heard of a
machete Motherfucker? Your right diary,
I’m just being mean because I’m fat and couldn’t fit through the obstacles that
Butt Cum set. God, I gotta stay away
from those wing zings at
So
then, just when I was getting ready to break down and cry from fear, the trail
headed away from the cliff line and I felt better! We made our way up to this
boonie road, and saw a checking, and man diary, these fucking people don’t know
how to mark checking’s! I know I shouldn’t
curse, but really, Wow! Then we ran into
Piss Break, who looks fast and runs marathons and all, but he moves through the
jungle like a tall barrel of kimchee. I
know, I have no right to be mean diary, I’m just jealous cuz Piss Break has a
really good radio voice and I don’t. I
wish I wasn’t so insecure diary. Well
anywayz, Piss Break helped us find the right way and we were on our way towards
either
It
was so exciting diary, we ran up this little cliff and saw a bomb! I’ve never seen a real live bomb before, and
it was super scary. Then we saw a water
stop, I think it was the second one, and I was glad, because my knee was
hurting. I’m not tough like that Dogleg
guy- he’s super cool. Especially when he
makes witty comments and people laugh a lot.
Wow.
And
then on the way to the On-Home, I tripped on barbed wire, and it hurt! I landed right on my bad knee, again. I wanted to cry but I was afraid someone was
around and I didn’t want to be a baby. Gosh!
I mean, I think the hares should totally mark barbed wire if it’s on
their trail. Don’t they read DICK? Acronyms are cool, diary. Wow.
So
then we made it to the on home, and it was real pretty! I’ve never heard of anyone end trail at the
Naftan point area, what a great and original idea the hares had! I bet I’d
never think of something that cool.
Before religion got underway
I had some… diet pepsi and pretzels diary, not those M&M’s and Hawaiian
Punch they always have there. I want to
keep my figure maintained through the summer (Bathing Suit Season! Old Navy
TWO-PIECE HERE I COME!) Good Times.
So anyway, Kramden Piped up
religion and we all gathered all snug around the bonfire. There were a lot of people, and it was pretty
rocky, so it was hard to find seats.
Luckily, Banger was sweet enough to let me sit next to her! I love her, she’s the best. First up, some FNG’s came to do down-downs of
the sacred nectar. I wonder if they have
to do some sort of spell, or transubstantiate the beer like Catholics do to
make it holy. The Hash can be so
mysterious, wow!
The
FNG’s were Japanese CUTIES from, I think,
Things
started to get hazy because the wind was bad, and it burned the palettes down
really quickly. The smart hares only
brought three of them, and well, we were sitting in an eerie glow. I was scared!
Droolbag got up to the circle, and told us a funny song. Unfortunately the song sucked shit out of an
asshole and everyone wanted to pelt him with soda cans, but we don’t do that,
because we’re kind and gentle. Like
kitties, or Ligers (combination Lion and tiger, known for their magical
powers). There were some sailor guys
there, from some boat, and Sissy was so manly and was strutting his stuff like
a rooster in heat. What a tough
guy! I built up some courage with the
help of some sacred nectar and some Tanduay rum Chicken Little Dick brought
back from the Philippines (I know I shouldn’t drink to feel confident diary, it
is wrong of me and I know that!), and I got up and thanked Oly and Maxcheesmo
for being so cool and doing the Xterra with me.
We rocked! Then I did my down
down and sat back next to my sweet babe, Banger. It’s so awesome that chicks finally dig me
diary! You were right about being patient.
That
cool guy Chicken got up and sang a real song, and thank god because we all
wanted to cry after hearing Droolbag’s song.
Chicken’s song was like ‘Droolbag makes my cells cry out, cells cry
out…” I’m not really sure what it means, but everyone was laughing at him. I know diary, we should’ve been laughing WITH
him. But oh well. Wow!
Ciega
then got up, and was being so nice to everyone, especially the people who
helped out with Xterra, or participated in Xterra. Just then I raised my hand and cheered,
because I, Pyle did the Xterra! Ciega
must’ve been happy with me because she sang the song she sings when I do
something good! I think it goes, “Pyle,
damn it, would you shut the fuck up? You
are the most self-involved asshole I’ve ever met. We all know you did the fucking Xterra, would
you just put a goddamn sock in it?” I
love that song; it always makes me cry tears… of joy! WOW!
To thank her, I later offered her
some of my Wing Zings from
Some
people talked about the trail. Some
people liked it, like Shit Stain. He got
up and said the trail was good, but his and
Anywayz,
Chicken was being mean again and indicted the hares for leaving a ‘Western
Family” flower bag on the trail, and they had to do a down down. They deserved
it, I think litterbugs should burn in hell with the Mormons. He is so smart that guy, Chicken, he figured
out where the trail was gonna end, and got there before the hares! Then he
caught them! He was gonna burn their
shorts, but he didn’t. I guess he is a
nice guy! WOW! I wish I was as smart,
and witty as Chicken. And I especially
wish I could jump (and make it) over the fire like he does!
The
hares thought it was cute to have a bouquet and a garter belt on trail. Spider Woman found the garter, and CLD found
the Bouquet. They did a palauan. Wow.
Kissing is so cool! I hope my lip fungus clears up soon diary.
Pervert
Good times.
Religion
was fun, and kept going on for a while.
We all drank lots of sacred nectar and made funny jokes. It was smoky and it made me cough a lot
diary. I don’t like smoke, and man did I
stink when I got home! Kramden in his
infinite wisdom retired the vessel, and we all policed the area and did the
thing where we swing low. All-in-all, it
was a super exciting day, and I don’t know how I will ever top a day like this
again. I love the Hashers! They are so cool and make me feel special all
the time.
Yours as always Diary,
Flaming Shit Pyle
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 Judy
Blume
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1066 4/23 Pussy-Stain
(Sat. Full Moon)
1067 4/30 Crackerjack
1068 5/7 Pussy-Stain
1069 5/14 Piss
Break
1070 5/21 Vertical
Lay
FM 110 5/24 OPEN
(Tues. Full Moon)
1071 5/28 Red
Squirrel
RUN #1063: The “Dang Dang
Banger!” Run
HARES: Wiener Von
Brown, Mr. Happy Pockets
BOX: San
Roque Fire Station/bleachers
ON HOME: Powers' beach (by
Plumeria)
CASUALTIES: Banger
RUN: ¶¶¶
RELIGION: ¶¶¶
DLMM Rating: :-(
CLDPDMMM: ~8,000
49 hounds and a shitload of old
people gathered at the Bank of Guam for a Hash that was billed as the “April
Fool’s Run”, but for what reason, we never found out. Perhaps the joke was on the hares. Whatever, but there were all kinds of
all-slimers present, including Boner, Jordass, Mutt, Oly, and Slimius Maximus,
as well as returning hashers like Inflatable Slut, Queef, and her ‘new’ husband
Peter Perfect, who hashed with us in the past as “just Jonathan.” There were even a few old people there who
are not really “all-slimers” yet, like Dan, Marian, and even – yes –
Droolbag. We also had a gaggle of rarely-seen
hashers like Messiah, Piss Break, and Pixel Dick. <Don't worry guys; we
won't tell your friends you hashed>
We had two beer trucks that day
because both Ciega and Pyle were in paaaaaiiiiinnnn, and wanted to
drive, so naturally it took twice as long to get organized and off to the Box,
which was the bleachers of the basketball court behind the San Roque fire
station. We were joined there by even
more backsliders, including Hajji Peewee (& mini-wee), Acute Angina,
Wrectum, and Wad. All these old-timers
doddering about encouraged the whippersnappers to also wander off. And while it may have been somewhat
entertaining to watch Piss Break, Billy Graham, and Inflatable Slut try to play
basketball with a coconut, in retrospect it was probably not such a good idea
for all of us to ignore the special instructions, which included the very
important warning to look for flour on trail – not just ribbon. Banger was seen yapping away at someone in
the background while these crucial instructions were given. Everyone would pay dearly for that
later.
Haj Kramden ‘splained the
instructions to the lone FNG, just Brian.
During this process, Dogleg made some fart noises to 'complement' the
instructions. For the first time in 10
years of doing this, a few people giggled.
So, naturally, he kept doing it, and doing it, until Pixel Dick finally
had to tell him to “knock it the fuck off!” So Dogleg wandered around and began checking
out the competition. Clearly, Cold
Shower and Messiah were out of his league, so he set his sights a little lower…
and older… “Hmmm…” he thought, “Boner’s
looking pretty fit, and all that body hair might reduce his friction through
the boonies…. But look at Jordass! She’s
got that low-center-of-gravity thing going for her…. And Beerhead recently shaved off about 180
pounds of dead weight, but she's still pretty slow.... And
It doesn’t seem possible now,
but somehow everyone wandered into the Box just before the countdown, and then
the pack was off. The only two idiots
who headed off toward San Roque were Dogleg and Cold Shower, but Cold Shower
actually had the ability to catch back up with the pack again. Everyone else found true trail leading up the
old boonie road toward the abandoned Achugao pig farm. Cold Shower rocketed past the entire pack
before they entered the boonies, and made it to the front right at a critical
boonie checking that took the pack off the old road, and around toward the base
of the big cliffs and caves above the Plumeria hotel. Upon returning from the on-back, he explained
to Droolbag that an on-back had been found to the left. “OK then, I’ll check to the left”
Droolbag replied. Struck speechless,
Cold Shower continued on. It being such
a large pack, there was much bunching and confusion at this part of the trail,
and even though it was near the very beginning, the confusion proved too much
for Banger, and, after being brutally shoved aside by Dogleg on his way past to
catch the old people, she wandered off onto some old ribbon…. with no flour…
which meant nothing to her because she had not paid attention to the special
instructions…
The trail followed the rocky base of the cliff line up into
the big cave, where those few who had listened were treated to a view of a huge
bee hive 50 feet above their heads. By
this time, Dogleg had managed to pass most of the allslimers – Cheshire Pussy
had proven to be no match – and had only Beerhead, Oly, and Sword Swallower to
contend with. All it took was a little
bit of ducking, pushing, and belittling to get past these three, and Dogleg was
free at last! The trail passed along the
front side of the mountain, eventually winding up on a severely-overgrown
boonie road, which after a long while turned right, down the hill, toward a big
cattle pasture along
Dogleg managed to catch up to Red Sasquatch at this point –
admittedly a little under his age bracket, but (he thought) a little closer -
and together they continued on to the water stop at the Achugao water tank, and
then up the steep concrete road, the whole way discussing the ‘research’ Red
Sasquatch had to do to get his phys-ed degree.
At one point, just as they were entering the ravine back up to the
abandoned pig farm, RS was describing the physiology of metabolic maximums, or
something like that - how, beyond a certain point, your body just hits a 'wall'
and thereafter you drop dead - when Dogleg all of a sudden realized that he had
reached his. Progress slowed
dramatically. And then, as they passed
through the pig farm itself, they smelled the scent and heard the sound of old
people on their tails. Yikes! Oly and Sword Swallower! Dogleg was able to muster just enough energy
to stay up with RS all the way down the Paradise Valley ravine, but at a high
price: he fell flat on his face three
times, and eventually had to resort to silent running to stave off the
onslaught of the elderly. It all paid
off in the end, though - Dogleg and RS made it down through San Roque Village,
past the box, and down to the on-home well ahead of them. Of course, they were about 15 minutes behind
Cold Shower and Messiah, but all that mattered was that they had kicked ass on
the old folks.
Other old people were having a hard time on trail behind
them: Kramden had to be helped twice by
Ass - once because he was afraid to step down from a rock - "What if I
break my hip!", and again when a branch broke, and he wedged himself
in a crack. Yes, Hajj Kramden was not
only willing, but begging to give up crack for Ass... and Sissy missed it all. A little (or a lot) farther back, just Dan
had decided that he could go no further, and laid himself down on trail and
valiantly told Ladrone to go on without him.
But Ladrone would not leave him alone – big surprise – and led him out
of the jungle and onto the Tanapag beach, where they met up with the other
group of flyers for happy hour at the Waft. (What does that name mean? Is there a terrible odor? Is it Engrish for "raft"?)
The rest of the pack was slow to come in. It was a long trail, and almost all
boonies. This gave most people plenty of
time to snack and socialize with the all-slimers at the on-home. A vehicle run after sunset failed to turn up
the last hound, however, and the hares were forced to acknowledge that they
were going to have to do something about Banger. So off they went, organizing their search as
most of us would, by concentrating on the last parts of the boonies first.
The rest of the crowd continued mingling as it grew dark,
and Dogleg brought out the giant binoculars and started showing off various
astronomic sights to whoever was interested.
Despite Ciega's steel grip, Pyle and Bar Fine went out on an
unauthorized vehicle search for Banger, which would have been OK if they had
not driven up to the water tank and started honking their horn, which MHP took
as a signal for him to abandon his search and walk back out of the
boonies. After about an hour and a half
of this, there was still no Banger, so another search team went out, consisting
of volunteers Bar Fine and Knob Polisher.
Seeing that people were beginning to wander away, despite a
rousing rendition of Father Abraham, the Tyrant and Dogleg decided
religion could no longer wait. Visiting
Hashers were called up first. Slimius
Maximus told a story about Maxcheesemo's new transvestite girlfriend on
Throughout religion, Ciega could be seen continuously
fielding cell phone calls in the background, coming and going in her RAV-4, all
the while just barely containing her anger.
With each ring, the crowd’s hopes would be lifted, and then dashed, as
Ciega would wave her arms in the air and bitch bitterly into the phone. Obviously, things were not going well. It was time to do something, so the vessel
was retired, and then we did nothing - Ciega made it abundantly clear that she
did not want more people out on trail.
So we all opened another beer, cleaned up, and sang Swing Low. Half the remaining crowd departed for
Another round of beers was opened, and then more, and then
everyone started wondering just what in the fuck was happening. It turned out that Knob Polisher and Bar Fine
had only "made contact" with Banger in the sword grass, but had not
actually met up with her. Instead, they
just waited there while the Hares to worked their way back through the boonies,
and then off into a huge field of untrammeled swordgrass, where they finally
met up with the distraught hash woman, who reportedly promised them a
"Banger Sandwich" in return for her rescue.
The vessel was un-retired once the Hares finally made it
back in, and (angry) tales were told by each of the searchers, Pyle, and Banger
herself. Apparently unaware that she was
on her honeymoon, MHP did a deep-throat Palauan with Queef, causing a slightly
unsettling moment for the happy couple.
The vessel was then re-retired, and after much shuttling of people and
vehicles back and forth to the Box (which was only about 200 yards away), the
beach partiers finally made it to Hamilton's, where the 'chef' was still
holding the kitchen open for us.
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 Third
Leg
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1065 4/16 Salty
Gash & Messiah
1066 4/23 Pussy-Stain
(Sat. Full Moon)
1067 4/30 Crackerjack
1068 5/7 Pussy-Stain
1069 5/14 Piss
Break
1070 5/21 Vertical
Lay
FM 110 5/24 OPEN
(Tues. Full Moon)
1071 5/28 Red
Squirrel
Sports Fest Hash! April 13!!!!
The Saipan Hash is hosting a
"special" mid-week, new moon (= really fucking dark) run for
all the visiting triathletes & X-Terrorists. Come out and show your hash hospitality! Bring $10, gloves, and a flashlight to the
beach park next to PIC at
Continuing
Education
We may be stupid, but we do try to
learn from our, uh, experiences.... With
that in mind, certain chapters of the DICK have been updated to reflect
"lessons learned." You can catch
up with "what's new on Dogleg's DICK" at http://groups.yahoo.com/group/shthree/files/DICK/DICK-01-contents.htm
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP. IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE. BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
RUN #1062: The “Pyles of Pain”
Run
HARES: Sword
Swallower, Pucker Boy
BOX: Cowtown
ON HOME:
CASUALTIES: Flaming Shit Pyle; Dog
Leg
RUN: ¶¶¶.5
RELIGION: ¶¶¶
DLMM Rating: 1
CLDPDMMM: ~8,000
It
was a beautiful Saturday afternoon at the BOG - sunny, breezy, not too hot -
but already people were beginning to ruin my good mood by expecting me to write
another great hash trash, and the hares were busy trying to scare all of us
again with their warnings about ropes and caves and shit. "Dog Leg, your Hash trash was
awesome! Say something funny!"
or "Dog Leg, last week's run was awesome! Where were you? You missed a killer rope climb! But we have an even scarier one this week!" God damn, can't you people just relax???
Despite
the promises of an equally death-defying run from nearly the same Hares as the
week before, the turn out was more than halved - only 22. This was probably because all the teachers
were away in
The
Box was announced as Cowtown, which immediately pissed me off because I didn't
bring my giant binoculars. Just fucking
great! Every time I bring them, we end
up at some shitty, light-polluted urban on-home. I leave them at home, and we end up running
up in Marpi. Just my fucking luck. So off we went. Some people had to fight for a spot in the
cars that were heading up - but Pervert was quick to grab the FNG Masami. In more ways than one. More about that later.
At
the Box, I was surprised to see the degree to which the dirt bikers have
modified Cowtown - it's almost unrecognizable.
Fucking dirt bikers. The Hares
moved us into a box down around the place where we used to park. There was a shitload of garbage strewn about
- tires, batteries, even rusty water heaters - a typical
Right
away I was not surprised to see some dumbasses, like Dirty Yellow Balls, take
the on-back into the dirt bike track.
What the fuck were you doing for the last ten minutes, DYB??? I ended up following Deb up the Cowtown road,
eating Cold Shower's dust all the way.
Needless to say, we never saw that fucker again until the on-home, where
he proudly let all of us know he had caught the hares. So what?
He could have probably caught the truck if he had stayed on the road.
It came
as no surprise to me when the trail headed off into the boonies toward the left
(coastward), onto the Hares' old trail past some big hole in the ground. I managed to keep up with Deb through here,
but once we hit the old railroad bed to the Grotto, my lack of conditioning
began to show, and soon I was in the company of Droolbag. God help me!
We quickly re-entered the boonies on the other side of the road, and
headed up on a steep, rocky climb toward the plateau above. Somehow Oly got past me in this area, and
even Ass and Billy Graham had managed to catch up. What fuck is happening to me????
We
passed by another big hole in the ground called "
We
came out of the boonies onto a checking at the old road that leads to the edge
of the cliff we had just scaled. We immediately
saw Oly and Deb about 150 yards away, calling an on-back. Okay - but do you think it would have killed
you to let us know your on-back was for a second checking, halfway down
the road?? Fuck! We spent the next 5 minutes - or more
- uselessly checking out all the false trails and even the unmarked boonies in
this area, until even Kramden had caught up.
The
next section followed a series of cow trails.
What the fuck is it about the cows around here? I mean, they look like they're all huge and
shit, but when you get on their trails, it's like they're actually about the
size of a dog. I found myself having to
bend halfway over - or more - just to avoid getting all scratched to shit by
the lantana. And even at that, I still
managed to get a glove full of those sticker seeds. Ow, fuck!
Then my back started hurting. The
only thing worth seeing in here was the remains of an old jeep. At least, that was what Oly said. All I saw was some rusty transmission or
something, with a wheel on one end.
Whatever. Soon enough the Grotto
road was in sight, but the Hares made us run pointlessly alongside the barbed
wire for what seemed like an eternity, until we came across the aforementioned
boonie bee nest, which we ran around, but Ass still managed to get stung
anyway. Nice work, hares.
A
hidden arrow instructed us to cross the road here, into the former Castro pot
farm. This arrow was obviously designed
to prevent flyers from finding trail, but it apparently did not work, because I
came upon Jessica and Beerhead at about this point. Unless they were just faster than me. But how can that be possible? The trail kept us out of the pot farm and up
in some limestone, where I have to admit there was an interesting gap, that
could have been part of the old sugar train system. Eventually, we found ourselves heading down
the steep ravine toward the north end of
I
have trouble remembering the last part of the boonies, as my leg had swollen
stiff, and the numbing pain had drowned out all my other senses, but I do
remember that it was pointlessly long.
Finally we hit the open road, and I was able to overcome my pain just
long enough to valiantly finish trail at a jog.
Despite
my agony, I took it like a man and showed no outward sign of it as we
socialized over the snacks, and unloaded the coolers. I was even able to sit quietly and pretend to
enjoy the view of a passing cruise ship, which is a rare sight on the back side
of the island. The venomous wound on my
left thigh had grown into a gigantic, throbbing dome of searing pain. My father taught me to be a man, and told me
that men do not show pain, or complain about it. So naturally I was not prepared for the
spectacle of Flaming Shit Pyle being carried from the back of the Hare's truck,
and brought around into the headlights to examine his "wounds." Apparently he had taken a small slide down
the dirt cliff to the left of the waterfall where the second rope was, and
bumped his head a little on the rocks at the bottom. Droolbag had tried to coach him over to the
rope, but Pyle had panicked and fallen.
By all accounts, he then curled up into the fetal position and awaited
rescue. Because I was fading in and out
of consciousness from the excruciating pain of my own injury, I do not recall
the details of how he was able to finally get out, but I do know that he
received prompt medical attention for his "wounds." I, on the other hand, requested no such
attention, despite my suffering. In
fact, I barely even complained about the positioning of the beer board, which
the Tyrant had placed downwind of the fire.
Again. No sir, I swallowed my
pain like a man, along with a manly dose of the sacred nectar. I had a job to do, and that job was to be the
RA.
The
hares came up first, of course, but the pain began to obscure everything. What I remember most is the moon rising over
the sea, and the spectacle of Jupiter just below it, which would later close
the gap for a spectacular conjunction.
It gave me something to fix on, a beacon to take my mind off the
agonizing pain. Meanwhile, Ciega was
giving voice to those feelings which I could have never spoken out loud, and
which I am certain every other man was sharing: "Pyle, you pathetic piece of
shit! Quit being a baby! Banger, don't you dare cater to him like
that! Oh get over yourself! You make me sick! Be a man!"
Amen,
Ciega! It was enough to take my mind off
the crippling, swelling injury that I was hiding from the crowd beneath my own
shorts. If only they knew. But I did not give in to temptation. I got my own beer, and continued
religion as best I could, under the circumstances. I did my job. Like a Man!
As I have said, the
tremendous pain has now clouded my memory, but some details stand out from the fog: Pervert Hoover's crotch-rubbing
"rescue" of the FNG Masami, who froze in fear at the top of the
second rope; Cold Shower's capture of
shorts at that same spot; Droolbag's
tiger-stripe pants (which may have only been a pain-induced
hallucination); the naming of Deb as "Voodoo Mama"
for apparently having been responsible, in some convoluted way, for all of
Pyle's misfortunes. In fact, Pyle
himself came up several times to take the vessel, and fortunately Ciega was
there for the rest of us men again, to point out the obvious fact that he must
not have been hurt too bad. He even
managed to get some sympathy blood on the mantle. Fucking pathetic.
My mind
was reeling from the pain, and I was fading in and out of respiratory shock
from the venom that was coursing through my veins. Soon I was seeing spots, sparks, and bright
flashes in the sky. Whether it was the
pain or the Hare's fireworks, I can't be certain now. But religion came to a close just in time,
and I was able to collapse into the back seat of Ciega's car, and nurse my
wounds like a man at
The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at
4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in
Garapan U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)
Remember: we meet at
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 Man-Leg
RECEDING HARE LINE...
1064 4/9 Salty
Gash & Messiah(?)
1065 4/16 Butt
Cum
1066 4/23 Pussy-Stain
(Sat. Full Moon)
1067 4/30 Crackerjack
1068 5/7 Pussy-Stain
FM 110 5/24 OPEN
(Tues. Full Moon)
1069 5/14 Piss
Break
1070 5/21 Vertical
lay
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP. IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE. BE A HARE,SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
Due to the absence of Haj Chicken Little Dick,
Letters to Mismanagement have been postponed until his return. Please stay tuned!
RUN #1061 The “OF WAR
FLOTSAM, SHRINES
HARES: VIAGRA
ON HOME: SONODA’S
CASUALTIES: THOSE
WITH LEGS
SKIN
RELIGION: ¶¶¶
DLMM Rating: 0
CLDPDMMM: 9000
50 hounds
showed up to a run that had been pre-advertised with warnings and caveats
galore. There was one FNG. His name was Steve but he did not stay for
Religion. When Kramden asked him why he
looked so familiar, he said, “I’m your doctor!”
About half way through the trail, Kramden told him (he is an orthopedic
surgeon), now you know why I have bad knees.
Anyway, the box was announced, intricate instructions to the box were
given, and still some people got lost.
But eventually everyone showed up and the hares gave special
instructions. We also saw the return of
Oly, Worn Out Wand (who had not hashed in a year). Jessica Jordan, who had not
run since the Kids Hash, was in the box and so was her dog. She had to call her mother to come and get
the dog so it would not follow us. This
is where Kramden told Pervert Hoover the true story of Ranger, the famous
Saipan Hash Dog. But I digress. The hares took off and the Tyrant ‘splained
the instructions to the lone FNG. After
the 10-minute head start, the pack was off in many directions, but mostly they
went behind Ciega’s house to the cliff line and right down the side of the
mountain. The pack was treated to a
FANTASTIC view of the northern to northeastern side of the island from about
900 feet. The trail traversed the side
of the hill going up and down and up and down.
Eventually, it came down on Papago
Dr.
We crossed the road and re-entered the jungle. After about 5 minutes, we popped out near
some houses. A checking took the Tyrant
north to an ON Back. We were all at the
top of
The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at
U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)
MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM Haj, F.
Kramden, Sir!!
RA: Dog
Leg
AAAARA: Chicken
Lil Dick
HASH
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE Tyrant
For Life
EDITORIAL
I have spoken of this to hashers on occasions when
discussing life in general and how we learn to overcome our fears. 15 years ago
I would not have been caught dead going down a cliff with a rope. I would not have gone in a tunnel or a
cave. I would not have walked along a
reef line in the dark. These are all
things I have done on the hash because this is where the trail went. Don’t get me wrong. I have turned back on trail when I got to a
point where I knew that I was putting myself in mortal danger. A man has got to know his limitations. But I
also know that conquering fear is an important part of living a happy, joyous,
and free life. The hash has done so much
for me and how I feel about me. I go to
the gym every weekday to stay fit enough to have enough upper body strength to
climb down cliffs on a rope. I do cardio
workouts to prepare myself for the weekly run through the jungle. I do all these things to prepare myself for
the adventure that I know awaits me on Saturday afternoon.
LETTERS TO MISMANAGEMENT
CLD, if you can come up with
something more entertaining, please suggest it during religion. I may be a
Tyrant, but I am not above listening to reason.
I just would like more audience participation. I want to know a little bit about the people
who I look at every Saturday from my throne. I want them to be a part of the
entire hash.
RUN #1060: The “Drooldozer”
Run
HARES: Droolbag
BOX: Coral
Island Condos (Tapotchau)
ON HOME:
RUN: ¶¶1/2
RELIGION: ¶¶1/2
DLMM Rating: 1
CLDPDMMM: ~8,000
Good day, eh! Fartacus here! Greetings to all you Hashers and future
triathletes! I'm very pleased that all
25 of you were able to join me Saturday for some interval work and killer
hill climbs. Strong work! As I'm sure you're all aware, there's only
four more weeks left 'till X-Terra! So
let's recap Saturday's workout, and see just where we are, shall we? Strong work!
OK,
we started off at Coral Island Condominiums - not a bad choice, there's lots of
good terrain and trails up there.
Normally, I would have liked to start off with some stretching, but it
just didn't seem appropriate, and I kind of lost track of where I was anyway
while Droolbag explained the special instructions to us. I mean, it was a little uncomfortable,
you know? Er, I mean, having to stand on
the side of a steep slope like that, and all, eh? Plus, I had to give some crap to my FNG buddy
James, and I had to deal with that Dogleg guy, who was kissing my ass because
of last week's offensive Hash trash.
Actually, that was pretty funny in and of itself - you should have heard
all the excuses Dogleg was making, as to why he is no longer in shape. Can you believe that guy once kicked my
ass? But anyway, stretching isn't all
that useful if you haven't warmed up first, so let's just move on, shall we?
Naturally,
I was first up the stairs, but I was pleased to see several of you close on my
heels! Strong work, Generic White
Boy! Following a hunch, I led us
straight up the Tapotchau Road first, and most of you were smart enough to go
my way, instead of following Kramden on the easy choice - downhill! Strong work on that first hill,
everyone! I immediately recognized that
this run was probably not going to be long enough for a decent workout, so I
chose to run an additional interval off onto a false trail to the left. Strong work on that on-back, Semen Biscuit! Besides, I knew it would not take long to
catch up to Dogleg again. Back on trail,
I also saw that Boner was in need of some additional hill work, so I sent him
off toward Tapotchau on another on-back interval. Strong work, Boner! The rest of us checked onto the Ring Road,
where we found a checking at the road heading off to Tonguesicle's place, and
just as I expected, Dogleg was running back having claimed to have found an
on-back.
Now,
as I have said before, repetition is one of the key ingredients in our X-Terra
training regime! As Friel has said,
interval training is 42% more effective than traditional endurance work! With that said, I must say I am very
impressed with the effort many of you made over the next 30 minutes, while I
led you back and forth on several true trail and on-back intervals. I knew very well that true trail led onward
to the X-Terra Ring Road! And I had
absolutely nothing to do with Sword Swallower lying about Kramden being on
trail ahead of us. I didn't even hear
him say "on on!", because I was already well on my way into the
second interval!
That
really is a wonderful series of hills up there, isn't it? I would especially like to single out Pervert
Hoover for the effort he made - I have rarely seen anyone outside of the ER
with a face that red, and veins that bulging.
Strong work, Pervert! Some of you
may wonder, however, why I allowed you all to take that brief rest stop while I
talked to the Lamars with Dogleg and Semen Biscuit, on our second interval to
the on-back. Well, I came across an
excellent article in Tri Geek News that says VO2 MAX can be increased by
as much as 0.34 % by resting for no more than three minutes after a hill
interval, while the FRBs look for trail around the B-29 wreckage and
interrogate the landowners. Didn't you
all feel it? Strong work!
Well,
I could see that some of you had had enough by the time we finished the third
interval, so I figured it was time to move on into the "tempo"
portion of the workout. Don't worry Yan,
PMS, and Edmund, our workouts will get easier as we taper for the big
event! Oh, and a ruptured diaphragm will
usually heal itself in no more than, say, 6 months! Strong work!
I
would also like to recognize the cleverness of the Hare, though, for running
more than a half mile without laying flour, and then placing the "W"
sign right by a water well! Strong work,
Droolbag! But seriously, some of you put
out some very strong effort on this next part of the trail, by taking a totally
optional interval up to the Rangamar's place.
Talk about peaking! Really, you
didn't need to do that one! But Strong
work anyway, Sword Swallower, Semen Biscuit, and Pucker Boy!
I
would like to point out a mistake, if I may, that was made by Dogleg and Sissy
at this point: Yes folks, shortcuts do
not always get you any farther along than you would have if you had just stayed
the course! In fact, I believe the only
thing that Sissy and Dogleg gained for their effort were shoes full of pebbles,
and a lot of black stains from the charred underbrush. Um, Strong work guys..... but I suppose it did put you ahead of me, if
only for 10 seconds or so until I passed you again.
I
was quite impressed with the amount of cutting the Hare did on the X-Terra
trail. Droolbag, you are a brush-cutting
machine! Seriously, folks, it looked
like the man had taken a weed-whacker to the trail. Or perhaps a D-9. I guess we don't need Public Works to clear
the X-Terra trail for us now! It made
for quite a pleasant run - almost like running on the open road! Strong work, Droolbag!
I
was also impressed to see the rear of the pack at this point, well over
half-way into the trail. Strong work,
Dennis and Judy! But I should point out
that you wouldn't ordinarily have been so far ahead, if I hadn't led the rest
of the pack on those intervals! So don't
let it go to your head, eh?
Yes
folks, this was the part of the trail that separated the men from the boys, the
adventure athletes from the Hash men!
And me from the rest of you!
There's nothing like a long, steady climb to really increase your
strength and endurance. I recently read
an article in Extreme White People that said off-road hill running can
lead to increased muscle mass, firmer groinal tendons, and a decrease in unused
brain matter compared with up-hill running on pavement. And I don't know about you people, but I did not
stop to enjoy the cold beverages and candy bars provided by the Hares. Marceau told me once that eating even half a
Payday, while running, can more than triple the probability of vomiting on
trail. But strong work anyway, Dogleg!
Now,
at this point I am sure that some of you wonder what happened to me, since I
was sooo far ahead of you all, but still failed to finish in the front. Well, just short of the final summit trail, seeing
that the run was nearly over, I checked my heart rate monitor and found that I
had exceeded 101% of my age-maximum heart rate.
That's not good, just 4 weeks short of the Saipan Sports Fest! Friel is very clear that in order to properly
peak, you will need to exceed your maximum safe heart rate by at least 225%,
and twice, during week 4. So I
decided to go get a little circuit training on the last on-back. That should sufficiently explain why Droolbag
saw me running in circles for 10 minutes.
Strong work, Droolbag!
But
you will all note, I am sure, how strongly I was able to pass you again on that
final summit trail, which I must say was quite rugged. I would like to take this opportunity to give
out a few pointers though. Bar Fine and
Becca: While running up behind you, I
noticed some slight irregularity in your strides - perhaps, you might say, some
'jiggling'. Now I'm not saying that
there's anything wrong with that, but a recent article in The Journal of
Stringy Female Triathletes suggests - only suggests, mind you - that
favoring a diet of bean sprouts, cardboard, and oat fiber can reduce breast
mass by as much as 23%. Also, Wandering
Menstrual: I noticed an unusual burning odor.
I would strongly suggest one of either two remedies: either get yourself a pair of Salomon teflon
adventure panties, or lube your buttcrack with petroleum jelly to reduce the
friction. Or - just a thought - perhaps
no panties at all? Hmmm.... Let me know
how that works out for you. Strong Work,
Wandering Menstrual!
But,
obviously, the trophy for Saturday's workout has to go to Haj F. Kramden,
Sir! for beating all of us to the summit
by quite a margin! How does he do it? Strong Work, Kramden!
Of
course, a Hash run is not always the big workout that you need on a Saturday,
so obviously there were a few of you who needed a little more. Seeing how aerobic weight training is just
the ticket for burning off those extra pounds, I sent Dogleg and Pucker Boy off
to carry up the coolers and pallets. I
know I promised to help, but in all honesty, you needed the work more than I
did! Strong Work!
Now,
you all know that ordinarily I would prefer a barbecue, a pool party, or even
some chicken dancing after a big workout, but I have to admit, sometimes the
Hash 'religion' can be a good way to wind down. In fact, I have developed a recovery routine
that fits in quite well - it is focused on the use of relatively light weights
(12 ounces or less) and very high repetitions.
This routine, I find, makes for a far more enjoyable religious
experience.
That
being said, I would like to point out a couple of interesting points about
religion last Saturday: one, the fire
was exceedingly smoky and the beer board was located directly downwind. Now I know none of us really care about
Dogleg, but I have to admit, that it was pretty bad when I went up there. But it's interesting to note a recent article
that appeared in The Anaerobic Anorexic Times, in which it is postulated
that oxygen deprivation after a strong anaerobic workout can actually increase
lactose intolerance. That's got to be
good, right? Just out of curiosity, I
called up Dogleg the next day and had him come in to the ER for some tests. Sure enough, I found evidence that Dogleg's
intolerance levels had increased. Strong
work, Dogleg!
I
myself found that my tolerance for religion had been greatly increased by the
12 ounce repetitions I was engaged in as part of my workout recovery. I found myself strangely excited by the
initiation of new Hashers, including my coworker James, and Dennis and Judy
from
So
let's recap here: Running the Hash can
be an acceptable addition to your X-Terra training regime, as long as you: 1.)
Run every on back at least three times each; 2.) Run circles for 10 minutes
prior to finishing your workout; 3.) Perform recovery weight training with high
reps of 12 oz. each; and 3.) Add 40 miles to your Saturday a.m. and Sunday
workouts.
I.M. Fartacus
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 Sword Swallower?
HASH CASH Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE Dogleg, as Fartacus
RECEDING HARE LINE...
FM 108 3/24 Pyle
& Pervert (Thursday)
1062 3/26 Sword
Swallower & Pucker Boy
1063 4/2 Pussy
Licking Frog (WVB)
1064 4/9 Salty
Gash & Messiah(?)
1065 4/16 Butt
Cum
1066 4/23 Pussy-Stain
Sat. Full Moon
1067 4/30 Crackerjack
1068 5/7 Shitstain
& Cheshire Pussy
1069 5/14 Piss
Break
CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP. IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE. BE A HARE,SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS
Special on-line supplement!
LETTERS
TO MISMANAGEMENT
Submit your own letters to
mismanagement!
Dear Mis-ter Management:
As you read this, I just participated in an awesome hash, with
superb boonies, excellent pavement pounding, and highly clever false trails.
Why, I even got lost because of the sneaky trail cutting. But I don't think the hare received the
esteem to which such a great effort entitles him.
How, I ask, how can we promote the proper honor to such
efforts? Better beer?
- An anonymous runner
Dear Miss Management:
A man who just died is delivered to the mortuary wearing an
expensive, expertly tailored black suit. The mortician asks the deceased's wife
how she would like the body dressed. He points out that the man does look good
in the black suit he is already wearing.
The widow, however, says that she always thought her husband
looked his best in blue, and that she wants him in a blue suit. She gives the mortician a blank check and
says, "I don't care what It costs, but please have my husband in a blue
suit for the viewing."
The woman returns the next day for the wake. To her delight,
she finds her husband dressed in a gorgeous blue suit with a subtle chalk stripe; the suit fits him perfectly. She says to the mortician, "Whatever
this cost, I'm very satisfied. You did an excellent job and I'm very grateful.
How much did you spend?"
To her astonishment, the mortician presents her with the
blank check. "There's no charge," he says.
"No, really, I must compensate you for the cost of that
exquisite blue suit!" she says.
"Honestly, ma'am," the mortician says, "it
cost nothing."
"You see, a deceased gentleman of about your husband's
size was brought in shortly after you left yesterday, and he was wearing an
attractive blue suit. I asked his wife if she minded him going to his grave
wearing a black suit instead, and she
said it made no difference as long as he looked nice."
"So I just switched the heads."
Dear Mismanagement,
Why do so many people come to the Hash and then sit in the
back and not talk or do down downs and make the Tyrant and the RA work so hard,
when it is obvious that Kramden's knees and back are not what they used to be
and he needs to rest?
Dear Mismanagement:
I have to be very careful writing
to you like this. If my boss was to find
out that I wrote to you, I would be terminated.
Not terminated like you all wanted to do to Weiner Von Braun, but
terminated as in “AHH-NOLD.” So please,
please, disguise your voice when you read this so nobody will know it was me.
There have been some very
suspicious things going on around the hash. First of all, there is the “missing hash
trash.” Did you ever wonder WHY there
was never a trash written to commemorate the 100th Full Moon Run? I myself thought it was the “best hash
ever.” Could it be that full disclosure
of the facts surrounding that run might embarrass certain highly placed
mismanagement officials? Did you ever
buy the theory that two hares could have pulled off such a highly coordinated
attack without the aid of others, hiding in the grassy knoll? Do you really think it was an accident that
young merchant marine offered to drink Sissy’s down-down, after many lonely,
sex-starved months at sea? Of course,
the Kramden Commission exonerated the hares, but everybody knows that was just
a whitewash. Kramden is CIA. He is part of the DFS/Trilateral Commission
conspiracy that Lyndon LaRouch exposed back in the ‘80s. I will never feel safe on the hash until we
find out the TRUTH about what happened to that missing hash trash.
That’s all for now; I dare not
chance exposure with such heretical observations. Burn this message immediately after reading,
and –
TRUST NO-ONE
Submit your own letters to
mismanagement!