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