SAIPAN HASH TRASH
issues 1060 - 1069

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

HARES:                                 Flaming Shit Pyle, Pervert Hoover

BOX:                                      Casa de Pyle

ON HOME:                            Marine Beach

CASUALTIES:                     Spider Woman, Voodoo Mama

RUN:                                      ¶¶¶1/2

RELIGION:                            ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:                     9.63

CLDPDMMM:                      ~6000                                                     

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 the courtesy to not tell us where that was.

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 urine and pyles of human shit.  Ah!  Paradise!

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                        Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!

RA:                                      Dog Leg

AAAARA:                           CLD

FIRE MASTER                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dog Pyle

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

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

1071            5/28         OPEN

1072            6/4           Kramden & MHP

1073            6/11         Wiener Von Brown

1074            6/18         Sword Swallower & Oly

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

1075            6/25         Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

1076            7/2           Pervert Hoover

1077            5/21         OPEN

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

EDITORIAL

 

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

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

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

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

 


 

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

HARES:                       SHITSTAIN AND CHESHIRE PUSSY

BOX:                            MARPI RADAR

ON HOME:                  WING BEACH

CASUALTIES:             VOODOO MAMA

RUN:                           ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                  ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:             8

CLDPDMMM:             ~4000                                     

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

 beach house.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                        Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!

RA:                                      Dog Leg

AAAARA:                           CLD

FIRE MASTER                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dirty Yellow Dog Balls

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

1070        5/21      Vertical Lay

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

1071        5/28      Red Squirrel

1072        6/4        Soapy Snatch

1073        6/11      Kramden

1074        6/18      Sword Swallower & Oly

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

1075        6/25      Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

Editorial

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 


 

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

HARES:                       Oly

BOX:                            Cowtown motocross track

ON HOME:                  Log-jump station, Marpi pathway

CASUALTIES:             Droolbag, Cum Guzzling Gutter Slut

RUN:                           ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                  ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:             8

CLDPDMMM:             ~4000                                     

 

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

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

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

 earlier today, on the phone.

 

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

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

 something.  Sheesh.

 

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

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

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

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

 again.

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 was off trail:

 

Droolbag: “On belay!”

 

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

 

Droolbag: “OK!  I’m coming!  On on!”

 

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

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

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

 Chicken.”  Fuck you, squishy boy!

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

on.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                        Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!

RA:                                      Dog Leg

AAAARA:                           CLD

FIRE MASTER                      ????

HASH CASH                        Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                   Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN              Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                     Dirty Yellow Dog Balls

 

RECEDING HARE LINE...

 

1069        5/14      Flaming Shit Pyle

1070        5/21      Vertical Lay

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

1071        5/28      Red Squirrel

1072        6/4        Soapy Snatch

1073        6/11      Kramden

1074        6/18      Sword Swallower & Oly

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

1075        6/25      Abbott & Costello Anniversary Run

 

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

BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

 

Editorial

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

mind.

 


 

RUN #1066:                           The “Perineum” Run

HARES:                                 Shitstain & Cheshire Pussy

BOX:                                      Jack Salas’ Pavillion, Otdot Road

ON HOME:                            Jeffrey’s Beach

CASUALTIES:                     none

RUN:                                      ¶¶¶

RELIGION:                            ¶¶¶

DLMM Rating:                     8.9

CLDPDMMM:                      ~6000                                                    

“ALL-ANAL HASH BANGERS, VOLUME 12”

SCENE 17

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………mmmmmmm……….

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………oooohhhhh……

 

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

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………noooooooo….

 

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

 

BzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzZZZZZZZZ…………

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…………

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz………… Ohhhhhhh!

 

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

 

BzzZZzzzzzzZZZzzzzzzzZZZZZzzzzzzzZZZz…………Dogleg…

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz?

 

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

 

BzzzzZZZZZZzzzzzz……  Dogleg….. rising…..

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzz  Ohhhhhhhhhh!   Dogleg and Chicken!

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

Bzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz…  Oh GOD!   Dogleg and Chicken!

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 4:00 p.m. (3:30 during "winter") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan    U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                        Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!

RA:                                      Dog Leg

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 Lao Lao Bay (Craig Church’s Unfinished House)

CASUALTIES:                     Droolbag’s Head (Bzzz!)

RUN:                                      ¶¶

RELIGION:                            ¶¶¶3/4  

DLMM Rating:                     3

"When clouds form in the skies we know that rain will follow but we must not wait for it. Nothing will be achieved by attempting to interfere with the future before the time is ripe. Patience is needed."
-- I Ching (BC 1150)

"If you don't go fishing because you thought it might rain you will never go fishing. This applies to more than fishing."
-- Gary Sow

"The sound of fresh rain run-off splashing from the roof reminded me of the sound of urine splashing into a filthy Texaco latrine."
-- Jack Handey [Deep Thoughts],

Sometimes it rains, even on the fucking Hash!”
-- 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 Back-Island Drive.  Half the pack was fooled by the well-placed checking and ran a fair distance towards the Kagman Lion.  True trail was discovered, and quickly snaked into the jungle behind Santos Acres. 

                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 Lao Lao Bay.  The hares were chainsaw-happy, as evident by the gratuitous chopping of many thick trees.  Definitely not a low-impact trail.  The trail exited the boonies onto Windbag’s property where her two young children and a golden retriever were frolicking in the yard and tossing a tennis ball back and fourth.  Were we still in Saipan?  We were and trail continued along pavement  (or coral… close enough) and one could catch a brief glimpse of Lao Lao Bay while descending the roadway.

                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” Hoover quit his berserker ON-ON screaming in favor of a more cautious pace.  His Fiance “I can’t believe I drank all that Soju and now I’m marrying an old Caucasian with a limp dick” was surely following close behind.  Seamen Biscuit and Oly seemed to have no problems making their way, as they led the FRB pack, along with a Tagaman drained Cold Shower.

                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 Lao Lao Bay was breathtaking.  First up the hares came to explain why their trail sucked.  Evidently, they too were bested by the chicanery of  Butt Cum, who made them trade weeks because ‘he had already cut a great trail in the Obyan area,’ forcing Salty Gash and Messiah to trash the trail idea they had in the same area.  BUT, as it was ascertained earlier in the week, Butt Cum had ‘appropriated’ a large part of his trail from IM Farticus and Mini Pearl.  And for his sins, the rains fell on our heads…

                Pervert Hoover  came up and wished himself a happy 50th birthday, and saying a bunch of  “PERVERT-ed” things as he always does.  Kramden said if Pervert  was actually 50, then monkeys would fly out of his ass (I’m paraphrasing). 

                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.

 

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...
1067            4/30         Crackerjack
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:                                        Obyan Beach

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 Bird Island Beach Run.  Wow was that scary!  I saw my life flash in front of my eyes, and all I wanted to do afterwards was be held by Banger, and eat lots of Church’s Fried Chicken.  Thank god there is plenty of fried chicken in Saipan!  But I did today’s run and it was scary!  There were cliffs, and barbed wire, and even BOMBS! WOW! And I fell a lot (more than I normally do) on trail.

                Well, anywayz, we all started at Obyan Beach, and let me tell you, it was fun!  Ciega was there, and so was Kramden.  They’re so cool. Wow.  And Red Sasquatch was there, and he even had a baby strapped to his back!  Diary- will I ever have kids some day? Wow.  Chicken Little Dick was there, and he had a trumpet, and he let me play it a little!  Then he yelled at me and took it away.  He’s so mean.  There was this backslider there, Inflatable Slut, and he seemed pretty cool.  He was quiet and I don’t know if he likes me.  I hope he likes me diary.  Maxcheesmo and Oly were there, and they are so cool!  I wish when I am an older boy like them, that I can be that cool and in good shape.

                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 Hamilton’s =(

                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 Boy Scout Beach or Naftan Point.  There we ran into Soapy Snatch and her friend, and Dan (Tron!) was being such a nice guy and helping them find true trail.  I’m sure he wasn’t trying to get some hot action or nothing.’  I’m being mean again, someone like Dan who was in TRON and Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure wouldn’t have try with the ladies, why they just fall in his lap!  WOW!

                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, Japan, and they were here I think for the Xterra.  Athletes are cool!  They unfortunately drank beer, and took them down without having to hear options.   Options are great because a guy like me might never get to see a quality pair of hooters otherwise.  I know diary, I’m putting myself down, and I shouldn’t.  Gosh!  Your so cool diary, I’m glad I have you! 

                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 Hamiltons!  (I know I shouldn’t eat Wing Zing’s Diary!  But I NEEDED THEM! BACK OFF DIARY!)

                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 Cheshire Pussy’s trail would be the BEST!  WOW!  It must be awesome if he’s talking about it so much.  It’s like those guys who always talk about how big there penis’s are, and what great mustang’s they drive, and how much money they make.  I mean, those guys never lie! 

                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 Hoover, whose FNG girlfriend (The one wearing the ‘dance around naked’ t-shirt) was getting married!  Wow diary, will I ever get married?  I mean, when people as scummy and morally depraved as Pervert Hoover are getting married, what does that mean for me?  I don’t think Banger will ever marry me, unless I become cooler, like maybe Sasquatch, or Chicken, or even Seaman Biscuit. Then she’ll propose to me. 

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 Cheshire Pussy…. Nah!  Oh fuck!  Oly and Sword Swallower!  They kicked my ass last week!"

                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 Middle Road, where many other people who had not listened to the special instructions went astray.  This group, which included Crackerjack, Tiny Dancer, and Inflatable Slut, ended up wandering the beaches of Tanapag until eventually working their way back to the on-home.

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 Guam, and Queef and Peter Perfect filled us in on the details of their Hashing life in Myanmar.  But unfortunately there were no "satellites!", nor any "maps of Tazzie."  Jordass and Boner made excuses for why they have not yet started a Hilo Hash.  Then FNG Brian was brought forward and explained how he had lived a long and boring life until Hajj Kramden had made him come to the Hash.  Then there were many tales from the trail and courtesies.  It was a fun and eventful run, and that always inspires people to come up and lie.  Crackerjack came up with Piss Break and Inflatable Slut to sing a strange song about “Oh where oh where have the hares gone…”  As RA Dogleg stood there during all of this, he began to notice just how fatigued he was, and how badly his back was hurting from the race against the old people.  All of a sudden the thought occurred to him that – just perhaps – he too is becoming old.  Hmmmm….

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 Hamilton's.  About 15 "concerned" people stayed behind and drank beer on the beach.  Right about the time the last Hamilton's load departed, Ciega's phone rang again, but this time she did not wave her hands around, and there was a slightly more positive tone to her bitching.  Banger had been found, in the sword grass near the start of the boonies.  Hooray!  More beers were opened, and the beach crowd partied down, expecting the Hares to walk in with Banger at any moment. 

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 6:00 p.m., April 13 (Wednesday).

 

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:                               Bird Island Overlook

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 Bali playing frisbee with the lawyers, or off in the PI or Thailand getting $1 blowjobs.  Fuck them.  There were, however, a few teachers who stayed put, like Pyle and Banger, Bukake and Ass, and -  though I barely consider him to be one - Pervert Hoover.

                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 Saipan boonie scene.  The hares gave their special instructions, and - big surprise - they warned that if anyone "freaked out" when they got to the hairy part, they should stay put, and the Hares would come and get them.  There were also detailed instructions on how to avoid a supposedly "giant" boonie bee nest.  Jesus flippin' Christ!  Anyway, Hajj Kramden took care of 'splaining the markings to the FNGs - Masami and Judd - which allowed me to go off and take a piss on Chris Nelson's mountain bike trail.  Fucking Nelson. 

                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 "Boom Cave" - where the U.S. military bulldozed all the leftover ammunition that had been stockpiled for the invasion of Japan.  This is now a Superfund candidate site, which no one in their right mind would enter without taking the proper precautions (full chemical suit, UXO detection team, etc.) but of course the Hares later bragged about exploring it's inner reaches on their own, and offered to give tours.  Hello!

                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 Bird Island Beach.  Near the top of this ravine, we came across what appeared to be a brand new granite tombstone.  Masami later informed us, by way of translation, that it was a memorial for a family of 9 who had died there during the war.  Well, I guess they got their revenge on this gai-jin, because right as I went past, I was viciously attacked by an invisible boonie bee on my left thigh.  Holy fuck!  The searing pain nearly blinded me, and I was unable to pay attention to the rest of what Beerhead was saying to me.  I was barely able to make it down to the beach, and the pain and swelling had slowed me to the point that Billy Graham and Ass were able to catch up again.  The trail took us into the lagoon toward the second beach, which gave me a brief respite from the pain, but soon we started up a steep ravine toward the road.  I figured the first rope must have been the "hairy" part the Hares had warned about, and it wasn't that bad.  I didn't even need it, if it hadn't been for the boonie bee sting.  Oh God, how it hurt!  But I was all wrong - there was a second rope, and there was no way up without it.  I barely managed to make it up with my crippled thigh, but was almost tossed into the void when Ass pulled the rope taught behind me, before I even had a chance to let go.  God damn it, Ass! 

                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 Hamilton's, while Pyle, presumably, went home and received a sympathy blowjob from Banger.  The pussy.

 

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 4:00 starting this Saturday! (April 2)

 

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 AND SAKE” Run

HARES:                                   VIAGRA AND SWORD SWALLOWER

BOX:                                        NUVEAU CHEZ WISEMAN

ON HOME:                               SONODA’S FARM AND SHRINE

CASUALTIES:                          THOSE WITH LEGS AND

                                                SKIN

RUN:                                     

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 Atbut Dr.  The rest of the pack went down to Isa Drive claiming there was no trail. There was nowhere else to go, so the Tyrant went down and found the flour that for some reason Droolbag and Pervert could not see. Once their heads were on straight, Beerhead found true trail across the road, while CLD and ??? went off somewhere never to be found again.  Generic White Boy and Flaming Shit Pyle flew to the On Home and went back and forth on the road, even though vehicular evidence was abundant all over the road as to where the trail was. The rest of the pack followed Beerhead into someone’s betel nut farm and eventually in to a valley.  The valley took us up and down and up and down and then on to Egigi Dr. The trail continued up across the street where the Tyrant said if we are going up this must mean that the cliff is ahead. Sure enough, we found the rope and during the clusterfuck that followed, the Tyrant and Droolbag did a rousing rendition of The End, by the Doors. Down the rope we went; hand over hand, finding our way with our toes down the steep rock wall.  At the base it was back into more jungle.  There was really some beautiful limestone forest, with not too much foliage, but plenty of those thick vines which look like skinny bamboo to trip you up.  Eventually, we went through a small rock tunnel and then popped out near a Shrine where the hares were waiting for us with the Sake (and it seemed during Religion that Sword Swallower drank most of the Sake at the shrine).   We then ran down some steps and then through some more rocks and then to the On Home.  The rest of the hounds straggled in over a period of an hour or so.  Ciega received a phone call from CLD and Sasquatch asking for a ride.  Kramden received a phone call from his nephew asking if he should give two fag hounds a ride. These two eventually showed up at the on home after the vehicle run.  Generic White Boy kept saying he was the first one in.  This was after he arrived mid-pack on the true trail.  How he figured he was first will be part of Religion.  Once everyone was in and a decision was made as to where the fire would be, the Tyrant piped up religion.  The hares were called up and staggered up to do their down downs.  There was much back patting and congratulations to each other.  When they were done, the Tyrant did the Letters to Mismanagement and was scolded for doing this before the FNG’s were called up.  Of course the lone FNG had run off before Religion so what difference did it make.  Then there were many courtesies to the run and many, many tales from the trail.  When Generic White Boy told his FRB story, and how he was right at the On Home but could not find it, he was re-named Sherlock Fucking On Home! Oly got up and gave us a long story about what he has been doing since he left here. Two Fingered Goose got up to tell a trip report on his trip to Sri Lanka and it turned into a Trip Odometer report as he told us how he found the trail with the aid of a cab driver and his Kilometer Odometer.   Then there were more courtesies and even some indictments. Eventually Swing Low was sung, the area policed, the fire put out, and the assembled headed to Hamilton’s.  All except the Tyrant who went to help an old friend celebrate 50 years on this earth.

 

The Saipan Hash House Harriers convenes every Saturday at 3:30 p.m. (4:00 p.m. during "summer") at the Bank of Guam parking lot in Garapan   

U.S. $10.00 (NON NEGOTIABLE)

 

MISMANAGEMENT

TYRANT/GM                                            Haj, F. Kramden, Sir!!

RA:                                                          Dog Leg

AAAARA:                                               Chicken Lil Dick

FIRE MASTER                                          OPEN

HASH CASH                                            Ciega

TRAIL MASTER                                       Dog Leg

DLMM TECHNICIAN                                  Dog Leg

HASH SCRIBE                                         Tyrant For Life

 

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:                               Mt. Tapotchau (summit)

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 Indiana.  I also found myself laughing, for no good reason, at the ridiculous "letters to mismanagement" that were read that evening.  I even felt a tad warm-hearted when Kramden named Becca "Spider Woman" for saving the life of a poor spider on trail, as if it would have even mattered!  Yes, oddly enough, I soon found myself up there with the "vessel" in my own hands, accusing Droolbag of leaving his flour bags on trail!  Soon I even began to re-think my advice to Bar Fine and Spider Woman - on second thought, why don't you come visit me at the ER next week, and I'll give you some pills that will really grow those hooters!  I found myself having so much fun, that I was strangely disappointed when, eventually, people stopped coming up, and it was time to clean up our mess and go home! 

                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!

 


 

 

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