RUN #976:                   The “It’s All New to Red Sasquatch” Run;
HARES:                       Red Sasquatch
BOX:                            Marpi Airstrip
ON HOME:                  Wing Beach
CASUALTIES:             none
RUN:               ¶¶
RELIGION:      ¶¶
DLMM Rating:             3

Fears that the Hash had been decimated by rampaging leptospira proved unfounded as 17 hounds gathered at the BOG for a run that had been advertised to be “lepto-free”.  Even Mr. Lepto himself, Haj F. Kramden Sir!! was present at the BOG to take our money and drop off the coolers, though (just like a fag) he didn’t come with us because “he was tired”.  Whiiiiiiiiiiine!  More disturbingly, however, it was learned that the Bone and the “Cup” have gone missing, sometime during the last two weeks.  And we had been so proud of ourselves!  What’s Ciega going to say now?  All I have to say is this:  I told you you’d thank me some day for keeping the Leg!  Although Red Sasquatch was going to run without a co-hare, he did bring along Red Squirrel to drive for him, along with little junior.  “One baby drinks, ALL BABIES DRINK!”  By the way, what would you call the offspring of a Squirrel and a Sasquatch?  Which reminds me, the long-missing Lemur was also present, along with two Kobe Hashers named “Hash Pig” and “Pig Poker”  (yes, they were married).

Once the coolers had been loaded with ice and packed into the Squirrelmobile, we were told to proceed to the old airstrip in Marpi, just past the Last Command Post.  Once there, we were placed into a box in the middle of some farm road, just as the (obviously annoyed) farmers were trying to drive out.  The “special” instructions consisted solely of the color-blind hare trying to describe the color of the ribbons he used: “It’s that color that looks different than the leaves”.  Fortunately, Heavy Flow was wearing her bright yellow socks, which the hare was able to point at and say “that color”, which unfortunately for the rest of us, does not look all that different from the leaves.  Dog Leg ‘splained the instructions to the two Kobe Hashers, and then everyone settled in for the long 10 minutes, which Leave It tried to extend to an even longer 15 minutes because, as he saw it, that was tradition when you have only one hare.  ???  Whatever.  The pack headed out to the main Marpi Road and everyone except Dogleg checked left, toward the new landfill.  How come no one ever follows Dogleg?  True trail was right, and Dogleg was all alone until he screwed up at the Last Command Post checking, coming within 10 feet of finding trail, but instead he turned around and ran almost all the way to Banzai with Lemur.  Which, of course, turned out to be the wrong way.  The rest of the pack was pretty screwed up anyway, and by the time Dog Leg and Lemur returned, they were still screwing around in the Korean Peace Memorial before finally noticing flour headed up the Banaderu Trail.  How obvious could it have been?

The climb up the trail was as hard and slippery as ever, and separated the “athletes” from the regular hashers.  Red Sasquatch must be given some honor, however, for public service:  the trail had become very overgrown, almost to the point of disuse, before he cleaned it up.  He even cut out a few side trails to the edge of the cliff for some nice views.  Which no one bothered to check out.  Once on top, trail headed down the pavement toward the golf course road.  This is where the regular hashers caught up to the “athletes”, who had checked left up the hill, back toward the Grotto.  Silly triathletes.  The Real hashers knew damn well we could only be headed for Wing Beach.  So we went from pounding pavement to pounding coral, down one of the steepest roads on Saipan.  At the pavement, a checking again fooled some of the runners into going left toward Marianas Resort, completely ignoring the gaping, ribbon-festooned hole in the boonies directly in front of them.  True trail was a short path straight through the tangan-tangan to the beach parking area.

Once there, it was quickly discovered that the new Firemaster had not been able to fit pallets into his Toyota Celica, so a vehicle run was organized so that Oly could get his truck and go get firewood (you can run, but you can’t hide!)  The coolers were brought the to beach, while the rest of the pack came in.  Then we all just sat around talking and watching the sunset for what seemed like hours, while two more vehicle runs were made, and at least two Hashers (Heavy Flow and some runner dude from PIC) disappeared.  Yogi finally got a fire started, and stand-in Tyrant Dog Leg and RA West End Bender got religion going.  Much to everyone’s horror, it was discovered that the Bone and the Cup were not the only things missing from last week, and Kramden’s “Fifteen Years of Hashing” ribbon had to do duty as the Sacred Mantle.  Ohhhh man!  Mom’s going to kill us when she gets home!  Red Sasquatch was up first, and explained to us all that he had never seen the Banaderu Trail, and thought that he was doing something pretty cool and original.  The visiting Hashers from Kobe came up and knew just enough Engrish to let us know their names and that they had fun.  SSB from Guam was treated like a visiting Hasher even though she has been living here for several months.  Fartacus told a trip report from the Cairns Hash, where they don’t mind Canadians, and a few SPG stories.  Then mismanagement was forced to start pulling people up for down-downs, starting with Backsliders.  Loud surf and too much distance from the fire made it difficult for everyone to hear from the likes of Lemur and Speckled Pecker.  Oly told a Canadian lumberjack joke that seemed to amuse Fartacus a great deal, and Fartacus responded with a Canadian Bear joke.  Red Sasquatch had to be restrained from telling his Bear joke again, and Yogi nearly killed religion with another stinker.  Religion came to a point where no one was coming up to say anything, but the crowd refused to let the vessel be retired, and WEB was eventually left standing awkwardly at the Beer Board while Dog Leg sat in the crowd.  “Dance, motherfucker!”  If we only had six-shooters… but we didn’t, and no one else was doing anything other than begging to be entertained, so the vessel was stashed away in the accoutrements bag and the area was policed.  A few headed to someone’s going away party, a few went home, and the rest headed to Hamilton’s for a Canadian History lesson with Fartacus & Oly.

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:                               West End Bender
FIRE MASTER                      Yogi
HASH CASH                         Ciega
TRAIL MASTER                    Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE                     General Hashimoto

RECEDING HARE LINE...
FM88  8/12     Dogleg & Red Sasquatch (Tuesday)
978      8/16     OPEN
979      8/23     M&M Man (?)
980      8/30     Kowpaddy
981      9/06     OPEN
FM89  9/10     OPEN (Wednesday)
982      9/13     Jordass
983      9/20     Ciega

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

FULL MOON HASH:
Don’t miss the Full Moon Hash this Tuesday Night, August 12!  Meet at the Bank of Guam at 6:00 p.m.  Hares will be Red Sasquatch and Dog Leg (if available)

RUN #975:                   The “Maxcheesemo’s Mimosa Madness” Run;
                                                Or
                                    “We Get Fucked Again”
HARES:                       Maxcheesemo & Red Sasquatch
BOX:                            Wireless (Lynn Knight’s drive)
ON HOME:                  Pau Pau Beach
CASUALTIES:             trail
RUN:               ¶
RELIGION:      ¶¶¶
DLMM Rating:             6

I ran into a guy at my postal service the other day who told me that he hashed once, and is planning to go to the 1000th.  I asked him why he just doesn’t go to the Hash now.  His answer was that first, he is not in good enough shape, and second, that he heard that no one goes to the Hash anymore anyway!

I don’t know what he’s talking about.  At least eleven people showed up at the Bank of Guam last Saturday, despite knowing that Marlboro Man doesn’t live on Saipan anymore, and therefore we probably would not have a hare.  And sure enough, he wasn’t there.  Maxcheesemo rose quickly to the occasion, and recruited Red Sasquatch as co-hare and began scheming behind his car.  Haj Kramden made a brief appearance to drop the coolers and the book, but he was already dying of lepto and had to leave.  The hares emerged shortly and announced that the Box would be on Wireless Road, at the Magellan Club.  Leave It then informed the hares that there was a party at the Magellan Club that afternoon, and so the Box was shifted to the hill above Lynn Knight’s house (she has a Hash name, but it’s so ancient History that no one but Kramden remembers what it is), and off we went.

The pack was forced into a box halfway down Lynn Knight’s steep driveway where we could not see the main road, and then the hares were off.  Dog Leg ‘splained the instructions to the three FNGs, which included two Navy bunkmates and a svelte Italian girl named Eliza that West End Bender confused with Two Timing Bitch from the week before, because they both have navel rings.  Sexist!  If WEB had only looked more closely at the shape of her ass, it was clear that they were actually two totally different women.

The pack was off and immediately split at the checking at the top of the driveway, with most of the pack heading toward the X-Terra trail; an obvious choice.  However, Dogleg made an equally obvious choice and headed toward Mt. Susu, below which are several trails that have been set recently in the ravines above Tanapag.  By the time he reached the first checking at the base of Mt. Susu, the rest of the pack had caught up, and after falsely checking down toward the pig farm, they all headed up and around the base of the mountain toward Paradise Valley.  This is where they ran into the hare.

Maxcheesemo had been forced to turn back due to a supposedly impenetrable wall of mimosa near the top of the Paradise Valley trail.  Pussy!  Here we were, less than ten minutes into the trail, and we were already caught up to the hare.  And on top of that, he was almost out of flour already.  A quick decision was made to follow the trail down to the pig farm and Tanapag, which Maxcheesemo had helped Kowpaddy set a few weeks ago.  The mimosa had already grown over a good portion of this trail, and it seemed like it would not have been any worse to have just continued on into Paradise Valley as planned, but alas, we were not the hare.  We made our way past the ruins of the farm and into the deep jungle of the ravine, and then had to stop and wait for the Italian girl and Yogi, who seemed to be attached to her with glue.  (the rest of us would have too, if she had not been so slow).  It was in here that Maxcheesemo informed us that the On Home was at Pau Pau Beach.  …groan…  West End Bender, having set this trail before, quickly decided to cut his losses and bailed out of the ravine at his earliest convenience.  With only a little flour left, the rest of us had to stick together through the slippery ravine, but once we got out on the road, it was every man (and woman) for himself.  The FRBs just ran the two miles straight down Middle Road, running into the short-cutting WEB about halfway to the Nikko.  Maxcheesemo used little smidgens of flour to mark “true” trail down the beach, which most of the remaining pack followed.

At the On Home, Red Sasquatch was surprised to see the FRBs arrive without the Hare.  Dog Leg quickly filled him in that yes, for the second week in a row, trail had fallen completely apart.  Snacks and drinks were quickly assaulted, but not before the Fruit and Nut Medley was quarantined under someone’s bag because Kramden had been seen digging around in it with his filthy lepto hands at the BOG.  Eliza the navel-pierced Italian finally made it in, faithfully escorted by Yogi, and suddenly Dog Leg remembered that, while in the midst of discussing Eliza’s a-, er, navel ring, he had forgotten his bag at the Box on the top of West End Bender’s car.  So, off the vehicle run went.  The few who were left behind were treated to an outstanding sunset.  Once back, newly-appointed Firemaster Yogi got the fire going, and the pack prepared for what was apparently going to be a small and informal religion (the two Navy FNGs did not return, claiming the had to “work”).  The “hares” were up first, and Maxcheesemo tried to play up the mimosa angle as his excuse.  Next was the FNG – who unfortunately was already two sheets to the wind and clearly capable of drinking her beer.  Trip reports from the Guam 1100 run were next, because for some reason nobody mentioned it during last week’s religion.  Dogleg was up first and avoided telling of the trail, and concentrated instead on tales from the strip bars in Tumon the night before, and Bronco Cooler Riding after religion.  Sword Swallower and Pucker Boy filled in the details of the trail, and Maxcheesemo followed with a frightening story about being stalked in the water by Pink Torpedo.  A few tails from the trail then followed, and much shit was given to the hares.  Leave It got up to bitch about something, which I can’t remember now.  Then, unexpectedly, Eliza the navel-pierced Italian came up, announced “I’m sooo drunk!” and asked for the Options!  Which the rest of the crowd was more than happy to explain.  She chose the Palauan method, and we chose Yogi as the benefactor.  I saw tongue.  Yogi then followed with a joke, which caused religion to quickly come to a close.  The area was policed, Swing Low was sung, and everyone remarked on how lively religion had been despite the low attendance.  The on-on-on was Hamilton’s, where a good time was had by all except Leave It, who did not come.

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:                               West End Bender
FIRE MASTER                      Yogi
HASH CASH                         Ciega
TRAIL MASTER                    Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE                     … and … Dog Leg.

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

RECEDING HARE LINE...
976      8/02     Red Sasquatch
977      8/09     Cracker Jack
FM88  8/12     OPEN (Tuesday)
978      8/16     OPEN
979      8/23     M&M Man (?)
980      8/30     Kowpaddy
981      9/06     OPEN
FM89  9/10     OPEN (Wednesday)

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

EDITORIAL

When you run the Hash, you understand the risks you take.  Similarly, when you set a trail, you understand the risks you are imposing on the hounds.  While it should be obvious to most not to send hounds down a 100 foot cliff, or down a steep avalanche chute at Forbidden Island, or swimming across the Saipan channel, it is less obvious to avoid Talofofo falls on the suspicion that it may expose people to leptospirosis – a bacteria that, in theory, could infect any one of us at any time throughout Saipan; not just in Talofofo.  In Hawaii, I have read that the majority of leptospirosis cases are caused by contaminated rooftop rainwater tanks.

The Hash is obviously a risky activity, but Hashers still need to practice a little responsibility for their own safety and the safety of others.  If you are worried about lepto, just don’t go in!  Go back to the cars.  Tell the hares “Fuck You!” at religion.  Similarly, if you know that an area is more likely to be infected than another, maybe you should think twice before running your friends through it.  And always keep in mind that, while most of us are honorable and responsible adults, there is no shortage of dickheads out there who don’t know us, don’t give a fuck about us, and know damn well that “honor” and “personal responsibility” don’t mean shit in our country’s legal system.

RUN #974:                   The “Heart of Dimness” Run;
                                              Or
                                   “Up Lepto Creek Without a Paddle”
HARES:                       Kramden & Mr. Happy Pockets
BOX:                            Talofofo Creek-side
ON HOME:                  Jeffrey’s Beach
CASUALTIES:             still counting
RATING:                     ¶
DLMM Rating:             8

30 or so Hounds gathered at the Bank of Guam for Kramden’s Big 50th Birthday Run.  Little did they know that this would nearly turn out to be Kramden’s last birthday run.  The Box was announced as Jeffrey’s beach, carpooling was strongly suggested, and generally occurred.

So there we were on the bonnie banks of the lepto-dog-piss infected Talofofo “river”, in a tight Box under some pago trees.  “This is not a dog-friendly run!”  “DO NOT go past the on-back!”  and most importantly: “Arrows are only 50%!”  OK…  When hares start fucking with the reliability of arrows, you know something is going to go wrong.  Dog Leg was left with no choice but to ‘splain the instructions to the five or so FNGs and visiting Navy hashers that were present.

Trail started, ominously, with a splash up the creek bed.  Dog Leg immediately decided not to follow trail up the creek, and headed out to the Jeffrey’s Beach road instead.  Why get lepto now if you don’t have to until later, right?  The only problem was that some of the visiting Navy hashers decided that because he had so authoritatively shouted the instructions to them, Dog Leg must have been the officer in charge of the Hash, and they followed suit, taking most of the pack with them.  An un-believable cluster fuck ensued around the Talofofo river junction across the road, as everyone went in every possible direction (except the river bed) looking for trail.  We checked the road.  We checked the Banana plantation.  We checked the other Banana plantation.  We checked up no less than three tributaries of the river.  We even found three of the notorious biodegradable orange ribbons, leading into the “main” tributary, but no flour.  So we checked the road again.  The truth is, no one had any fucking clue what was happening, but somehow everyone eventually found trail leading straight up the main river channel to the rope-swing at the waterfall.  A short, but grueling stretch of river and we were at the infamous Arrow.

You see, the shitty thing about this arrow is that it was placed right at a junction between two forks of the Talofofo river.  True trail went up the right fork to an on-back.  Yes, the entire trail was one, long on-back.  What a great idea! (he said, dripping with sarcasm)  But we did not know this of course, and what’s a good hound to do, once an on back ahs been found?  Why, check, of course!  So, because the arrow had been placed at an intersection of two forks of the river, we headed up the other fork, which was marked with still-fresh-looking pink ribbon, which many of us remembered as Happy Pocket’s run from a few months ago.  And….. there was one orange, biodegradable ribbon, hanging from a branch, about 150 feet up the river.  Several hounds started up this branch, but most turned around after realizing that they were very clearly not on trail.  Unfortunately, the stale plastic ribbon was more than enough for five of them – Wet Dream, Oly, Dog Leg, Cheshire Pussy, and Maxcheesemo – to commit themselves to going all the way.

One of the SH3’s basic rules of trail setting is “Never Underestimate the Stupidity of the Hounds”.  The Five idiots headed upstream were people you would normally not think of as “stupid”, but this is the Hash, and on the Hash people temporarily cease to be doctors, engineers, or geologists.  They become Hounds.  And Hounds are Stupid.  And so it was that these five idiots found themselves trekking up the infectious stream of rat piss, through obviously un-cut overgrowth, following obviously weathered ribbon, on a trail they all knew had been set nine months before.  It’s difficult to lay blame on any one individual, when all five clearly knew better.  It’s tempting to put the finger on Wet Dream, because he was in the lead most of the time.  A telling vignette might be the aside that happened between Dog Leg (“DL”) and Maxcheesemo (“MAX”), about halfway up the stream:

DL:  “This is fucked up!  These ribbons are ancient, the swordgrass is overgrown, and there’s no flour!”
MAX:  “Yeah, but this trail comes out on Wireless, dude!”
DL:  “Yeah, and I suppose Wet Dream seems to know where he’s going”
MAX:  “Yeah, but the on-home is probably back at the beach.”
DL:  “So, we should turn back then?”
MAX:  “Nah …  Let’s just stick with the plan”

The Plan?????  And so they continued on, through waterfalls of cascading microbes, festering fountains of pus, eventually forced to crawl Gollum-like through the mud under the karisso, until Dog Leg noticed the point where the (old) trail exited up and onto the hillside, and up through the swordgrass to Wireless.  Perhaps blinded by dehydration, Dog Leg became fixated on eliminating every last possibility of trail before turning back to the Box.  He forced the remaining four (all that had been heard of Wet Dream was a cloud of obscenities in the ravine behind them) to run all the way to the Chicken House, where Oly and CP finally had enough and went back to get their car.  Dog Leg then coerced Maxcheesemo to run all the way to the Magellan Club, without a grain of flour, where Max finally crapped out, too.  Undeterred, Dog Leg continued on to the X-Terra trail, and would have continued on to Mount Susu, had it not been for the arrival of Oly and CP in their car, with cold beers and the missing Wet Dream in tow.

Meanwhile, back at the Box, the rest of the pack backtracked and found the on-home at the beach, after a lengthy discussion at the Arrow, where Buster Brown eventually put 2 and 2 together and fingered out that the On-Home was the Box.  And, per special request, Leave It was FRB for the first time in his life (not too hard on a giant on-back, I would imagine).  This scribe unfortunately has no idea what happened at religion, except that apparently many tits were shown to the Tyrant for his 50th birthday, and stand-in RA West End Bender got to see all of them.  Damn!  A full report was given to Dog Leg later at Hamilton’s, but it just wasn’t the same as seeing them for myself.  Also, Oly apparently quit as Firemaster, and appointed Yogi as his replacement.  Presumably the area was eventually policed, Swing Low sung, and everyone apparently went home, except for MHP and WEB, who were seen by Dog Leg later on at Hamilton’s.  The tyrant, of course, contracted lepto one week later, followed by his co-hare.  Serves them right!

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:                               OPEN
FIRE MASTER                      Olie
HASH CASH                         Ciega
TRAIL MASTER                    Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN            Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE                     Joey Conrad-Arriola

RECEDING HARE LINE...
975      7/26     Marlboro Man (?)
976      8/02     Red Sasquatch
977      8/09     Cracker Jack
FM88  8/12     OPEN (Tuesday)
978      8/16     OPEN
979      8/23     M&M Man (?)

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP.  IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE.  IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

RUN #973 / FM # 87 The "Brown Droan" Run
HARES: Buster Brown, LaDroan
BOX: Marpi Radar Station
ON HOME: Wing Beach
CASUALTIES: Cowpaddy Cowboy
RATING: ¶ ¶ ¶
DLMM Rating: 0

We all met at 6:00 PM at the BOG to find a sign posted in the lot informing people of the later start time courtesy of Haj. Fucking Kramden Sir. Seven hounds showed up and eventually the box was called and the group proceeded to the Radar Station in Marpi. When Pissbreak arrived a little late from getting the snacks and ice for the coolers he realized he had forgotten his running shoes. The hares convinced him that as long as he put socks on he would be fine in his Birkenstocks.

The hares were off and the hounds followed 10 Min. later. The checking out of the box fooled no one as Cowpaddy convinced all that true trail went up behind the Radar Station and down through the boonies to Ladderan Tanke Trail. Unfortunately this put Cowpaddy behind Farticus and the FNG Jim??? and in front of the returning Leave it. Cowpaddy refused to step aside for Leave it on the steepest part of the trail. (would any one else have moved aside for him?) In his haste to remain ahead (who said head) Cowpaddy took a tumble down the hillside. The trail continued to the Ladderan Tanke trail and out to the parking lot at the start of the trail. Farticus seeing the checking at the farm continued down to dirt rd. thinking he would fly to Bird Island Overlook. Thankfully for the hares, he saw the error of his ways and returned to the true trail, out onto the farm along the fence line to a small Limestone forest. A short way after this the fence line was picked up again. The trail followed this until there was a break through to the top of the Black Microl quarry. The checking right at the top of the quarry confused most of the hounds. Some slid down a 20 foot cliff embankment to the left, others ran through the briar patch to the right, but the only two who found the true trail were the walking Pissbreak in his Birkenstocks and Cotton Twat. The trail followed the dirt road alongside of the golf course and then continued down to Wing Beach.

Two vehicles had to be sent on the vehicle run. One to search for the still missing Pissbreak and Cotton Twat and the other to take the FNG to his car at the BOG. The FNG didn't even return for his complimentary hot dog or the frosty beverages provided. The religion was more of a relaxing fire circle than the formal religion we Saipanuvians are used to. The group agreed that since the FNG hadn't returned from the vehicle run, we could let our hair down and didn't need to stand on formalities. After several jokes and every ones tale from the trail, the area was policed and "Swing low" was sung.

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: OPEN
FIRE MASTER Olie
HASH CASH Ciega
TRAIL MASTER Dog Leg
DLMM TECHNICIAN Dog Leg
HASH SCRIBE Buster Brown

REMEMBER, IF YOU GO BACK TO THE REAL WORLD AND THERE IS NO HASH, START ONE. IT IS A GREAT WAY TO MEET PEOPLE, AND SOME ONE IS BOUND TO SHOW YOU THEIR TITS ONE OF THESE DAYS.

CONTACT CIEGA TO SIGN UP. IT IS A HASHER’S DUTY TO BE A HARE.
BE A HARE, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS

RECEDING HARE LINE...
975 7/26 Marlboro Man (?)
976 8/02 Red Sasquatch
977 8/09 Cracker Jack
FM88 8/12 OPEN (Tuesday)
978 8/16 OPEN
979 8/23 M&M Man (?)

Run #971: THE “SEEM FAMILIAR “ RUN
HARES:  W.E.B., BUSTER BROWN
BOX:  McDONALDS IN CHALAN LAU LAU
ON HOME:   MOREGEN SAN VICENTE BLUFF
CASUALTIES:     THE FRENCH/VIETNAMESE HOBB KNOBBLER’S BRAIN CELLS, KRAMDEN’S SHINS (BEE STING)
RUN RATING:  .  **.5
DLMM RATING08

About 30 hounds showed up at the Bank of Guam.  There were also a couple of Rugby Groupies (Grab Ass and Hobb Nobbler) who just came to drink beer.  Included in the assemblage was the long gone Haj Dick Chair, Rude Boy, and several other Guamaniacs.   The box was announced as McD’s on Middle Road and we all headed there.  The hares gave special instructions (ribbon and flour) and then took off.  Since there were no special instructions, people just gabbed.  Cheshire Pussy made the mistake of being friendly with one of the Agony Hashers (which led to a wonderfully romantic song at the On Home).  After the 10-minute head start, the pack took off and found a checking at the entrance to the Saipan Country Club.  The trail followed this up and behind the clubhouse and into the entrance to the valley, which opens, into Chalan Kiya.  The trail followed the main road into the back part of the valley.  Another checking took the pack right onto the foothills of the jungle beneath San Pedro Chapel.  We continued up through the vine littered jungle until we came to a jeep trail, which runs just below the Bishops House.  The trail continued on this road and into a farm (which six months ago was newly dug) that was covered with mimosa and bees.  The trail continued through some light jungle and then pooped out over the Black Micro Quarry in San Vicente.  A steep descent down a gravel road took us down into the bowel of the earth.  The trail continued out to the main road and then checked left.  We passed the Japanese Gun Emplacement Memorial and then went towards Kannat Gardens.  But before we got to the entrance, there was a checking at an old dirt road that went up into the hills.  The trail continued for about 500 feet and then went into the jungle on the right.  It was  long, arduous journey up, until we came out in the back yard of the Guerrero house behind Stanford Resort.  We then went out to the main road, checked right, and went out to Morgen’s San Vicente Bluff.  Everyone got in before nightfall and a vehicle run was done.  The fire was started and the Tyrant piped up Religion.  First the hares were called forward and reminded us that this was the exact same trail they did almost exactly one year ago.  Visiting hashers were called forward and all of the Guamaniacs got up.  Dick Chair gave us a brief trip report of all that he had been doing the last year since he started chasing a particular Kiwi Skirt.  Hobb Nobbler got up and proved something my mother used to say.  Men’ preoccupation with TITS is because we were weaned too early (it is true for me).  Next we had courtesies from many people.  However the highlight of the event was when Dick Chair got up and returned the sacred urn, which had been stolen, from the Saipan Hash during Run 900.

Hob Nobbler did the flaming asshole (which I think was rather cool) around the circle and scared everyone who is not used to seeing a naked man with flames shooting out of his ass.  There were some jokes and courtesies (mostly from the Guam hashers I might add) and then the Agony hashers had to leave to catch the Brothel Crawl Express.  Swing Low was sung, the area policed, and the assembled headed down to Garapan or Hamiltons.  The Tyrant of course went home.

HASHING AROUND THE WORLD THE YEAR & 2003 & 2004
THE NEXT WORLD INTERHASH IN CARDIFF WALES. (WITH PRELIMINARY RUNS IN UK, CZECH REPUBLIC, FRANCE, ETC).
http://www.hasher.net/ih2004.htm

SH3 1000TH RUN AND AGPU.  JANUARY 15-19, 2004
DETAILS TO FOLLOW.

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM: HAJ. F, KRAMDEN, SIR
RA:                         DOG LEG
AAAARA:             OPEN
FIRE MASTER: OLY
D.L.MMMM TECHNICIAN: DOG LEG
HASH CASH:      CIEGA
TRAIL MASTER: DOG LEG
HASH SCRIBE:  TAG HOYER

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)

RECEDING HARELINE
973          7/12/03    RED SASQUATCH
974          7/19/03    HAJ F. KRAMDEN, SIR AND MR.HAPPY POCKETS (KRAMDENS 50th BIRTHDAY)
975          7/26/03    MARLBORO MAN
976          8/2/03      LADRONE
977          8/9/03      CRACKER JACK
978          8/16/03    OPEN
979          8/23/03    M&M MAN
980          8/30/03    KOWPADDY

IF YOU WANT TO SIGN UP TO BE A HARE, CONTACT CIEGA.  IT IS A HASHERS DUTY TO BE
A HARE.  BE SOMEBODY, SET TRAIL FOR  YOUR FRIENDS.
GOD BLESS AMERICA.  GOD BLESS THE SAIPAN HASH HOUSE HARRIERS.

EDITORIAL
We really need to do something about 7/12/03.  I won’t be here, Dog Leg won’t be here, we DO have a hare, but who will take care of all of the business like getting the coolers and stuff?  If you want to help, let me know. This IS a group activity and we should all be actively involved.  What happens when I die or get to old to hash?  What happens when Ciega dies or gets to old to hash?  Who will be responsible for carrying on the tradition?  Don’t be apart.  Be A PART.  Take some responsibility.

HASH BULLETIN BOARD
TO PUT SOMETHING IN THE TRASH  CONTACT TYRANT AT
 WOLF@SAIPAN.COM OR 236-2540.

RUN # 970: THE “SLIPPERY,WET, AND DANGEROUS CRACK” RUN
HARES:  DOG LEG & PISS BREAK
BOX:  SINCLAIR ESTATES ENTRANCE
ON HOME:   MARINE BEACH
CASUALTIES:     MYTH ABOUT PISSBREAKS ALLERGY TO BEES,SHERMAN AND JANEAN’S UPPER THIGHS
RUN RATING:  .  **.5
DLMM RATING: 0

18 hounds showed up at the BOG for a run that was touted as fantastic all week on the listbot.  2 underage FNG’s (Dominick and Conner) came with Dad Marik.  Pissbreak made an Iraqi girl named Jannean come, and the long missing Snaggle Pussy’s brother showed up. Princess Jama showed up after a long absence and brought someone name Lydia. The box was announced, directions given, and everyone told to follow someone else.  Once we parked and moved off the road and into the box, the hares gave special instructions.  There would be pink ribbon and white flour.  They also warned us about some newly cleared land, which had all the debris piled at one end and should be considered a minefield. So the hares took off and the Tyrant ‘splained the instructions to the FNG’s.  After the 10-minute head start, the pack was off.  No one wanted to check down hill, so they went west, except the Tyrant who figured somebody had to do it.  Fortunately for him, this was true trail.  Snitch Mutt stopped her car and said “The beer truck turned at Kagman”, so we knew it had to be Tank or Marine Beach. But the pack checked left at the Lourdes Shrine road.  The trail went down towards the Shrine intersection.  An on back on the As Teo road took the pack past the entrance to the shrine and an arrow, which took the pack out towards the houses on the bowels of As Teo.  The two young pups found trail between two houses, and off we went down to a farm with a fantastic view of the eastern side of the island, all the way out to Marpi.  The trail continued going down towards the ocean and eventually we found the “minefield.  The trail went into a pandanus grove that hugged the side of a cliff.  We had to climb down the cliff and here is where most of the injuries occurred.  Once down the cliff, we went into some ones farm, and found an old wall (pre-war it looked like) along side a road, which took us into a farm.  Grazing peacefully at the farm were a Bull and a heifer, and Beerhead whined so that she would not be left behind and the mercy of the bull.  We went past the animals and then back into the jungle where the trail followed the shoreline but about 100 feet back.  Soon we came to a place where there was a huge crack in the ground.  Pissbreak was there to help weenies like the Tyrant from hurting themselves climbing down the rock face. Unfortunately he was not able to help Sherman and Jannean who slit their thighs hpen on the first cliff. Once down on the beach, we went around onto the shelf and then over to the huge rock at the north end of the beach.  This is where we set up Religion. A vehicle run was done and half of the FNG’s never came back (except PJ and Lydia but only to get PJ’s purse).  Religion was piped up and the Tyrant called the hares up.  They blew great big gobs of smoke up each other’s Asses for the fine job they did. Next the FNGs were called up and only the girl disgraced herself by wiping her puss on the mantle.  There were many courtesies done to the run, and even some tales from the trail.  Jannean got up to tell a joke, which started the Tyrant off on his free association jokes.  More courtesies.  Inexpensive fireworks (heavy rocks thrown on the fire) in honor of July 4 were also done.  Eventually though, the vessel was retired, the area policed, and the assembled sang Swing Low.  Hamilton’s was the on on on but the Tyrant of course went home.

HASHING AROUND THE WORLD THE YEAR & 2003 & 2004
THE NEXT WORLD INTERHASH IN CARDIFF WALES. (WITH PRELIMINARY RUNS IN UK, CZECH REPUBLIC, FRANCE, ETC).
http://www.hasher.net/ih2004.htm

SH3 1000TH RUN AND AGPU.  JANUARY 15-19, 2004
DETAILS TO FOLLOW.

MISMANAGEMENT
TYRANT/GM: HAJ. F, KRAMDEN, SIR
RA:                    DOG LEG
AAAARA:        OPEN
FIRE MASTER: OLY
D.L.MMMM TECHNICIAN: DOG LEG
HASH CASH:      CIEGA
TRAIL MASTER: DOG LEG
HASH SCRIBE:  FILBO FAGGINS

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)

 RECEDING HARELINE
974          7/19/03    HAJ F. KRAMDEN, SIR AND MR.HAPPY POCKETS (KRAMDENS 50th BIRTHDAY)
975          7/26/03    MARLBORO MAN
976          8/2/03      LADRONE
977          8/9/03      CRACKER JACK
978          8/16/03    OPEN
979          8/23/03    M&M MAN
980          8/30/03    KOWPADDY

EDITORIAL
IF YOU WANT TO SIGN UP TO BE A HARE, CONTACT CIEGA.  IT IS A HASHERS DUTY TO BE
A HARE.  BE SOMEBODY, SET TRAIL FOR YOUR FRIENDS.
GOD BLESS AMERICA.  GOD BLESS THE SAIPAN HASH HOUSE HARRIERS.

HASH BULLETIN BOARD
TO PUT SOMETHING IN THE TRASH  CONTACT TYRANT AT  WOLF@SAIPAN.COM OR 236-2540.