Run #1072 - Another Monday Night in Hell:
A Hashers' Story

October 21, 2002

Hares: Lumberjack, Right Bun, Sticky Lips
Where: Discovery Ridge, Griffith Woods
Attendance: 46

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The night was nasty, not nasty in a good way mind. Just not nice , warm and squishy anymore. The Hash faithful were huddled around the few hot bodies that were offered up for sacrifice on this Monday evening. Woah, there's that sacrifice word again: it's stuck in a loop in what I euphemistically call my "mind".... You know, sacrifice.... Virgins..... (well, maybe sheep if we don't get caught helping them over the fence again.)

Anyway, circle-up, shiver, GM Spewbitchare spouting boring shit, inviting others to do the same.... yadayadayad... snore. All kinds of rubbish that no-one remembers 13 seconds into the run.

I woke up with a start....... Oh, the hares were letting LJ explain something. No, that isn't right. LJ was commandeering some expedition to outer somedamnwhere, and you'd better listen up or you'll drown/get lost/get eaten by non hashers/drown/run into a tree/drown. Or something like that.

The marks were AGAIN in the 10 cent light sticks. Maybe next year we can spring for the 22 cent ones that stay lit for 32 minutes, not seconds?

Anyway, OFF into the mud and slime: it was a terrific environment for a summer run, if it was summer, or if you were a rutting boar (or bore),.

Still it was really interesting for hashingdom's "activities" for the night, for those of you that missed the run and turned up at the bar later pretending to have had more important things to do.... You missed out severely!.

Imagine if you will, the sight from the local paupers' windows as we merrily rushed off into the bogs of SW Calgary, honking, yelling, slipping, sliding, careening off and into each other at the Hash's usual frantic ambling pace. Thank god for tough ankles and tougher livers!.

On and on went LJ's expedition to the edge of sanity (and past). His co-hares could be seen bleating vainly in the background as he forced the herd onward, upward, forever cajoling all for not seeing the invisible "Light Sticks".

Perhaps we could sue the maker of these feeble devices for misrepresentation? It seems that perhaps the name means that they suck light away from the surrounding sludge?

Speaking of sucking, who can ever forget the whining and wimpering of poor little Wetone on trail? I think she was trying to kick the shit out of someone again.

But there was PullSomething, merrily oblivious to the fact that she was blinding everyone with her Dalek headlight. Just when you got your nightsight back, either she, or some blithering idiot (ShitStick) with a CAMERA was determined to ensure that you ran blindly for at least 28% of the trail. Oh well, what was I saying about an entrance exam for the hash?

Fortunately that would require literacy, not lunacy, so you're all off the hook.

So, between being blinded, and running in slime "not above you soles" (Perhaps he meant "souls", but then the hash hasn't got any of them either) and fending off the amorous elk (or was that TinyBubbles) we all arrived back where we started, much to the surprise of many.

After feeble attempts to explain where the bar was, everyone careened off down the road to the former Kensington Arms, now called the PetersPeenuts, or something.

Most hashers arrived still covered in TrailCrap, (which is the honourable way of attending the ONIN by the way, not like the "to cool to hash" bashers.)

But of course, some still have to pretend that they are immune to dirt... You know who you are.....

Oh, yeah, we named someone, called lots of people up for abuse, and drank profusely in a gallant attempt to forget the severe entertainment afforded by yet another Monday night's misadventure in shiggyland.

Thanks LumpyJ/SLips/rooBun for a fine run that only lacked nice deep water and some razor wire to raise it into the realm of the truly surreal: something to wake up sweating and screaming about for weeks to come.

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