Run #1177 - Muskrat love mixed with Master mystery

July 19, 2004

Hares: Mydol and Ben Dover
Where: Bowness Park
On-In: River Inn
Temperature: about 23 degrees C with high humidity
Attendance: I counted 40 before runniing out of fingers and toes on my body and those standing beside me.

Twisty circled up the slightly moist group for the usual new boot, visitor and archived intros, announcements and other minutia. Although no one voiced their concern out loud, I could tell by the furrowed brows that Hashmaster Smirk's absence, for a second consecutive run, was noted. Had there been a quiet coup d'etat in the upper echelons of Hash mismanagement? Had our missing master fallen victim to the unrestrained ambitions and unsheathed swords of those only slightly lower on the mismanagement totem pole? Or was there perhaps an only slightly less gruesome, but, still machiavellian, plot afoot? Could Wet One, already indebted to Kawky for not taking home multiple hash shits from the July 5 run, have duct taped Smirk's hands and feet to his side while he slept? Could she have applied a little bacon grease to his bound body, slid him into a golf bag and Fed-ex'd him, minus the 3 wood and 8 iron, to a houseboat in Utah? Could Smirk have been forced into doing duty as an inexpensive bartender creating non-stop pina coladas and other umbrella girlie drinks for Wet One and her thirsty vacationing co-horts? Kawky was heard mentioning, to anyone that would listen (Gilley, Tracker), that he had for the first time in Hash history, passed Smirk's total run count tonight, so could he have been in on this shady scheme from its outset????

Unfortunately there was no beer available to loosen Kawky's lips and he would only respond with a shrug and sly smile when quizzed as to the missing master's whereabouts. Thus the investigation stalled in the station, was halted in the house and was given up before it ever got going. As a direct consequence, the group decided to go for a run instead. Mydol and Ben Dover's re-laid trail (monsoon rains washed out earlier efforts) took us West through the park to the Stoney Trail bridge, over the Bow River, East along the north shore line through some shiggy to the eastern footbridge over the Bow and back West along the south shore to the park. [link to Big Rock Brewery]

Back at the River Inn On-In, your surreptitious scribe stealthily scavenged the secret subtexts of the evening's sashay.

  1. Best impression of a 1977 Captain and Tennille song. Thunder Tits and Inspect Herbutt were running along together until they came across an overly amorous muskrat that took an immediate fancy to Inspect. Tossed aside like yesterday's newspaper, Thunder Tits apparently didn't have enough tail for this nature trail and Inspect wasn't seen again until the On-In when he reappeared with a sheepish grin, a little wet fur and a sardine behind his left ear.
  2. Krusty is Hash Cash.
    Krusty has a fancy, new red pick-me-up truck.
    Read that Krusty has just gotten a new federal Liberal sponsorship appointment.
  3. During the pre-run circle up, Tiny Bubbles paraded around a used pair of men's underwear that had been left at Perfesser's Stampede Hash run. No takers so T.B. hung them on a car antenna (what ever happened to Flames flags or fox tails?). Cumming back from the run, Kebab spied the solitary shorts, grabbed them and ran around with them hoping to attract more than flies. By this time Whale Wanker had arrived, spied his previously missing in action and now airborne unmentionables and invoked the historic right of Stanfield's salvage to reclaim his treasured trophy.

    I was in the middle of my next sizzling scandal when Hardly, chief poobah RA, announced that the run absent Hottie was to be the evening's guest RA. She claimed her watch was accidentally set to Victoria time, but, alas, the excuse had no traction. Hottie called up Tiny Bubbles, Aunty Frank, Pole Valut and Beaver Flats as the chord impaired choir. Down downs were destined to be delivered thusly:

    1. The hares for their picturesque, re-laid trail.
    2. Visitors Dolly Barter and Cums Naturally from Vancouver, ZZ Stop from a galaxy similar to our own, and archiveds Doris Day and Bloody Sheets.
    3. First hash shit (there should only be one....Hash God is going to be pissed) to Mouthful for no shiggy on her shoes.
    4. Second hash shit (a little thunder? hah! that was one choked Hash God planning a Noah style drenching) goes from Sticky Likker to Sticky Likker for racing Krusty on trail. Silly hasher. Apparently Sticky Lips's journey to Cardiff has resulted in a temporary loss of his sexual partner which has manifested itself in hallucinogenic images of Likker runnning at Mach 1 speeds. Try racing city buses until she returns. They are slower.
    5. Lost in Space for resembling a biker in a biker bar (ponytail, jeans, T-shirt and mirrored sunglasses with bug bits on them).
    6. Squeaky for 49 runs and not 50. Hey, I didn't not get 50 runs too!! A little beer over here, please!
    7. The 3rd hash shit (ooooooh!! Hash heresy! start building your arks now!) went to Pee-On and Tiny Bubbles for the forgetting of her sunglasses at Perfesser's and T.B's finding of the aforementioned unmentionables. They received the double headed, black mouthed, single shafted shit.
    8. Krusty received a pair of designer racing goggles to go with his swift set of wheels. ED NOTE: Krusty only bought the truck so he's have a comfortable place to sit when he's collecting Hash cash, not because it can get him to destinations any quicker than he could do on his own.
    9. The Blue Balls food report. Mr. Balls awarded an 8 1/2 out of 10 for the crunchy and tasty twenty cent wings.
    10. The 4th hash shit (OMIGOD!! You are pissing in the Hash God's garden, you haywire heathens!!) to Mum, for forgetting (yea, right!) her current hash shit, which was followed by the compulsory paddle wacking delivered by Jaws (a long overdue role reversal he mused).

    AND now back to the tawdry tales section:

  4. Hash Test and Mydol were flashing your intrepid reporter with nipples and other parts in a fruitless attempt to perplex my penmanship whilst I recorded Aunty Frank's tale of tediously tripping over something on the run until he tucked it into his sock and tripped over it no more. ED NOTE: We feel compelled to issue a fiction alert at this point in the proceedings.

And finally, the evening's activities drew to a close and your investigative ink slinger got into his light caramel chariot to drive over to the Co-Op and break in a new Fruit Police recruit.

As always, your quixotic scribbler,
Kawky Whoreurrrrrrrrrrrrr


Return to Calgary Hash House Harriers' home page