Run #1209 - Robbie Burns, Rubbie Buns

January 24, 2005

Hares: On-In, Sumpyton, Squeeky
Where: Key West Bar & Grill
Beer: $2 Big Rock bottles
Weather: 10 degrees C, first decent Monday night weather in about 6 weeks
Haggis Hashers: 62

Supreme exalted mattress, S'nevil, circled the fashionably plaid group just behind the bar. Introductions and non website info was dispensed with dispatch and the hares commenced their Rubbie Burns spiel. Fortunately they gave everyone a wee dram o' Scotch which helped us endure their harrowing haggis tale. Meanstwhile, Clutchbag checked under all the kilts to be sure the wearer's equipment was Hash sanctioned. As no prohibited "extender" equipment turned up, the pack was pointed Westward and moved forward at a blistering pace not seen since the height of turtle mating season last August.

The trail traipsed West through Millenium Park, North on 14th Street through the pedestrian underpass, then West again to the Bus Terminal and Southerly overtop of 9th Avenue, across the railroad tracks and straight into a checkback. After the train had passed, haggis hooting hashers made their way Eastwards through the Beltline area to 8th Street SW, then North through Downtown and back to the On In (the bar, not the hare).

Recounting the trail, hashers commented on the plethora of too early spring shiggy, the suspicious timing of the freight train and RA Sticky Lips new runnng style of walking whilst moving her arms to and fro to simulate running. I understand one of the dogs was actually fooled by this maneuver, but, I later learned he was just sucking up for a biscuit. Sinister stories included Sucks Everything's attempts to derail the 738 (the freight train). Initially he placed all his pocket change on the tracks and when the train failed to fall over from the weight of this small fortune of coinage, he attempted to latch onto something with more heft. I'm told he tried to get his mitts on Dreary's horn, but, missed and wound up grabbing something under one of the hare's kilts. During the resulting foo-for-a that happened as a direct result of this faux pas, the 738 passed by without incident. Further Rubbie related reports include Knobby and Left Bun's purchase of a new vehicle with a Scottish name...Was it a Toyota McAngus, a Rover McSterling or a Chevy Macunion?

Back at the On In (the bar, not the hare), the restless haggis hungry crowd sang one of their many off key renditions of "why are we masterbating?" to RA's , les Stickies (Lips and Likker). So Madame Lips banged her gavel and called the evening's ceremonies to order. First up were the kilted hares, On In (not the bar), Sumpyton and Flash in the pants for a well laid, train tracked trail. I should mention here, that the On In (the bar, not the hare) served us our favourite choices of Big Rock all night at a Hash special of $2.00 per bottle and it was later said that for this reason, amongst others, that On In enjoyed the On In.

Next came newer boot Daniel and Edmonton visitor, Copsucker (who says that she hardly ever gets speeding tickets anymore).

Fukawee was then given the big gulp down down for his 200th run. Congrats and don't lose that nice jacket!

Big Woody was downed for altering his name during the opening circle to "Huge Woody". Alas, Mom was the RA and noted that "big" was already a generous term and "huge" could only be justified if he was squaring off against a pack of well endowed squirrels. Hey, where'd those big nuts go???

Following closely behind, newer boot, Daniel was renamed "Tenderflake". News reports of an earlier bold robbery at Co Op where 50 tins of crisco were taken in a brazen daytime heist were said to be unrelated.

Blue Balls was then honoured for his 650th run by downing another big gulp down down.

And Ms. Bun of the Left persuasion was then paraded in front of the group to show off her kilting skills.

The RA's then summoned the Master of Hash Shittery, that doyen of Hash Dungdom, K. Whoreurrrrrrr, Esq.(Kawky), to award the Hash's pulchritudinous plunger award. Kawky kontenders included Bobbin Robin, Smirk and Flash in the Pants. A visibly nervous S'nevil breathed a sigh of relief. Bobbin earned his spot for some back lane activity with Beer Angel's dog. Although this activity is still just highly frowned upon in Calgary, it has recently been made unlawful even in sexually progressive Denmark. Smirk earned his spot for for his purchase of his kilt in true Scottish fashion. Faced with a choice of a woman's kilt for 17 quid or a man's kilt for 300 quid, Smirk opted to go unisexual and spent the saved money on beer. Flash in the Pants earned his spot and the Hash Shit for failing to rein in his 2 senior hares when they placed directional arrows on trail leading right to a checkback. As one of last week's recipients earned his Hash Shit for the identical inappropriate use of trail arrows offense, it would appear that the Hash learning curve is in a much deeper trough than initially suspected.

Then P'tooey and Dreary were downed for exceeding 5 verses of "hashing men" being sung to the Hash Shitees.

Finally, On In (the hare, not the bar) rose to give an "ode to a Haggis". I have tried to replicate the language of his sentimental sonnet.

sniff, brings tears to me eyes. Sumpyton then continued on in the same, cat hacking up a furball, but, in a softly syrupy vein.

Some concluding odds and sods. It was noted that at the start of the run, Peon and Kebab followed Knobby and P'tooey. Normally, not to bad a plan, but, in this case, Knobby and P'tooey were going back to their cars to fetch their pooches and the run went off in the opposite direction.

Rubber Made and Bobbin did Rubbie Burns in Edmonton last weekend and apparently, Ms. Made was forced to de-boob during the run because of the weight of snow that was building up on them. How exactly she managed to do this has Dolly Parton sitting on the edge of her seat.

And a question I was asked numerous times this evening, "Could Sticky Lips really be Calgary's Copsucker in disguise?"

I do note with some justified pride that my continuing campaign against fruit and veggie abuse has borne some....uhhhhh...fruit, as no turnips were needlessly traumatized during the construction of the evening's haggis. Of course there were a few degenerates (as always) who were noticed placing some mashed potatoes in a position to enhance their...ummm....equipment (goes in the front, not the back, as one unmentioned party hasn't quite figured out yet), but, as the pots were already mashed, the fix was already in, so there was no point for the kettle to call the pot, Party Pumper.

As always,
Your intrepid reporter in this Chinese year of the Kawk,
K. Whoreurrrrrr, esq.
Vegetable Constable, Class 1