Run #1351 - The American-Bulgarian Dream

August 6, 2007

Hares: Snow Plow and Big Country
Where: Bottomlands Park
On-In: Pints and Half-Pints
Big Rock: Well Duh!
Attendance: 29

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An enterprising hasher could:

1. Cross a slimy, radioactive moat, scramble up a weed-and-thistle-covered embankment and try not to become a speedbump on Deerfoot International Raceway.
    
2. Wander down the railroad tracks, hoping the 7:15 train from Airdrie wasn't chugging along at the same time.
    
3. Meander along the bike path, dodging juicing Lance Armstrong Larvae Wannabes as they try to shave their times and become the Next Biking Hero.
    
4. Traipse through the weeds and tall grass, watching others doing some combination of the above, and trying not to twist an ankle in the sometimes-hidden holes.
    
5. Something else.

Allegedly live co-hares Hyena and Big Country were tricky buggers in setting the rather lengthy and sometimes-difficult trail, but most hashers managed to eventually find their way to the beer re-group at the Tall One's house, and then to the finish back at the park.

Thank goodness for small miracles.

Then it was off to the bar on Edmonton Trail, where beer was drunk, songs were sung, food was eaten and drug-fueled Barry Bonds barely got a second glance on the TV as he unsuccessfully tried to break Hank Aaron's all-time home run record.

The lovely August evening provided plenty of fodder, for down-downs and otherwise. For instance:

• Hashers learned that Big Country and Snow Plow were living the American-Bulgarian dream — in Canada, no less — with a tidy green-and-white house with a picket fence and 3.4 children in a neighbourhood filled with neatly manicured lawns.

  On the downside, their slice of heaven is right across the street from where Lumberjack claims he was conceived in 1918 — ewwwww. But a check of Calgary property records shows the land belonged to Dr. Gord Frankenstein, who operated a rather bizarre laboratory, sort of like his cousin, the famous Frankenstein. Draw your own conclusions, if you dare.
   

• Cheap Whine showed it was possible to eat a pre-hash dinner of steak, lobster, caviar, chicken, potatoes, Thai food, ice cream and a glass of wine and still survive the trail.

  But, sadly, Ms. Whine had to leave the circle in a futile search for an unlocked washroom. What's a girl to do? Ms. Whine declined comment.

  Her gastronomical experience also apparently did nothing for her coordination during the Bum Titty song, so she had to drink for her total lack of rhythm, as did Snow Plow.
   

• Wet One and Smirk — remember them? — actually showed up again after a lengthy hiatus, apparently figuring a little Idaho goes a long way.
   
• Dastardly drank for the second consecutive week for his 400th run on the last night of his forced bachelorhood, which lasted eight months or so. He was kind enough to take time out from cleaning up cat puke in his Redwood Meadows mansion to run the hash.
   
• Speed demons Skewbic and Krusty took a page from Wet One and Snevil, and didn't really follow trail much at all, preferring instead to mock those who were, from a perch high atop a ridge. Of course, they managed a 32km run while others risked their general health and well-being trying to cross Slimy River.

  Of course, Skoob was totally lost and disoriented without his trusty Garmin GPS and Dick Tracy Two-Way Wrist Radio, which didn't fare well during a swim check in the Elbow River during the Rocky Mountain hash over the weekend.
   

• Twisty and Hardly did their 599th runs, and could barely contain their excitement at the prospect of reaching 600 next week. It'll be like Christmas, New Year's and Josh Groban's birthday all rolled into one, the Twisted One said.

As the night ended, next week's co-hares huddled at a table, plotting all sorts of top-secret and evil stuff for the cross-dresser run.

Yee-haw.

ON ON!
Duke of Hurl

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