A Break from the Long March at Buzzards
Run #799 was a pub crawl. Can you tell?
Calgary HHH prepares to celebrate its 800th Run! The executive
decision is made to start the weekend orgy of fun, sex, beer, sex,
mud, sex, green paint and shorts, sex, etc... on Friday night in
typical Hash style.
Background info:
We run 600 feet, go into a bar and guzzle beer for a 1/2 hour, run another 600 feet, go into another bar and guzzle beer for another 1/2 hour, and basically repeated the routine (why try to fix perfection?) until magically we reappeared at the start...the basement of the St. Louis hotel. Well, we're already here...might as well have another beer! Some hashers even tried dancing which took a lot of effort given how strenuous the early evening routine had been. ACD, momentarily lacking a dancing partner, attempted to coax one of the chairs onto the dance floor. I'm certain a picture of the ensuing tangled mess of breasts and spindly metal legs will appear shortly on the cover of your favorite tabloid paper... "Local hasherette and chair involved in messy love/dance quadrangle".
Midget Molester, (arriving from Puget Sound/Rain City hash) a Premier of Alberta Ralph Klein look-a-like, graciously accepted free beers in return for dispensing political views. Even Ralph's old St. Louis hotel drinking buddies didn't notice the switch and were very happy to have 'ol Ralphie back where he belonged, extolling on the merits of changing the slogan on Alberta license plates from "Wild Rose Country" to the "Let's drink, why think?" province.
 Gentlemen Prefer Boobs Dreary and a shy recruit at the St. Louis Hotel |
My psychic antenna must need a fine tuning adjustment.
Knobby, that cautious cursor of chequebook conniptions, circled the group because Pole Vault, the normal circle-meister, was haring the run with Lap Dog and felt it would be gauche if he introduced himself as hare. Like anybody in the hash would even know how to spell gawshe, gooch....it. Dreary opened the ceremonies by leading the troops in a rousing rendition of Father Abraham. Regrettably, I was standing next to Fukawee so I still don't know the words, but, I do recall that loud off-key humming and "bang-bang!" form an integral part of the lyrics.
 Officers are Rigid about Inspections Lap Dög, Tonka F*ck and Jacquie |
Many (it seemed like a bazillion) visitors and new boots from all over Canada, the U.S. and elsewhere were introduced. I missed the names due to ringing in my ears which sounded a lot like "stand up Knobby!"
Mucky Dip and Clutchbag were then singled out for special face paint attention for having tried to avoid looking like the rest of us, who, by now were covered with green camouflage paint so that we could sneak up on the unsuspecting nearby forest and pretend we were just noisy grass.
Tonka F*ck from Houston and Jacquie from Florida then entered the circle, bared their pulchritudinous posteriors for the benefit of Lap Dog who used their curvaceous canvasses to draw his "ass...ault on the beer" battle plan.
The first battalion headed west out of the campground in a full frontal assault that dissipated as quickly as it had started due to the lack of any trail markings to follow. And besides, we had run for 3 1/2 minutes without encountering shiggy, an obvious clue we were not on the trail. So the backup squad turned south and headed into a major swamp instead.
While the rest of the herd swaggered through the swamp, I chose to follow Double Entree and Fukawee who reconnoitered around the route, then foraged through the forest, thimbled through the thicket and finally meandered out into an open meadow. We were met by Swallow It who was shouting "who is leading this army anyways?" . It was just about that time when Lap Dog showed up to announce that we had been running the route in reverse. OH!.... we knew that.
By the time I caught up to Lap Dog again we were on a bluff overlooking a large island surrounded by a wannabe river that was more like a marshy bog. As we watched the hashers below wallowing in the waves the long arm of the eco-law caught up with the harried hare. Dudly Huggatreeright and his fetching, stilleto-heeled hiking boot sidekick, the foxy Ranger Lady, were about to put the cuffs on the hassled hare for the hash's obvious "frightening of the floral fauna without appropriate documentation". "No more forest for you, city boy!" exclaimed Dudley. "But, I haven't even made it to the regroup yet, and besides they're not even on the right trail anyways," whined the wascally wabbit. "Couldn't I just have a quick spanking from Ranger Lady and we'll call it even?"
While Lap Dog was negotiating for a few extra whips and whacks, I noticed Smirk sashaying singularly on the north shore. The rest of the hash was hollering and hacking their way through the forest on the south shore. Now any seasoned hasher will tell you, although Smirk's pace may have slowed down temporarily, his nose for Big Rock is infallible. By the time the rest of the hash arrived at the regroup, Smirk and I along with Lakey and Dreary were well into the brown beverage.
Unfortunately for your surreptitious scribe, my dry clothes and feet were noticed by Daddy's Little Girl and Thong Queue. DLG, always one to share, allowed me to sample some of her moist footwear while a soaken wet TQ scootched up to your up till now dry scribe and provided him with an.... uplifting experience.
Meanstwhile, sexual offenses were taking place in the water like a fruit fly convention on a piece of christmas cake. Knobby and Creamy Mouthful started the aquatic perversions and were quickly joined by Jacquie and Clutchbag who had trouble keeping their shorts on. Discipline was finally brought down by Pole Vault who proceeded to spank Jacquie's by now quite recognizable posterior, however, he had to stop after 50 whacks because she was enjoying herself too much.
 Grunts in the Bushes |
Paddy Wanker, feeling the effects of the beverage du jour, decided to run ahead of the pack to relieve himself in the shade of a nice birch tree. In his haste, he failed to notice the trail markings on the tree and the hash couldn't understand why he was yelling "go away" instead of "on-on".
Soon the hash encountered another swamp and that left Nookie and I as the only two left with still relatively dry feet. We decided to rely on my slightly bent psychic antenna and navigate a different way back. After 15 minutes of aimless wandering, we managed to miraculously merge with the rest of the pack about 300 yards from the on-in. Which, as I always say, just goes to prove that beer is thicker than water.... or a rolling stitch gathers 9 mosslings.... a bird in your hand means poop in your palm..... well anyways... your picture gets the drift.
Back at the on-in a thirsty Pelvic Thrust noted that Dreary was cumming too foamy. I'm certain a little bit more fibre in the diet would cure that. Twisted Sister shared that Hardly was giving the Energizer Bunny a run for his money, as he just keeps going and going and... perhaps a little less fibre in the diet for him. Then Beaver Flats announced that since it was going to be a cold evening, she and ACD could use some male tent warmers. TPL offered his 6 inches of foam. God only knows what kind of diet would cure that.
Mary, a virgin hasher complained that hashers go too deep when they get wet.... so is this like, a bad thing?
Skewbie, once again back in the saddle as R.A., decided to ice the 2 hapless hares for setting a trail that brought Dudley and the foxy Ranger Lady down from their tree house.
Humungously huge numbers (I only gots 10 fingers 'n 10 toes) of visitors and new boots were all rewarded for partaking in the beer posse.
 The Cold Water had Visible Consequences P'Tooie is debriefed after his 100th run |
And, of course, Jacquie and Tonka F*ck were downed for their posterior poses and naturally seized the opportunity to give anyone who hadn't caught a glimpse earlier, the full view, the broad picture as it were, 'da whole cheeeky enchilada!
Tiny Bubbles (who incidentally did such an amazingly accurate portrayal of a beached beluga after dinner that the Vancouver aquarium is offering him work), Perfesser and Pole Vault were downed for their successful negotiations with the rangers. Unfortunately for Lap Dog, "No more spankings for you, city boy!" as Ranger Lady's hand was needed elsewhere.
Monsieur P'tooie received his 100th run mug for his 101st run. Don't ask me, it's the new math.
And finally, ACD and Wett Butt were awarded for having the incredible foresight to plan their birthdays to coincide with our festive weekend orgy.
Hardly, chief olympic persona and advertising bunny competitor, gathered up a grope of volunteers for the first competition... the banana with whipped cream sucking/swallowing event. 12 co-ed teams inhaled the quivering, sticky upright member in a messy fight to the finish. This scribe saw it as a tie between the well muscled team of Wet One and Paddy Wanker and the precise military execution offered by the Lap Dog and Tonka F*ck team.
As many of you readers are aware, this would not be a true Kawky scribing experience without at least a momentary divergence to reflect on my favorite cause of concern... the wanton and lustful abuse of young, innocent and defenseless fruit. In this case it was young, beautiful Chiquita bananas, plucked from their vines in the prime of their lives, peeled bare in front of a with 1 banana at a drunken orgy; then its a couple of sweet, young cantaloupes behind the frozen food counter at Safeway and ultimately you get busted attacking a kiwi fruit at CO-OP. Do everybody a favour, seek professional help now, from your local chapter of fruit abusers anonymous... while you still have a reputation left to protect.
 Fruit Abuse Home Alone and Wett Butt lustfully gobble young, innocent and defenseless fruit |
 Yes! We Have No Banana! Bag Lady IV ends the agony |
Event number 2 involved a no fingers tapioca sucking contest that went down to the wire between that I'm comfortable anywhere tongue of Cock Tale's pitted against the experienced tongue of Midget Molester. Sorry, I didn't see who won as I was transfixed watching 007 continue to suck that little cup long after the competition ended. That tongue was one happy camper!
The final competition before dinner involved a messy pie eating/scarfing extravaganza that was handily won by the now experienced team of Wet One and Paddy Wanker.
How do you satisfy 75 hungry, horny hashers? No, no White Balls. It's not a riddle... it's rhetorical. You have the All U Can Eat Alta. Beef guys cook for you and they did and we ate and ate and ate (see TB/beluga impersonation reference earlier).
During the too polite dinner conversation, Mucky Dip gushed about how she got her "tires changed" by the rib tongued Skewbie the previous evening. The very same R.A. then used a momentary lull in the conversation to hand off the hash shit to Lap Dog for so me well deserved sexual infarction. It seems to me that the pot should not call the kettle, Billy or .....whatever.
The relay team of (I find clothes too restricting)Jacquie, Tonka F*ck, Lap Dog and Dreary and aided somewhat by your faithful scribe who failed to halt Dreary at full gallop, coasted to an easy win in the first event.
The second event, a reprise of last year's "izzy dizzy, go hurl on someone else's shoes" episode, was won by the same team whose adept sense of balance was wonderful. Almost as wonderful as the fact that my shoes came out of the event unscathed.
Finally, the last event involved a grapefruit under the chin pass off without using hands. Well, not only were hands used, but grapefruits were mercilessly molested so I could not, in good conscience, write about a winner. Poor Dolly, he waited so patiently for his grapefruit to arrive, but, it never did and by the time he made it back to the start, all that was left was fruit salad.
As the hashers slowly assembled around the campfire to plan sexual conquests for later in the evening, Midget Molester regaled the group with a 10 minute, fully rhyming rendition of "The girls from Irian Jyah". It had something to do religion, drinking, beautiful women, exotic locations and lost penises.... mostly in that order.
Dreary was in the middle of describing, in song of course, what he was doing in the woodpecker's hole when the rangers drove up. A second later we witnessed a seamless transition to "Koombaya" and then back to the woodpecker as they drove off.
The evening continued in this fashion of singing, drinking and witty sexual innuendoes and double entendres, but, alas I had to leave early. The CB radio squawked to life in the Kawky mobile alerting me to a pack of peaches being pawed and pursued in Pembrooke Meadows. Duty called.
In a late breaking news story provided by this scribe's news sources, it appears that Nipple Detector has finally solved the age old male problem of what to do on a Saturday night when you are at a party and there are too many guys and not enough chicks. I'm told that the always resourceful Nip, spent the balance of Saturday evening dressed as a woman and now has at least 3 dates lined up for this week. You know what they say... after 1 a.m., the women just keep getting prettier and prettier.
And someone noticed Beaver Flats having difficulty refueling at a self service gas station. Apparently the concept of sticking the hose in the tank herself didn't sit right with this hasherette. B.F. noted that she prefers full service stations where you just sit there and the guys cum to you and stick it right in your tank.
On on until the next time... Monsieur Le Kawky "protect the cherries" Whoreurrrrrreee
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