What a hash! What a hash! Well it all started out quite innocently as usual for a Baby set run! Our highly esteemed hash hamster Poor Vault, looking more like Fred Flintstone (three days of growth on his face and just in from Manitoba) circled the throng up. Dreary needed a scribe so threatened to expose himself if no one came forward. Luckily Knobslinger always quick on the draw heroically came to the rescue. Whiteballs was probably the real hare for this run because Baby is lazy. Baby no doubt hijacked the crew from the naive Whiteballs after a few beers back at Whiteballs' that afternoon, for it was Baby who proudly presented the Q Gang (SQ, ThrongQ, and LostQ?) as his personal entourage of admiring cohares.
Again, good use of the cohare abuse principle was applied at a Bob's run, albeit by the interloping Baby! Apparently Baby had himself quite an afternoon, as the words Shy, Innocent and Naive were scrawled in lipstick scrawled on various parts of his Qhare's anatomy. For those of you who don't know Baby uses this approach to get his women. Now we know that things must have gotten a bit out of hand back at the Whiteballs' estate this afternoon, as was evidenced by what followed. After the initial tasteful exposure of skin by the Qs to explain the markings, the hash was subjected to Whiteballs' white butt with additional run information. Quite the traumatic experience! Don't worry Baby, we won't forget this soon!
'Twas a lovely warm and balmy evening and the run went this way and that following the creative markings of the cohares, as we know Baby is lazy! Apparently Whalewanker was seen doing his impression of the statue of liberty and Home Alone (whose sex partner was out of town this weekend) was quick to comment that he indeed did look a little stiff. Near the end of this tiny run, yours truly, Knobslinger, ran up a wrong alley only to find Whiteballs sitting in a lawn chair and reading a book while patiently waiting for the throng to arrive. Now with nothing to do for a few moments this inquisitive hasher innocently asked the sedentary Whiteballs where his regroup beer was hiding. Where upon the naive but generous Whiteballs said 'I only have six Kokanee's left in the fridge from the weekend!' On investigating the Whiteballs' kitchen on my way to said fridge, this humble scribe counted 22 dead soldiers. Now it made perfect sense why this run was so short! Too much planning! And it seemed perfectly logical to this faithful scribe that the hash should clean the decadent bastard out of his few remaining beers for this faux pas!
Well the rest is history hashers as a happy hash got a beer regroup! A beer regroup where Whiteballs' aim proved to be less than true. While aiming for a Lap Dog, Whiteballs nailed a Left Bun. Actually quite preferable if you ask me. Whiteballs' stream was seen to deflected off the incoming Lap Dog and hit a surprised Left Buns right smack on the numbers. Thereafter Left Buns claimed that she was very wet and indeed looked quite excited. As if this escapade was not quite enough for him, the ambitious Whiteballs grabbed his hose, dragged it around to the front of his house, and proceeded to squirt innocent harriettes passing by (what a perv). Due to the enormous size of his hose and the fact that it must have snagged on something, Whiteballs was seen to fall back thus causing him to skid across the pavement on his arse in front on the oncoming hash. What a performer, great entertainment this was!
At the OnIn, Lap Dog, the honorary RA presiding for this evening, dealt out punitive measures with his legendary military efficiency. Butt Head was downed for trying to steal RA beer. Then three candidates were brought forward for the prestigious Shit Gear Award; Knobslinger as usual, no doubt just because, Always for competitive running, and Bobbin Robin for investigating Left Buns' buns. The Shit Gear was especially sought after this evening because Hardly, the previous owner, had added a magical Indian rock carving to the Gear. This legendary ancient artifact stolen from the Gallery of Natural History at the Museum of the Regiments, is carved in the form of a phallic symbol and as legend would have it, is said to give the bearer incredible sexual abilities. Hash Amnesia restrains me from revealing who the lucky recipient was, however harriettes you have my permission as Jointmaster to research this out yourselves.
As always there were numerous rumors and innuendoes of sexual positions and experiences on trail, some more believable than others, and as usual the hash rewarded and honored those who performed the best with its usual gusto and enthusiasm. Later on, Thong Queueueue was seen to be trying to attract male hashers by wearing sheep's clothing, while Right Buns was heard offering to give wayward male hashers a ride home if they would sit on her lap. In this hypothetical situation would Left Buns be driving? Would the Left Bun know what the Right Bun was doing? Does the Right Bun have the right buns? Stay tuned to the CH3 web page http://onon.org/asm/ for the right answers to these provocative questions as well as new and exciting hyperbole!
Honest, it's the Truth
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