Run #844 - The Spicy Ladies' Valentine's Day Massacre

February 15, 1999

Hares: Lakey, Clutchbag, HOT Dog, Chocolick and Cdn Beaver
Location: Hannibal's Pub

 

A brief historical introduction: In ancient Greece, some 5,000 years ago, the most beautiful goddess in all the heavens, Aphrodite, was pissed. Apparently, some blond, mere mortal woman named Cynthia, was causing all the men (including a few studly types Aphrodite had designs on) to swoon just by her very presence. Rather than going in for a facial and a new hairstyle, Aphrodite gave a special bow and arrow to her son, Eros, and commanded him to shoot the nearest man next to Cynthia. Once struck, Cynthia and this fortunate male would fall madly in love, eliminating this too hot babe from competing with Aphrodite for the hearts of men.

Regrettably, Eros was a klutz and stabbed himself with the arrow while he was steadying the bow before shooting. As a result, we celebrate Valentines day because Eros and Cynthia supposedly fell madly in love and lived happily ever after in a nice light blue bungalow with a white picket thorn hedge alongside the Parthenon. Cynthia, unfortunately, never got along with her none to amused mother in law, Aphrodite, but that's another story. And what is the deal with poor Eros?

The guy had to live with a domineering mom, got stabbed and then nabbed by a mere mortal. Where is the pathos, the sorrow, the angst of Eros's story? Instead everybody goes around all mushy, saying sweet things, and giving out hearts, flowers and candy. Only Al Capone ever got it right. We should be remembering the day poor Eros got nailed with a massacre!

And now back to our original story: Fast forward 5,000 years into the future and the Hash decides to remember Eros by running past heart shaped marks and nibbling on marshmallow hearts. But, I'm getting ahead of myself...

HEAD! who said Head?.... Approximately 51 hashers, a few dressed a little too cutely, circled up for the normal weekly nonsense dispensed by Knobby, hash poobah grand dragon supreme and just a few inches short of a ......well, we won't go into that here. Following Knobby, LJ, of "he's a lumberjack and with just a few more prescription pills, he'll be nearly ok" fame, announced he was doing another lightstick run from a pub down in Woodbine. "Oh, oh", I thought to myself, but, my foreboding sense of deja vu was quickly displaced by our red dressed hares (Lakey, Clutchbag, HOT Dog, Chocolick and Cdn Beaver) demonstrating run marks. In summary, if you've got a heart on, you're a happy hasher.

The run started normally enough; very decent February weather, just below freezing, and bare streets with a few icy patches located only where there are no lights to see them. And speaking of lights, the lights were definitely on in the house of the driver who almost ran over poor Batman in the pedestrian corridor with other cars stopped and waiting. Yes, the lights were on, but, sadly no one has been home since 1957. King Shit attempted to award the driver the hash shit, but, the hash shit declined, preferring to remain in our much safer and intelligent company.

For those of you who lust for detail instead of Aphrodite.... this is the way it went down. West through Rosedale, through SAIT, south through the Jubilee parking lot, over a cliff and down into Riley park. East through Hillhurst Sunnyside playing chicken with the LRT and to the base of a humungous hill. Up the damn (puff, puff) hill, to the regroup grope looking out over downtown. Our very thoughtful and romantically inclined hares passed out marshmallow nougat heart shaped treats. They were very tasty......and the treats were great too! A quick tour of the escarpment along Crescent Drive and back through Rosedale to the on-in. Have you ever noticed how normal and responsible hashers act when they see you standing there with a pad and pen? I can only surmise that all sexual peccadillos and personal faux pas on the run took place just outside my view.

However, back inside Hannibal's deli and karaoke palace things were heating up. Thong Q, referring to some recent activity, complained that it wasn't long enough. Ahem....... to whom it may concern and on behalf of those indirectly referenced... "Oh yeah? So what! At least we gots brains and can easily 'tink our way out of a wet paper bag! We're not just good looks, you know, we got plenty smarts too!"

As I approached Whale Wanker, I couldn't help but notice that he was transfixed, watching a very competitive lesbian billiards game. (Don't bother...yes, they still use balls in their game.) I believe Party Pumper wanted to join in, but, was lacking a partner and spent most of the evening vainly searching for a woman. I would guess that more than a few hashers would list that activity under the heading "hobbies and other interests" on their resumes.

In short order,  R.A. Wet One scanned the crowd and selected P'tooey, Butthead, Camshaft and Beaver Flats to serenade the assembled mass during the down downs.

First up were Thong Q, Krusty, ACD, Polevault and Left Bun for allegedly "dressing for the run". Presumably, that means the rest of us ran naked, which would account for all the horn honking along 16 Avenue and the breeze I felt going over the cliff from the Jube parking lot.

Several hashers were then downed for antics at the annual Camp Horizon snow trek and soiree. Always(with wings) was hoping a Princess Charming would recover his lost shoe and rescue him from his no-life hash existence. Hey, that's fairy tale stuff... in the real world the Princess makes him drink out of his shoe and staples his shoe to his sock so he won't lose it again. Cocktale got into a headstrong argument with a hot tub and in a tale eerily reminiscent of Wett Butt on New Year's eve, succumbed to the stronger structural integrity of the hot tub's position. Hardly was downed for wasting valuable washroom space in choosing to expire there as opposed to the much roomier hallway. Additionally, Hardly was also reprimanded for oozing copious amounts of ketchup over a perfectly clean kitchen knife.

Whale Wanker, who unbeknownst to most hashers was actually raised by whales and to this day attributes that fact to his ongoing affair with bottled water, was downed for a persistent and troubling drip.

Then new boots, Brenda and Kim, along with the hasher responsible for their presence, the archived A Bomb, along with visitor and ex-R.A. Skewbie, were downed for their heretofore in as before aforementioned..... uh... status. Personally, I have some concerns that "Brenda" and "Kim" may have been aliases used to protect themselves from any association with our performances. It seems to me that real world names should sound like "Prunella, Josephinia, Brunhildawurst or Gertrudedwina".

Suck Her was selected as the "most available male hasher at the drop of a bikini bottom" and he had to select his 3 spikey heeled dominatrixes to administer his whipping. New boot, alias "Kim", A Bomb and the "it's never long enough" Thonnnng Q, applied the punishment to his well deserving southern end. It's sad to think that those sexually repressed, too tight underwear Torontonians actually put people that have fun like this on trial.

And Twisted Sister received a down down because even though Wet One passed her 500 times during the run, Twisty still finished ahead of the R.A. I would like to take this opportunity to point out on behalf of all men, it would appear that the refusal to stop and ask for directions may not be located entirely within the "X" chromosome.

And now for the REALLY BIG, HOT STAGE SHOW!!!!

First up are the Spicy Hares; Baby Lakey, Posh Dog, Sporty Beaver, Scary Clutchy and Gingerchoc singing their fab new release "Tell me what you want, what you really, really want. you aren't going to get it, but, you can tell me anyways". Sadly, Tiny Bubbles and Blue Balls didn't hear the last part and assumed this was Santa Claus in February. Though disappointed the cavorting chicks weren't granting all wishes, they did have to admit the show was pretty awesome and there was a whole lotta shak'in goin on.

Next up are Willy Wanker and Smirkio Iglesias singing their heart tugg'in ballad, "To the one or two babes left in the world that we've somehow failed to seduce before" (it was just a computer snafu, so please, baby, don't be blue). Regrettably, stage security was very lax and one of those referred to ladies, Queen Poop I believe she called herself, actually made it up onto the stage and proceeded to make up for lost time with both Willy and Smirkio.

The Spicy Hares then reclaimed the stage with some very flashy see through (see Scary) sequined costumes and belted out "All that I want". All this reporter wants is a pair of those "up to there" black boots that Posh was wearing. Look up.... look way up....

Les Down Downs, part deux / the Down Downs, part duh?

Home Alone reclaimed the hash shit from King (Queen?) its so hard to be sure) Shit for the offenses of following Double Entry on the trail. As every hasher should know, Double Entry and the correct hash trail are generally regarded as mutually exclusive terms. By the way, congratulations to the often lost couple on their pending adoption of a new hasher!

Home Alone then spun the Wheeeeel ....of...... Deeeeeathhhhh!!!!! As a result, King Shit received an upside down down to the rollicking good time tune, "He's got a dose of clap on his dick".

Musical shenanigans, conniption fits and assorted potpourri

Dreary started the whole fooforra by giving us his melodious rendition of the accounting profession's all time favorite, "Born to be mild". This was soon followed by King Shit and Wet One singing Attila's hot weather crowd pleaser, "Summer Hun". Then a  larger group of Johnny cum lately Denvers assembled on stage to do Bill and Monica's special song, "Ly'in while she's playing with my coconut". Numerous,  somewhat musically inclined,  reincarnations ensued and by the time your scribe left, no one had been arrested yet. I know, you're asking why did I have to leave so soon?..... Oh, cum, cum.... you KNEW this was cumming.

A late night strawberry squasher and melon mangler was spotted cruising suspiciously through the fresh fruit section of the downtown Co-op. Fruit police were called to the scene. Officer Kiwi Kawky here! Just the pits, please ma'am.

LJ, of "He's a lumberjack and he's"... you know... the medicine thing from before, wishes to announce that he is no longer content with nor satisfied being.... 49. In that regard, hashers are invited to attend at LJ's - 2025 - 24A street S.W. on Sat. March 27 anytime after 7p.m., (B.Y.O.B...... prozac supplied) to support LJ in redefining himself as...... "not 49!"

p.p.s. As a direct consequence of their failure to supply your scribe with promised material for inclusion in this week's report, I have no choice but to carry through with the following threatened action:

"Hurry up! Let's get to the ON-IN before all the beer is gone!" hollered PYRO. "Oh quit BOBBIN around, you'll get your RIGHT BUN in a LIKE BEIGE knot" came the reply. "I gave my BUM and TITTY to a STRANGER to hold for me during the run and now he's gone and LOST IT so I can't go into the bar. It would be like walking in HAND SOLO and I say P'TOOEY on that".

and that's what happened that evening; so for all of us here, this is Loyd K. Whoreurrrrrr saying have a pleasant evening and...... HEY! Leave them cantaloupes alone buddy!


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