Run #863 - The Retro Run

or

You weel keep doing zee 70's over and over again until you get it right! schveinhooondt!

June 4, 1999

Hares: Wet One, Left Bun, Lakey & Whiteballs
Location:: The Embassy, 9 Avenue and 5 Street SW (beside Cowboys)

A brief historical perspective into the "retro" phenomenon:

Many of you hashers may not be aware of how the "retro" thing got started. Joan Rivers (Dahling.....Can we talk?) was lying in bed with a special someone. They had just finished the "in flagrante delicto" dance and this special someone asked Joan, "Was it good for you?" Joan, off in her own little world, thought about it a bit and replied, "Yes, it WAS good way back when, let me tell you how good it was. I'll start with 1970". Though he fought to stay awake and be a polite, sensitive, 90's kind of guy, special someone only lasted until Joan was at 1971 before dozing off. Talking to his buddies later, he told them how Joan had kept him UP half the night, yakking about 1970's, the music, the clothes, yadda, yadda, yadda.... His buddies figured an old set of clothes were cheaper than a viagra prescription, so they invested in some rather dated haberdashery to keep them at ...full mast...so to speak. Their lady friends were impressed with the results and even started wearing some very dated fashions themselves to encourage the boys and the results were very..uh.......uplifting. Soon everybody was rummaging through their old clothes drawer and, well, the rest is history.

At approximately 15 minutes and 4 seconds past 7:00pm on a beautiful Friday evening on June 4/99, 22 very sartorially challenged individuals gathered in the parking lot just west of the Embassy nightclub on 9 Ave. S.W. This menage a 22 provided a much needed diversion for the parking lot attendant who was watching his 35th Seinfeld rerun.

Penni, named after the Penny Lane Mall by her spelling challenged mother, and also related to Oral Fixation in marriage, was our only virgin. While I allow you time to let all the various subtle nuances of the previous sentence sink in, I should point out that I only report what goes on. I couldn't possibly dream up half the kinky shenanigans that go on every hash night.

And speaking of kinky shenanigans, Oral Fix unfortunately misread the hash sheet's announcement of the "retro run" as "sexo run" and came dressed as one of 3rd Avenue's finest.

While this didn't upset anyone in the hash, the block long lineup of men with $50 in their hand waiting for a turn did interfere somewhat with the operation of the circle.

Archived persona were Madame Zip Tease(formerly Pink n' Reddy, formerly Pinky, formerly "The name is Jane, I'd like to stay sane, so don't be giv'n me another goofy name!")and Brenda (of Kingshit and Brenda) who left us very early in the run because she has, as opposed to the rest of us on the run, a life.

The hares, Lakey, Left Bun, Whiteballs and R.A. diva, We Tone, instructed us that not only had checkbacks been outlawed for the evening, but, running on this run was not to be tolerated. This was apparently being done in deference to Smirk, who besides wearing a nicely dated frilly piece, also appeared with a spiffy pair of white patent slip ons with the standard, smooth as a baby's bottom, leather soles. As Johnny Chretien so amply demonstrated a few weeks ago, sporting activities and smooth leather soles make for good photo ops, but, little else.

As an aside, available now in your favourite music store, Smirk and the We Tones sing their biggest hit:

"Don't have to holler for my beer no 'mo
don't have to yell and hooter,
'cause I finally got me some smarts
and got myself hitched to a beer looter.
doo, doo, doo wah diddy, diddy dum, diddy doo??"

So off we ambled and meandered up and down through the Gulf Canada square and parkade (I did hear via the grapevine that both On-In and Party Pumper were seen moseying), until we reached the first of many refreshment reconnoiters. Crazy Horse (formerly Shadow, woofmeister extraordinaire) had graciously allowed Lakey and P'tooey to use his personal green conveyance to serve up an assortment of fluids of the golden brown variety that hashers seem to favour. Your intrepid reporter was taking his task so seriously that he neglected to finish his brewski by the time the hares were yelling "on on". Not being able to finish a beer quickly unless I'm being serenaded by my favourite tune, the "why are we slowly masterbating?" song, I discovered a real pocket in my houndstooth ensemble and parked my beverage there.

A short shuffle down 10th Ave. brought us to a fine establishment, Bottlescrew William's. What?

More beer?? Aw, do I have to??

White Balls, read us a list of various cues so that we could determine if we were indeed "retro" and not, as the rest of the patrons of Bottle Billy's had assumed, merely mildly retarded. Karaoke chanteuse and solitary R.A. this evening, We Tone, loquaciously lambasted Knobby (formerly stand up Knobby) for failing to dress. Embarrassed, Left Bun gave the hash grand poobah a genuine Dreary fart-o-rama bandana to cover himself with. So he tied it around his head. HEAD??? Who said head???

All male hashers in attendance were then asked to hoot loudly for the best retro dressed hasherette. Loudest hoots went to newer boot, Natalie, although Oral Fix was the only one that was actually offered any cash. The hasherettes were then treated to the one song every male hasher knows by heart from the age of 2, the horse's penis song.

We Tone then named Cher look-a-like, Natalie, as "Just Fox Me". An important note to hashers: when addressing Just Fox Me, one starts by saying "Just". Then one pauses and says "foxxxxxx".

While doing this, one must throw in a deep pelvic thrust. Those of you who have danced to "Time warp" from the "Rocky horror picture show" will know exactly how this is done. Then one follows up with "me" combined with a contented sigh. This reporter suggests that during the circle, all hashers assist Just fox me to ensure she develops the correct delivery so essential to conveying the full meaning and range of motion such a noble name necessarily entails.

Male hashers were then judged by the hasherettes for their ability to look ridiculous and drink beer...at the same time! Your reporter's innovatively attached sideburns and fu manchu and an interesting? clothing selection won him the loudest hoots, but, regrettably, no sex.

And then we were off again stumbling along the 8th Avenue mall to another beverage establishment. We all looked so fine in our outfits that some of the panhandlers offered us cash to "buy yourself some decent clothes, you look like you just stepped out of a "Welcome back, Cotter" episode".

HuH?? Whash zat yoou sed?? More beer! O'gay, o'gay, a guysh gotta do whatsh a guys gotta do".

Which, after too many brewskis is visit the seignor's room. While finding the way, I happened past the seignorita's room wherein I noticed that newer boot, Anthony, one of the Bun (I believe it was the Right one this time) and Clutchbag were carrying on some sort of musical washroom number which involved rotating stalls and Clutchy panting, "I'm cumm'in, I'm cumm'in!"

Soon we were staggering down the 8th Avenue mall again and somehow wound up back at the Embassy. From this point things get a little hazy. I remember coloured tickets, cheap beer, free beer, many margaritas, 3 flights of stairs, old music, Just Fox Me's hair attaching itself to just about everybodyÕs head (Head??, hoo sed head??) in the place including Lumberjack, who had joined us, and Mum teaching the bouncers how to line dance to Boney M.............

Oh, I just remembered! The chest exposition. I cannot honestly remember what incident started it, but, I was present and dutifully recorded the details. Clutch Bag and Left Bun got into this hotly contested chest exhibition. Now you can probably guess what happened next! Krusty, of course!

Krusty, as everyone knows, cannot resist a chest exposition. While somewhat disappointing for what he was bringing to this chesty cinema in terms of size, nevertheless, Just Fox Me and We Tone were doing the judging and I believe they left enough fingerprints on the evidence to keep a squad of detectives busy for a year.

Although by this time of the evening most of the hash ensemble were pretty much incoherent, certain well placed informants passed along a few interesting tidbits. It seems Smirk and a certain group of chocolate winkies have developed more than a passing interest in each other. And an appreciative female passed along that R.A. femme fatale-in-training, We Tone, was a better back of the neck kisser than King Shit. Of course, it goes without saying that had this hasherette poured a little Traditional on her neck, the results might have been very different.

Now I know that some of you hashers are saying, "I knew it! I knew Kawky would run out of ways to tie his hash report into that fruit abuse group he supports". Ah, then you don't really know the Whoreurrrrrrrrrrrrr....... cough, cough...sorry!...I got a piece of kiwi stuck in my throat.

And speaking of kiwi, I would like congratulate all the hashers attending this run because, during the entire evening, not one single melon was mangled, not one strawberry squished, nary a single peach or pear pawed, and no one boinked any bananas. Happily, I did not notice even one single episode of fruit stuffing in the male crotchal area to add size, not to mention flavour.

Remember, only YOU can prevent fruit flies! (by the way, it's "take a cherry to lunch" week)

Monsieur Kawky Whoreurrrrr (hash reporter and fine fruit savant)


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