Hare: P'Tooie, Lakey & Crazy Horse
Where: West End Fish Creek Park, near the Stables
On In: Dreary and Mum's homestead, 240 Shawmeadows Road SW
Attendance: 55
Well it all started out quite innocently. Neon Stripper was having trouble deciding where he should park his wee car, so many parking spaces not enough time. Dreary was without his horn. The Hash Mistress, Oral Fixation was definitely pleased with her wild romp with a Stranger up at Emerald Lake. Krusty was in his pajamas, and Smirk was questioning Right Bun about the mysterious marks on the inside of her leg. The circle went on without a hitch, unlike the previous week when Knobslinger had found nothing but condoms and a rubber glove in the wasp remedy kit. The introductions were rather uneventful except for a mammerable one liner from Pull-It. Said Flat, I'm not Bum Titty, I'm Flat. Said Pull-It, I'm not flat, I'm Pull-It.
'Twas a fine evening for a run down an interpretive trail in a quiet spruce scented forest. Right off the bat, the directionally challenged Lambchop was seen going the wrong way but managed to keep his shoes dry. Very odd behavior for an experienced surveyor (his sex partner must have been out of town for the weekend). The run went this way and eventually over a pristine 400-year-old moss laden north facing slope on the bank of the Elbow River following the marks of the hares, P'tooey and Lakey. The run initially went west according to Hash Test Dummy's compass, then up a steep cliff where Cheeks, was seen sitting in a lawn chair and reading a book, patiently waiting for us to arrive. Now with nothing to do for the evening, the inquisitive hasher Horse with No Name innocently asked the cohare Lakey where her regroup beer might be hiding. Whereupon we came upon Skully, the dark haired Indian maiden bent over trying to tie her shoe. A dangerous position to be in with a bunch of hashers coming up the rear.
The run followed a diligently marked trail of flour. The philosophy of the hares seemed to be to mark equally in all directions where possible. It appeared that the hares only changed this tactic near the end where they marked the true trail with an F for fence rather obscurely along the said fence line leaving Tiny Bubbles and Knobslinger hard pressed to find the trail. This seemed to serve well to get the group back together again as a bunch of hashers check chickened on a bridge waiting for the real trail to be called. Xena Warrior Princess seemed quite energized this evening, outdistancing most and showing a lot of stamina apparently after a rather inspirational weekend.
Well the rest is history as many a happy hasher made it back to Dreary and Mum's to an abundance of amber nectar despite Dreary's map. There was about 80 litres of the fabulous brew available in numerous varieties for the 60 or so lucky hashers that were able to find their way back. As a result of the great abundance of brew I cannot remember much. I do remember a story circulating of LumberJack trying to find all the lettered beads to his necklace that came apart on the sidewalk in front of the Dreary residence.
The food was great as fart-o-rama food generally is. There were 6 types of chili, 3 veggie and 3 meat. Apparently Krusty, the world renowned hash chili guru, had been called in the previous evening to test and certify the potency of each batch. Just as a horny Randy Bastard was dragging me away from the fart-o-rama a raging chili controversy seemed to be brewing. A conversation between Whalewanker, Hot on Trail with others joining seemed to be revolved around the accuracy of Krusty's determinations and whether he Should be removed as hash chili master. Unfortunately I was not privy to the conclusions of this intellectual debate. Did I say that the beer was great? Dreary's famous Raspberry, Sweet Brown Ale, Australian Draught, and Wild Rose's (commercial) Nut Brown Ale.
Honest, it's the Truth
On On!
Knobslinger
How about those Olympics? Excited as your editors are about the world's biggest t-shirt sale, we recognize that if you want to sell 8 billion barrels of Coca Cola and a few thousand SUV's, you have to keep the ratings up.
While spending the last Olympics in front of the TV for 14 consecutive days, (simultaneously performing running-related activities: stretching, boiling shiggy shoes in bleach,) we observed the evolution of the Olympics to a more viewer friendly event:
In the beginning there were the real (boring) sports, like fencing, field hockey, and figure skating.
This has morphed into less real but more interesting sports, like beach volleyball, which can be taped and watched endlessly (Go Brazil!) unlike, say, that sport where little guys walk really fast for 8 hours.
Now the Olympics are turning for viewership to more recreational style sports (by which we mean sports that can be competitively performed while drinking, like curling, softball, and ballroom dancing.)
But it's going to take more than drunken hammer throwers to get the discerning viewer away from the Canadian Millionaire Show (Pamela Wallin, rowrrrrrrrr.)
For viewer appeal, we would suggest some Hashing elements could be introduced to finally make the Games watchable:
We'd go on but we're in the final days of an intense training regimen, and the typing puts unnecessary strain on our pouring, lifting, and guzzling muscles.
On-On,
Yer Editors