Run #1451 - Nada

April 20, 2009

Hares: Booty Camp, ~~Snow Blower~~ Clueless
Where: Dicken's Pub
Big Rock: $4 pints
Attendance:

I suppose some comment about the weather being warm and balmy is in order. Didn't anyone tell the weather gods that it's still only April? Go figure, it will snow again by Wednesday. There, the weather is out of the way, now back to the regularly scheduled run.

There were many gathered at Dicken's Pub on Monday, despite the lures of patio beers and the Flames game, to sample the trail set by Booty Camp and a strangely Clueless-like rendition of Snow Blower. The circle was mercifully cut short so the pack didn't have to gaze at the sight of Whale Wanker sporting his naked legs in those gawdawful blue shorts again. Does he need to dip himself in a vat of liquid nitrogen to get those on?

So, the pack was off, either to follow the W trail or the H trail depending on one's hashing preference. The W trail looked a lot like the H trail for quite a while until eventually leaving the canyons of Downtown and heading out into the hinterlands of Sunnyside. Newly reconstructed Limp Dick led the way for a while until Billythong lured him down a back walkway and into oblivion with a sexy come-hither look. Luckily (or not, depending on your outlook) their shortcut put them right back on trail and the front of the pack again.

The trail inevitably ended up at the bottom of the Curling Club stairs, and it was Decision Time. Up? Down? Well down of course, and off we went through Prince's Island Park and eventually back to the bar.

King Shit was back from some light speed trip to Obama-land, where he managed to fit in a 10,000 KM bike trip, fireside chat with Barack, and escorting the Vienna Boy's Choir to a Baltimore concert hall on a scooter all into a single day. While Mr. King regaled his audience with the lurid details of his trip, Bobbin McRobin was preparing another down-down extravaganza for us all.

There was a distinct split in the down-down beverages observed. Grasshopper and Trad your naïve scribe thought — how thoughtful. But, Mucky Dip, putting several years of scientific training to use, immediately observed that the female recipients were getting the 'light' beer, and the guys were getting the beer looking beer. Suspicions were confirmed when Hash Test Dummy staggered back to her table after drinking her down down for her 400^th run looking a bit like she had been sucking on sour lemons. Cider! Her expression prompted Auntie Frank to wonder what kind of contest-from-hell he might have just won.

Mucky's scientific observations were put to the test when she was called up to celebrate a 69th run. Yup, cider, and the same sour lemons look. Dirty Dancer didn't stick around for his own 69th down-down, choosing instead to go home and re-create the experience with Mouthful.

Duke O'Hurl was thanked for his RA'ing the previous week by receiving a Krusty-esque apprentice sized welded metal Hash Thingy just before Brokeback Riding Hood of Death was called up for causing boners on trail( not sure if Limp Dick was around for this or not).

Pyro received a real beer for trying to give away his dirty laundry and wearing a lovely new pair of tartan boxers to the hash. Then D cups Twisty, Chick Lick and Rubber Made were called up so they could mock the A cups in the crowd. They got cider too, except for Rubber Made, who evidently has a lifetime beer exemption. Then in an attempt to clarify the strange goings-on, McRobin tried to explain away the gender discrimination with an odd joke about Tommy Tyranny and a bunch of Irish 10 year olds, and how boys learn at a young age to wish they were stallions not ponies.

During the resulting mayhem and insult tossing a few more down-downs were given out. Sticky Lips and Lost in Space for being completely oblivious to the fact there was a hockey game on, Knitwit for getting on the Permanent Visitor list, and Trish and Brian and Doreen for being fellow hashers.

There was a name floating about begging for a hasher to stick it on (Dicken's Cider), but Bobbin evidently had some sort of massive brain cramp at that exact moment so the opportunity for a classic hash name was lost.

The evening slowly dissolved into cozy groups pursuing the finer things in life; watching the end of the hockey game, eating 5$ pizzas, and taking Hungarian lessons by the fireplace. Lo fasz anyone?