Run #263

I wouldn't be spoutin' the blarney if I said hares Wrinkle O'Dick and the newly christened Golden McShoweri must've stolen someone's Lucky Charms to get the kind of sunny weather for their St. Patrick's Day run that Ireland hasn't seen since it revolted against Pangea. And like a pair of wee Leprechauns O'Dick and McShower set a run that even Sperm Banki couldn't complain about. After reuniting at Mad Murphy's with the trash who had never left from the prior nights' bagpipe-fueled debauch, the pack set off for Wrinkle Dickii and Kalishnikovi's love nest. It was there that Shower explained that at each checkpoint, a lucky hasher would have to read a joke and drink a beer, or else be forced to swallow Irish food -- while sober!

With that, the hash set out, soon leaving the O'Dicks' neighborhood, and headed for hills as lovely as inviting as an Irish lass after a few pints. At the first checkpoint, Wrinkled Wanker got the joke and a pint of Tien Shani, the best beer from here to Shimkent. At the next checkpoint came another joke - What's the difference between an Irish wedding and an Irish wake? One less drunk -- and another pint. The run proceeded among the hills and along the paths of Cock-to-be, at times passing through mud, snow, puddles, dirt and cow patricks, until the hash van was spotted, sticking out like a pack of Trojans in a Dublin chemist's. On approaching, Silver Ballsii picked up the scent of a woman (soaked in beer). Sure enough, the van was there, but not to give rides back to the circle, despite what Petophileii, Ara-feek! and Ira(land) thought. No, 'twas to supply some much needed alcohol to the exhausted runners. Buoyed by this carb injection, the trash ran back to Wrinkle O'Dick and Kalashnikovii's as fast as a pack of Irish cops on the trail of a doughnut thief.

In the circle, Grandmaster Johnnie Blackii, himself of Polish decent, though he likes a pint now and then (and in between) called all the Irish into the circle, and dealt out piss bottles full of liquid courage, poured by Petophileii, well assisted by Doggy Styleii. Many cell phone violators were dealt down-downs. Lunatitzii drank the golden nectar for shopping on the route. Virgins, a dying breed, were also given a taste of Sir John Barleycorn, as were returners, who supplied various lame reasons - surgery, work, childbirth (boo hoo, says the scribe) - for missing the hash. At the vote, the pack, still a bit crapulous from the many beer stops, gave the hares a rare universal thumbs-up, for which they had to swill beer.

Then it was Mighty Mouseii and SpaceShoti's turn. It seems the hashers have decided to go respectable, and tied the knot on Friday, in a ceremony witnessed by Silver Ballsii and reminiscent of a trip to the Department of Motor Vehicles, only with flowers. For that, SpaceShoti was made to down a bedpan full of beer, after which he smashed a glass - for once on purpose - making the whole thing legit in the eyes of the hash.

Then it was time for the namings. Golden Showerii, who was born Ashley, stirred the creative juices by showing up clad only in a pink towel. SheepFuckerii didn't need long to conjure up Golden Showerii, and the name stuck like a ballywheeny to a thumbfarneighelly, as they say in County Curdehrrehgie. Then it was Baurzhan's turn. SheepFuckerii again was quick off the mark, with "Allan," though despite the name's perverse connotations, the hash settled on Prevaricatorii, owing to the hasher being a scribbler, an ink-stained wretch or, if you will, a nattering nabob of negativism. Next came Dave, whom Space Shotii thought should be called Jean Reno, as he is the spitting image of this actor who noone other than SpaceShoti has ever heard of. Therefore, he got stuck with Lonely Whankerii, owing to his high position in a certain country's embassy to a certain country, that happens to have no embassy. Lastly, but not leastly came Nurgul, who being with child - who isn't nowadays? Krikers, it's like an Irish elementary school around here -- was spared any truly offensive names, and was subsequently denomme'd Kalishnikovi, because of a certain predilection to blood sport. To sanctify the holy namings, the trash showered the newly christened with enough beer to float the Kyrgyz navy.

Having taken out their aggressions on the undeserving, the Hash then adjourned to the American Bar and Grill, where the staff are forced to smile through the clever management tool of electro-shock collars.

Receding Hare-Line

25/03/01 Bamboii and Mindy - Nauryzii (4:00 PM START)
01/04/01 Johnnie Blackii and Space Shotii - April Fool's Day
08/04/01 Jane Fondleii and Pain In The Assii
15/04/01 Lunatitzii and SheepFuckerii - Lunatitzii's Bday, Easter and Tax time!!
22/04/01 Silver Ballsii and Yulya

Irish Culture Section
(plagiarized from www.gthhh.com):

There once was a young man from Brighton,
Who said to a young lass, "You're a tight'un!"
She said, "Listen, Hon,
You're in the wrong one.
There's plenty of room in the right one."
There was a young plumber of Lea,
Who was plumbing a girl by the sea.
She said, "Stop your plumbing,
There's somebody coming!";
Said the plumber, still plumbing, "It's me!"
There was a young nun from Siberia,
Endowed with a virginii interior,
Until an old monk,
Jumped into her bunk,
And now she's the Mother Superior.
There was a young woman named Melanie,
Who was asked by a man, "Do you sell any?"
She replied, "No siree,
I give it away for free.
To sell it, dear sir, is a felony.