When Was da mu***fu***ing ruckus?: Saturday, April 19th, 1997
Where Was da mu***fu***ing ruckus?: Service Merchandise, Memorial & 285
What time, bitch?: 2:30pm
Gangsta's: Snoop Ratty Rat & B.I.G. Testicles
Ride Me Keyboard Queen Catamite MC Hasher Viper Vixen Cheetah Dumb Dick Minnie Brew Back Seat Box Pay Per View Momma View Poppa View Afterbirth Lame Bahrain Rude Dog Fergie Dick Go Blow Niplets Dr. Doo-Doo Stuart Flanagan TailGunner David Burns Defeshit Suck Her Balls Dumb Dick Butt Nutt Swamp Rat Michael Polydorff Tracy Roberts Sloppy Seconds Kaptain Krash Short Stump Coffee Bean Virgin Master Breaststroke Jeff Smith Chris Sears Mask Snyder Charlotte Sonia Clerbury Christian Torinson Hired Snatch Wisecracker Tiny Turret Hard Up Brian Saval Primer Banana Slut Asspacker Linda Ahn Pull My String Holy Dick Bumber Bullets Sanitary Not! Down Under Bunny Banger Good Head Kathleen Smith WonderBra Crotchrocket Little Pussy
Comin propa wit dat East Coast flava, Snoop Ratty Rat and B.I.G. Testicles
brought out da muthafu**ing ruckus last Saturday at Service Merchandise.
Ratty was stylin wit his Dr. Suess hat, an MC Hasher was all good wit
dat buck-tooth-ugly-sista-from -Hee-Haw look. Primer lookin like Macho
Man Randy Savage in Ganga gear.
OK, thats enough ebonics. I was about to blow a tongue gasket.
So anyway, there we all were, partying with big-ass Rat medallions, our new "Yo, Bitch" cassette tapes, and the tunes cranking out of a diminutive boom box in the back of someones pickup. Starting to yearn for a slug or two from the 40 oz. bottles which, rumor had it, were to be used as down-down swill. Starting to cook slowly on the asphalt. "So when the hell is this run starting?" the pack whined in unison. "Not long now" was the refrain from Snoop Ratty. Meanwhile, the real Freaknik, coalescing across the parking lot, was starting to digest my food for me (nice stereos). Finally, after much stalling, the hounds were released behind Service Merchandise. F**khead that I am, I fell for the flagrant "weed out the idiots" check in back of the shopping center, finding myself down a treacherous hill in a creek when true trail was found far above. You can tell I was pleased. So myself and my fellow unfortunates scrambled back up the hill, just in time to see Hired Snatch boxing over to Rockbridge Road. Heeding the warnings from our hare to stay with the pack this Saturday, my pod followed actual flour, and found the pack milling about on Memorial Drive, having been led on a nice semi-circle jerk. Up the hill, a check on the opposite side of Memorial led to trail to the right, through some nice scrub areas I never knew existed. Trail wound through some tall weeds, up a quick hill, through some woods, then out onto a road and into Indian Springs MARTA station. We were momentarily confused, still sniffing out flour, when Butt Nutt caught something written in chalk. We read the message and looked up in unison, angels sang, and we slowly focused on the Big Red Bus. Tongues wagging, we were informed that we couldnt touch the two kegs until we left MARTA premises by the lost hare, B.I.G. esticles. Seems he had a run in with MARTA police earlier, and this neatly explained the late start.
So then the bus sped off and the hounds were left to wonder at their good fortune, a keg upstairs and its sibling downstairs, being driven to no place in particular, as far as they were concerned. I caught a street name -- "Snapfinger" as the bus creaked to a halt and we were unceremoniously dumped in a project next to an anthrax-filled algae playground with a diving board. Shock was giving way to the realization that we actually had to Run again, and we dejectedly headed back toward Snapfinger Road, where we immediately hit a check. Which obviously went left.
These woods were an excellent run, and the wide, snaking trails looping up and down quickly got us back in the running mood. We are a fickle bunch. Anyway, trail eventually emptied out into a creek bed, for some nice shiggy leading into a nice tunnel. Nice. Through the tunnel we went, the BOOM Defeshit went down and butchered his hand against the concrete. This proved a nauseating distraction, which explains why I actually followed flour out of the creek, up into the woods, over the entrance to the next tunnel which I hadnt seen yet, and around to the front of the tunnel an in. Whew. So we go through the next tunnel, and things are starting to look familiar. I wager to Back Seat Box: "Bet we come out into a cul-de-sac up here." Back Seat acknowledges my God-like powers as we cruise out of the creek and into aformentioned cul-de-sac, and, more to the point, onto the Big Red Bus. Ahh, the end to a fine day of hashing, the bus scarily creeps out of the area, with low hanging branches periodically piercing the tranquility and frankly scaring the shit out of me, repeatedly.
Imagine our horror when the bus stopped at Avondale MARTA station and we were informed that more running was involved. After stammering a bit, walking around in tight spirals protesting the injustice of it all, we slowly drug our beaten, wet husks out of the station, our only solace the last words of Ratty Rat: "The rest is short --- HAHAHAHAHAHHA!!!gurgleblurb<sniff>." We veered down some familiar Decatur roads, inexorably vectoring toward the On-In, Rattys house. Renewed vigor as his house loomed on the horizon, and a smile involuntarily crept over my face, the end at last, the perfect end to a perfect hash. Then we chewed on dog shit.
Referring allegorically, of course, to the f**cking, oh what the hell, FUCKING check in front of his house, in front of the beer truck, in front of God and fellow man. Death to innosence, no less. I stood, a tear noodling down my Indian-pollution-commercial face as a few more jaded hashers found trail down the road. My group of obviously Tourrets-inflicted hashers soon followed suit.
After another gillion miles or so, through yet another creek and over some lovely slick rock, the Big Red Bus sat mocking us at the end of another cul-de-sac. This trail was a great, long thing, and ultimately I new I was beaten, its inferior. Then I started drinking
Down Downs (on the Big Red Bus in traffic --- cool!) :
Virginal: Sonia Clerbury, Christian Torgenson, Brian Saval, Kathleen
Smith, Stuart Flannigan, Jeff Smith
Holdin Hands: Back Seat Box & Minnie Brew
Dressed Like Dumb Dick: Ride Me
Dressed Like Ride Me: Dumb Dick
Best Dressed: Primer & Keyboard Queen
New Shoes: Rude Dog
Out of Towner: Pay-Per-View (White House HHH, D.C.)
5th Timers: David Burns (Double Pecker), Michael Polydorff (Soft Balls)