Pinelake HHH Run# 542
Saturday, May 3rd, 1997
Terrace Shopping Center

Sperm:
Rats Ass • Testicles • MC Hasher • Lame Bahrain • Rude Dog • Breaststroke • Swamp Rat • Minnie Brew •Afterbirth •Ramjet • Mushroom •Go Blow • Whiner • Fun-To-Lick •Catamite • Sleazy Rider•Kaptain Krash • Dr. Doo Doo • Parents of Aforementioned Doo Doo • Back Seat Box •Tailgunner • Pull My String • Niplets • Tired Dick • Armadildo • Fergie Dick • Ride Me •Sloppy Seconds • Foreplay • My Boyfriend Joe • French Made

Ova:
Butt Nutt and Ding Dong


The LIVE trail commenced as we ran behind the shopping center and across a parking lot to the first check. I checked left and found a mark, then another, then a third … I was On! Needless to say, the backtrack I encountered left a dark little cloud over my head. And this was not to be the worst shaft I would receive …

So I catch up with the pack to the right as they follow flour down a hill across another parking lot to an office drive and another check. This one had everyone scratching their heads, alert to the faintest glimmer of white on pavement, when Dr. Doo-Doo starts whistling like a maniac at the sight of an "H" with an arrow painted on the asphalt.  Hounds come flying in from every angle, like piranha closing on a bleeding capybara, and slowly realize that someone has been playing fast and loose with their whistle, that someone being the duplicitous Doo-Doo. As he prepares for his due, blindfolded against the wall and smoking his first cigarette ever, which he quite visibly is enjoying, trail is found on the other side of the office building, quickly looping around to our side. The mob is distracted --- all sins forgiven.

The Hash pushes forth across a boarded-up bridge, then through a small stand of woods and up a hill to a check. Minnie Brew and I check right up a road (Nipletian Truth: always check UP the hill on a Ding-Dong hash) and hit flour going across a quiet four-lane into another office building complex. Taking off across a vast parking lot, I see Butt-Nutt and Ding-Dong in the distance, the haze not quite obscuring their bare asses, and I struggle to continue as wave upon ponderous wave of crippling nausea wash over me. Doubled over, my lunch straining for fresh air at the bottom of my throat, a beam (actually more of a fountain) of allegorical premium beer comes pouring from that little black cloud I’m hauling around, and I redouble my efforts to continue. I was later informed that the ass-challenged hares were mooning Whiner and Catamite, who were much closer to Ass Ground Zero and who, despite melted retinas, managed to snare the hares by smell alone.

As I approached the spot where I had last seen the hares, up on an overpass under construction, I hit a check. Checking left, I hit another backtrack. Of course, I was checking downhill. When I rallied a few more brain cells into activation, I followed Lame Bahrain and Tailgunner up the powerline ROW and found trail. Up and down we loped, then out around a pond to a road that many savvy shortcutters were streaming down. As Rat’s Ass hopelessly grilled the first cute female civilian he could find about the whereabouts of our wayward hares, Tailgunner and I cut up the road. He didn’t seem to be getting anywhere, quickly, so I cut back into the woods and found flour. And immediately hit a check.

THE check. This check illustrated quite well the aforementioned Nipletian truth. I first check across the road and down a parking lot ramp. Nothing. I then check right up a slight hill. Nothing. Somewhere in here Fergie-Dick is doing push ups. I half expect a midget to walk by speaking backwards. After about 10 minutes of ass-backward hashing, I glance up at the huge hill behind the check. Duh. So up the hill I go and meet up with Rat’s Ass and Breaststroke, right before the first water stop. Then we hit a check.

Rat’s Ass checks left, down a hill, and I check right, up a slight grade. Confident that I am correct, I nonetheless find nada. Rat’s Ass starts yelling something about "On", so I grudgingly turn around to follow. Backtrack. Backtracks today were a scourge. Flour actually went the original way I was headed, except trail veered off the road into some trees. We came jettisoning out into an apartment complex, where we noodled around a bit, then came upon a lake the color of  2000 Flushes. I asked the helpful fisherman (what was he THINKING?) if he had seen some idiots run by throwing flour. He said that one funny fella wearing a bathing suit meeting that general description had run DOWN the hill over there. Head uncomfortably far up my lower digestive tract, I run down the hill. I hit four or five marks, the a backtrack. It’s at this point the hash starts inexplicably feeling like the Benny Hill Show.

Flour picks up straight up a hill, around some more apartment buildings and into the woods. Then out of the woods, across a road, and screaming down an apartment complex drive. This constituted the bulk of the downhill encountered all day. We cruised through some more woods, then up a nice steep hill to water stop #2. Lots of great water on the trail today. Then we cruised across a grocery store parking lot and across 41 to a path skirting a little pond. I actually took the which-a-way down the hill to a dock on the pond. Starting to laugh hysterically, I caught back up with Kaptain Krash and the rest of my merry band, and we finally hit BN --- and up a cliff. Boy, that beer would taste good after scaling this monster. The top --- no beer. We follow trail through the woods --- no beer. We come to a clearing --- no beer. Breastroke finds trail to the left --- no beer. We run down to a creek and turn left --- no beer. Etc. Then we found beer. And a cool little pond behind an office building. Everyone loved the trail, Ding Dong preserved his place in the ranks of Consistently Killer Hares, and Butt Nutt was forgiven for that … thing … he was involved in a month back or so. Your pal, Niplets.


Down Downs:

Foreplay: Too long between , visitor from Dallas, DFL, paying with a $100 bill
Her Boyfriend Joe: by association
French Made: Too Long
Fergie Dick: Def Zebra Shoes, surreally doing push-ups on trail
Armadildo: Birthday
Tired Dick: Ridiculing those less fortunate
Back Seat Box & Minnie Brew: Inconsiderately showing affection for one another
Swamp Rat: Puking
Ramjet: Evading Hare duties
Whiner: Snare
Catamite: Snare
Go Blow: Bimbo + 18 mile run that morning
MC Hasher: Misnomer
Dr. Doo-Doo: Bringing Parents