Pinelake Hash House Harriers Run# 548
Saturday, June 21, 1997
2:30 pm

Japanese Beetles:
Cheetah tSleazy Rider tTesticlest Rock Hudson tRamjet tSoftballst Viper Vixent Newterd tNipletst Coffee Beant Redneck Mutha tAsscrackert Afterbirth tLikes Em Stifft Cums Collectt Slippery When Wett Red Eye tLove Byte tCleve Farabee tDefeshit tTracey Robertst Rude Dogt Lame Bahraint Pull My Stringt Fergie Dickt Back Seat Box tMinnie Brewt Rats Ass tSwamp Ratt Butt Nuttt Kaptain Krasht Put A Cock In Itt Sleaze Puppyt Bullshitt Cumcierge

Pool Filters:
Mushroom & (the original) Killer Bee

Iíve had reason to hear, often in a shrill, somewhat uncomfortable spit-shower ramble following a hash Iíve laid, that "a hash can always be improved by making it shorter." After this week, I want to add an addendum, and posite that there should be a hash in town with the following motto: "a hash can always be improved by ending at a pool." Trail could snake through a motivational convention for the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. Lay a water stop at a fat camp lavatory. End it at a pool. Youíll never hear the faintest subvocalization of "hash shit"

Last week, Mushroom And Killer Bee laid a great, short trail. They ended it at a pool.  We were too busy wailing on each other with Long Cylindrical Foam Shafts (why are we so Oedipally aggrieved? why ask why?), conducting bouyancy experiments on beer bottles in various stages of drainage, fouling water filters with that piquant blend of shiggy and  brown shards of glass from aformentioned bottles, egging on the designated <Insert Name> Dick to jump into the pool from Ionospheric hieght (followed by unashamed mockery of the idiot for actually doing it) (actually, this time it was Mushroom), remarking in the quieter moments on the relative brevity of the dayís trail, on how it started hot and filthy across an active construction site, then checked us down a hill through some weeds (leading us across another newly dozer-scraped parcel of red clay, and through a malarial creek leading straight through the Heart of Darkness), jumping in the athenian bath nearby which, it was agreed, was hot enought to melt schoolchildren, jumping back in the main pool and watching our arms warp and crack, continuing remeniscences we were distracted from earlier concerning the trail (concerning how it hit some suburban-type neighboorhood streets for a short jaunt, then meandered up a creek and out onto some more Cleaveresque roads before ending, all too abrubtly, at a shimmering oasis), reeling in confused horror as Ramjet starts Blowing on Long Cylindrical Foam Shafts (which gives him a crude, flaccid water cannon with a two foot range), laughing when Swamp Rat upped the ante by upturning the floating toy fountain, living dangerously within eyeshot of Back Seat Box now that heís detached the hose from the toy fountain and has a look of deserperation in his eyes, pouncing on freshly made nachos like ducks on a junebug, pulling cauterized stumps out of a hot tub that started glowing an eerie blue,  getting back in the pool where Ramjet is clumsily trying to mount the half-inflated dino-larva raft, barely paying attention as Ramjet got a down-down in anticipation of his virgin hare the following week, Viper Vixen recieves her mug for 100 runs, Likes Em Stiff downs one for being a returnee, virgin Cleve Farabee pays his dues, Tracey Roberts is named "Miss Deed," Ratís Ass recieves the Disemboweled Rubber Rat for some rodential reason, Fungus chugs one for being 2long, and the hares kill a couple for laying a fun trail, tentatively approaching the sauna, which now is a glittering, refracted vision of Hell Itself, towelling off and finishing the last of the beer, to notice that all of the cars had come and gone, and noone was coming back. So Rats Ass, Testicles, scribe-boy, Miss Deed and Pull My String piled into Ratís Assís sportscar, the latter three scrunched in the hatchback with the door open. Whcih was almost as fun as the hash, and lasted twice as long ...

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