PikeLane Hash House Harriers

Because Life’s Too Short To Drink Cheap Beer

Where, Oh Where Has My Doggie Gone? Call the Hareline (770) 455-6952 ext.114



To Grandmother’s House We Go

Run # 638 April 17, 1999

Hares: Hand Tossed

Venue: Tucker High School
 
 
What would spring be without the annual car wash, sponsored by the local high school Association of Nubile 14-15 Year Old Girls. And what would hashing be without the perversity of the old farts who find themselves lusting after said Nubility.

Yes, in fine hash form, Hand Tossed started this week’s hash at Tucker High, where scantily-clad teen girls washed cars and taunted Rock Hudson until he could take it no more … he finally got the rocks up to ask how much for a wash. Not to be outdone, Asspacker proceeded to get his dog washed, which of course is pure brilliance before a hash.

Testiclees and I, on the other hand, mused from afar as to where our youth had gone, misspent and squandered. But I digress.

After a brief how-do-you-do from the hare, we were off, with the usual fanfare and well-wishes and short-cutting. Bitch with an Attitude held true to form and immediately headed towards LaVista, while the pack headed down towards the fields behind the school. A group of strollers led by Cums Collect followed Bitch, noting that Pine Lake Road was just around the corner.

The jaunt behind the school turned out to be a bit of a ruse, as the pack suddenly emerged back on Chamblee-Tucker Road and followed true trail in the opposite direction of those Short Cutting Bastards. Hah! Pine Lake Road! How obvious can you get! So much for experience.

Well, it sounded good when I convinced Testiclees not to follow Bitch. So, into the neighborhoods we went for the beginning of what would become many annoying little circle-jerks. Already at the back of the pack, Testiclees for some reason was in the mood to box. I, the willing sheep at this point, followed as we wound our way seemingly for miles through the neighborhoods without the sight of flour or the sounds of hashers. Until we ran into Asspacker and his spanking clean dog.

To make a long story even longer, true trail was finally found, and of course it headed back across Chamblee-Tucker towards Pine Lake Road and that wonderful little park nearby, and then up to LaVista where those SCBs obviously found flour and made a mockery of the rest of us. That’s when Short Stump showed up, querying how far behind we were. It was my impression that we were so far back that we would probably have to make camp at the next available rest area and signal for a rescue party.

As usual, I was wrong … thankfully, as I really didn’t want to have to worry about fighting for rations with the likes of Testiclees. Just around the next bend we hit the railroad tracks, and the pack. We bolted past the confused and bewildered group, and took our rightful place back in front. Until the next check.

The tracks split at this point, and Dr. Doo Doo noted that his hash sense (is that like Spidey-sense?) was telling him to go off to the right. Well, I’m truly impressed by his hash sense, but did he listen to it? Of course not … we’re hashers, and while we may have hash sense, we have no common sense. So off we went, following Kaptain Krash under Mountain Industrial Blvd. The woods on the other side were dark and forboding … you know, the kind where, in the past, spider monkeys have attacked me and made me their love slave (ref. Hash Trash # 604).

So, Rock Hudson and I decide to avoid said spider monkeys and continued to parallel the railroad tracks. Sadly, the sounds of whistles, horns and general frivolity faded into the woods, and we realized that we were being left far behind. Of course, for me, this was nothing new. Back through the woods, with much bushwacking and gnashing of teeth, we finally stumble across the pack, yet once again bewildered at a check. "Did anyone bother to check the creek?" I mused. Nay, nay … for it was wet and dank and smelly, even.

As if I haven’t rambled enough so far, allow me to continue. We followed the creek until we hit the Grand Canyon (or so it seemed) and then the blessed tunnel back under Mountain Industrial, only to find ourselves (gasp!) back where Doo Doo had his hash sense epiphany. Around the railroad cars we went, into the woods (again) and on out at a lovely cul-de-sac, where a much needed water and beer stop was found. Oddly enough, we also found Mt. Ajima and Angie, our visitors who just happened to be walking the trail. This, of course, did not bode well with Rock, for walkers should never be ahead of him.

From here, it was all down-hill … through some industrial parks, some more woods, and On-In at the same ending that Hand Tossed had used for his first lay. It took a while to get to the down-downs, as second-timer Neha made the fatal error of hanging around Spread Eagle … they were finally found back at the start. Too-longs included Sticky Fingers, Sticky Lips, Donkey Butt, Hog Heaven and Niplets; Bitch, Sioux-Z, Angie, and Mt. Ajima were visiting; Testiclees bought himself a house and Whine Ho will be living with him (repent sinners!); 5th timer Cynthia was named Screw the Pooch; and the hare was toasted.

Scribe: Rat’s Ass