Couched under the street, where few people greet, us Hashers began this run . It was a cool and Bat cave-ish. In other words, a perfect place for drunks, skunks, singers and ringers. Chalk talk began not at our feet but written high on the underground columns. Eye level Hash scratch was dominating our little space compared to the massive zone we were occupying. And so it began> South-cussin’-side >
Hares ‘Between a rock and a hard on’ and ‘TwoBlackGeyez’ figured out some alter egos ahead of time. I thought that maybe this day would be a sweaty mess but who knew that this FRB was going to challenge his own wit. I believe the “ungrateful BIATCH” reared its ugly head. But not immediately. We wound through some streets and into an area where water flowed and smiles followed. It was a lovely day for everyone to be running and walking and sexing, somewhere on trail. All was right with the world until, at the end of a tunnel, the CHECKBACK was seen. OOhhh that CB really smoked us because it was a double digit number. It happened to be the same number of years that Ungrateful Bitch has been alive. It should have read CB8. HAH.
This is where the checkpoint insanity really took off. Now I am a firm believer in keeping the pack together, and with these checks we DID stay together, but not without some grunts and groans from the fellow Hashers. Bohemian Phapsody pushed on to mark and sprint and re-mark and re-sprint and re-re-mark and re-re-sprint on. As we entered a grassy, grassy park one could feel the effects of nature. Just one could not touch it, or run on it. The pack was surrounded by large mounds of soft surfaced grass, locked into position by ropes. As a few of us broke the code and ascended the hills , the whistle of the park Ajoshi came into being. Thus, throwing off our sense of union with the pack. Where were we? Which way did he go, George, which way did he go? Who is blowing what and where? In aaaaaall directions and erections we went and came back, and went again and came back. Stranded, we turned to walking and griping.
Not all was lost, because as Ninja Baiter wandered off, probably to live up to his name and rub one out in secrecy, he stumbled upon the illusive, missing Hash mark and called out to us. I wonder if he finished roughing up his suspect before he decided to rope us back into the trail?
On on we went. Checkpoint-a-go-go. And once again, Ungrateful Bitch struck again. This time, leaving a kind note. A bag for beer check clinked, they are not supposed to sound like that, like EMPTY.
– Nestled between those empty promises was the note that read, “ungrateful bitch doesn’t care if you are thirsty!” SPANKED !
Up and down we stretched out, somewhere around mile 4 to 5 we reached the Olympic park. Much nicer views and and great sounds as we dipped and maneuvered through the national flags, the fountains and the fire. I believe there was a message to Fartjar suggesting not to engage the flame.
– Good call. No one likes a flaming Godzilla Butt.
It may have been at this point that the FRBs started to kick it in. Feeling the power of beer calling us, we pushed ahead. Feeling, no SMELLING, the hares just ahead of us. And as the last checkpoint split us, I took the advantage and charged. The end of the trail brought us in the backside of the underground lair. I could hear them saying, “run, RUN!” but this was not for me, it was for the Hares. I was that close, THAT CLOSE to spanking those ungrateful BITCHEs.
The pack entered from different areas and assumed the right of “BEER IN HAND.” This is the point at which the local “keepers of the city” barked at us from their perch. They relocated us, as it was raining, because they said they were going to flood this area, or that the area would flood. Hmmm?
So we all found a different singing zone which happened to be at the end of a pedestrian tunnel. Good in theory, not so good after enough Miller lite. Southside has a tendency to drink, a lot>> and it was with this that we welcomed our new virgins. Now I am sure that when one hears “Under the Sea,” visions of soft headed sea creatures dance around and frolic in the coral. Now when Korean children hear that song, they will be reminded of the interpretive dance they saw in that dark dark tunnel. I believe the theme involved a hobo fight, shoes in the air, lots of gyrating pelvises aaaaaand you get the picture. And now, so will they. “Mommy”?
Ungrateful bitch turned back into David Banner and handed out some bagtags which reflected his Hash name. With the pack being asked to bring a rock, some thought this meant bring a BIG rock from trail. As a result we built a tiny shrine to Oscar and they day that his parents happened to Fuck.
– Yiuh I said it.
Dan Rice became a new superstar , whose name still rings in my ear when I sleep. His naming allowed us to learn that he does not speak loudly nor does he have off the cusp remarks. But with enough beer and plenty of echoing banter, this new Hasher walks away from it all with the handle BLACKCOCK DOWN. Fandango. You wanna know why? Ask him over a beer.
All together this run, and Southside’s fanaticism, brought sweat and blood and cheers to us all. As someone who is just visiting, I was more than thrilled to be part of the crew again. I am still learning some of your names, so pardon me if I did not refer to you at all but you know what?
– Ungrateful bitches don’t give a shit about your title! On up IN YA !