At hashy hour on Friday night, Cum So Hard Me Die asked me “Hey, you want to go to Phoenix with us tomorrow?” I replied with “Sure, I’m not doing anything else. Why not?” Best decision I’ve made in a long time.

Saturday morning I had to speak at graduation at the preschool where I work. I left there and made a beeline for the nearest place to purchase beer. By the time I got home, Is It In Yet? was knee deep in a 30 pack of Milwaukee’s Best (hereafter referred to as “the beast”), and Didya Bite My Penis? had to extricate him from my house by pulling his ear.

Once on the road, we met up with Stick Me Anywhere, Gummee! and Royal(e with cheese) Flush. Most of us prelubed all the way up to Phoenix, and Royal decided that he really needed to rub his scrotum on the outside of the car door, the easiest way to do so being to moon us.

We arrived at the runstart an hour before the pack was due, and decided the best course of action was to sit in the parking lot, drink beer and call everyone we knew in Phoenix to harrass and harangue them. As we were settling in, the hares Steer Queer and Heiferfearzen went running by, dropping flour. Thinking we’d missed the beginning of the hash entirely (we must have for them to be laying trail, they wouldn’t dream of prelaying, right?), we chased them down the street. We nearly caught them, too, but realized our beer was getting warm and they had to come back to us at some point (aka 4 o’clock).

Hashers did begin rolling up, and I met a lot of new folks. Mostly because the ones I already knew were up at Bay to Breakers. As trail began, Gummee! Cum So Hard and I shortcutted straight to the bar. I’m not sure how we did it, but we were the FRBs going into the first beercheck. After we left the bar, we struggled, but Gummee! and I managed to shuffle our way to the second beercheck, in a park. As we were leaving, we were nearly mowed down by an SUV, until we realized it was a hare, and thus he was mooned.

At this point, things get a little fuzzy, but I do remember circle was a blast. Royal dropped his beer, Gummee got harrassed for not showing us his joke or singing us a body part, and we frightened the small children who kept walking by.  Didya rounded us up (meow!) and put us in the truck and we followed Too Short to a liquor store where I was sent in to buy all the beer. Thanks guys. Didya was showing off his gams in a lovely skirt that was arguably shorter than mine, and didn’t want the cashier to proposition him. Gay’s Ok!

When we got to Steer Queer’s place, the party was relatively quiet and tame. So much so that Didya and Too Short decided to go to another “party”, which ended up being the worst decision made all weekend. Moments after they left (and possibly because they left….) naked hashers and harriettes of every shape, size and flavor began jumping off the roof and into the pool. Once that had lost it’s thrill (3 hours later), the party moved inside and the kitchen was declared a “top free zone”.

The next morning we woke to the dulcet tones of Is It In Yet? bitching about something or other, and Royal cracking open another beer. Didya Bite My Penis? and Too Short arrived looking well rested and knew they had missed something. We filled them in on the boobies that got away and we went to breakfast. We sat ourselves, in direct conflict with the very polite sign and began cursing loudly so we’d have the patio to ourselves. Really, there should be a hasher section or every restaurant. A well ventilated but soundproof room would do nicely.

Ater a quick pit stop at the grocery store to restock the coolers we headed(!) to the river for some real relaxation. Tubing down the river was amazing, and I was sober. I can only imagine how great it would have been while intoxicated. The Salt River: where you can meet new and interesting people and pelt them with marshmallows as you urinate on yourself. Interestingly, we had beer left over. Unsuprisingly it was all the beast. I think 3i found a sale at JimBobJohnnyRay’s Discount Swill and Pig Feed store and bought 8 30 packs. I told him to save the cans to make some aluminium siding for the Meth Mansion.

I was the Designated Driver, thus the only one to witness the thunderstorm on the way home. Everyone else was passed out in the back seat (Cum So Hard), copping a cheap feel of the passed out girl (3i), or catatonically staring straight ahead (Didya).

We arrived in Tucson in time to catch part of the BBQ at Fatty’s place (We all live at Fatty’s fuckin’ house, Fatty’s fuckin’ house, Fatty’s fuckin’ house….), and I must say, the band was pretty good.

Thanks for showing us a great time, Phoenix! Expect to see my face (among other parts) up there again soon!

On – it’s not really that far – on,
Here 2 Get Laid

Today, April 15th, is my 2nd hash analversary.
2 Years ago, today, Dyin’ to Gobble Cock took me out to my first hash, I remember it as though it was yesterday (although the bruises have since healed), it was a bright warm Sunday in San Diego and the Runstart was at a park and ride at the 805 and Governor. London’s Bitch was haring, and Swallow Bitzch was GM. Those were simpler times, times when hash songs made me spit out my beer in amusement and I had to ask Gobble “what the hell is going on?” when the Humpin’ hashers launched into their world famous debauchery. As we were driving away, I knew. These were my people. The hash is my home.

Over the course of the next few months, I had a lot of firsts in my life. First time I’d ever attended church and chugged a beer within an hour, first time I’d ever climbed in a storm drain, first time I said the phrase “I’ll show you my boobs if you bring me a beer.”

Then, one of the most nerve wracking experiences in any hasher’s life: I got named! Most everyone has heard this story, so I won’t bore you with it again (ask me when I’m drunk, it gets much better), but I’m very proud that I got named almost exactly 6 weeks after I began hashing, by the Humpin’ Hash, at the Humpin’ Campout. I was also the first naming of that weekend. I shared the honor (and once you’re on her…) with Blukake (how the hell are we spelling that? 2 years later, I’m still not sure) and Matzo Ball Me You Sperm Gurgling Butt Whore (I think…)

What am I doing tonight to celebrate my hashtory? Going to a hash of course! Mr. Happy’s, to be precise, our little gem of a pickup hash in Tucson. I’m drinkin’ one for you tonight Dyin’ to Gobble Cock. Thanks for bringing me out to my first hash!

First off, I apologize for not writing many recent events up. I resolve to be a better hash trash in the future, please don’t open season me.

Friday afternoon I arrived at the airport and nearly walked right past At Your Cervixxx. Luckily enough, she knows my nerd name and was able to stop me. We met up with Skanky in time to find out that our flight was delayed about an hour. Once we finally got on the plane, we got our drink on. Skanky was the alcohol angel and somehow managed to get a ton of booze on board in little bottles. The flight was only an hour long, yet Cervixx managed to get the number of the guy sitting in front of us, Chuck.

Once we landed in Tucson, we met up with my hash mama D-Cup and found out that our ride was running late. No problem, a couple of phone calls and Royal Flush (of Humpin’ Beermeister fame) was on his way to pick us up. He took us directly to a bar so we could get some grub and some beer before heading (!) over to the hash hotel. We checked in, got our gimmes, and shmoozed for a little while before going to the room to get ready for the Wild West Pubcrawl. As Deep Chocolate and I primped Shrimp Skanky and Royal Flush hung out on our patio and ran into Special Ed fron Vegas. This is the point in the trip where I had a minor mishap involving a sliding glass door. I was relatively unscathed and went on the pubcrawl anyway, like a trooper.

I wasn’t feeling very well on the pubcrawl, but still had fun. Thanks go out to Crouton and Anal Fission for checking in on me and getting me water at various points in the night. Also worth mentioning is Deep Chocolate’s awesome “best hands in the house” costume. I’d like to think that the fact that my boob glitter made it on 12 different faces (and the same one twice) is kinda interesting as well.

At about 2 am, the hashers were still rockin’ the hot tub, the police were nearly called, and Doc Anus and Gritty Kitty finally stumbled in. Turns out they got lost and ended up in a pretty bad neighborhood. Someone threw a shoe from a car window at Doc A, and the bunny was in bad shape. They went to another hotel and asked directions and were promptly told to “Fuck off”. Friendly folks.

Saturday morning started way too early. I’m not sure why, but I think it’s physically impossible to sleep past 8am in Tucson. I’ve never been able to manage it. I don’t know if it has something to do with the sun, the heat or the fact that they are just noisy wankers, but if you can sleep til 10am anywhere in Tucson, you are a champ.

At 10am the Ultra idiots r*nners took off on trail. Most were back quickly enough to join us on the regular trails. Not because they finished the trail, but because the trail finished them. I opted for the turkey trail (in 108 degrees) and 20 feet from the hotel was lamenting my decision. Anal Fission was the only one on the Turkey motivated enough to run, and we all pointed and laughed at him as we enjoyed a shade check in the 20 square centimeters of shade in all of Tucson. At the beercheck I loaded my bra with a couple handfuls of ice and was on my way. Sometime after that I caught up with At Your Cervixxx again and got a peek at her rear view via a hole in her run skirt. She tore it sliding down the concrete drainage ditch and was on her way to the hotel to change.

 Just when I was ready to scrap trail in favor of the pool, Richard Pierce rolls up in an airconditioned chariot of dreams. Ok, it was a rental car, but it looked like heaven to us. Deep Chocolate and I didn’t hesitate for one millisecond and jumped on in. We followed the pack the block and a half (d’oh!) to the finish in a park. We waited a long while for everyone to come in, folks that had left on the Ultra an hour an a half before we did came in 2 hours behind us. I lost track of time at that point, but lunch and beer was had by all.

Once everyone was in, we started Hash Olympics. Deep Chocolate and I watched from the relative safety of the swingset while hashers tried to pick up an olive from a block of ice, using only buttcheeks, crabwalk across the field and drop it in a martini glass. There were other games, but that’s the standout. Once the official competitions were over, we played “Bowling for Buttplugs!” Someone found a bowling ball on trail, and Executive Spread can always be counted on to have a 2 foot tall buttplug in her car, so we all took turns trying to knock the buttplug down with the ball from varying distances.

After an ice cream run, I joined the hashers partying at the pool. As Fatty put it “It’s like spring break with old people!”. That’s the most apt description I heard all weekend. We had pool toys, squirt guns, beer being brought to us by the tray and typical hash craziness. 

After the pool party, it was time for dinner and dancing. Steak was served for the carnivores and mushrooms for the herbivores, all the fixins were present and the beer was a-flowin’. Right after dinner the DJ started and the dance floor filled up. I joined a game of 3 man that was just beginning. 30 minutes later, when I tipped forward trying to retrieve something on the floor, I was shuffled off to bed to reprise my role as “Captain Passout”.

Sunday morning after breakfast, packing and checking out was the 11am pajama run. I shortcutted with a small group led by Charlotte the Harlot, who took us to a park with a playground and then to the beercheck. I heaped ice into my bra again, as the temperature was already over 100 degrees, and we set off. (Sidenote: There sure are a lot of parks in Tucson. Everytime I’m there I go to at least 3 and have never seen the same one twice…) We made it to the end, thanks to a little artificial information from the Beermeister (Thanks Granny Panties!) and had circle in the shade.

After circle, a group of us retired to El Mariachi for lunch, (you may remember it as the first bar of the pubcrawl, then again, many did not.) and followed that up with a pool party at Fatty/Deep Dish’s place. 25 hashers +1 and a half kegs= a really good time. I passed out in a bedroom for a little while (and woke up sharpie free!) and awoke to guitar and fiddle music outside. Gritty Kitty and Pity Fuck had graced us with a concert! I got thrown into Exec’s car with the rest of the San Diego contingent and we crashed at her place.

Monday morning, 8am, I’m awake. Dammit Tucson, you just don’t know how to cut a gal a break. It all worked out as we rocked a quick shower rotation and Ridin’ Zamboner picked us up to go to Mexico! We had birthday boy Shrimp Skanky with us, so we knew a good time was in store.

We met up with Papa Don’t Peek, Two Nice Tits, Is It In Yet?, and Testiculator –our friend from across the pond. (If you want to rile a Brit, call him Frenchie. You can’t buy that kind of entertainment. Make a note of it.) The first bar we went to (I still don’t know the name) was the same one where we set a car on fire in October. We had some lunch and margaritas and rocked on over to the next bar, Senor Amigo’s. We got the balcony (which didn’t seem all that sturdy to me) all to ourselves and Skanky got the birthday treatment which included being hit over the head (!) repeatedly.  Once he had at least a mild concussion and we’d had enough alcohol to kill a goat we shambled to the strip club.

About 6 minutes after we entered Shrimp Skanky was on his way downstairs for a private dance with a stripper and a harriette (Abu Grab Me). I don’t know what happened down there, I don’t want to know what happened down there, all I can say is that he came back with a smile and 23 dollars poorer. That’s not even the highlight of our visit! That came about a half an hour later when the dude in charge (club promoter? pimp?) put a chair on stage and ushered the birthday boy into it. There was so much grinding and placing of hands in interesting regions that I wanted a lysol shower afterward, and I was just watching!

We stumbled across the border, making sure we called the British guy “Frenchie” about 6 times in front of Border Patrol, and questioning the validity of his passport at high volume. Papa’s passport got the most scrutiny, prompting me to say “He wants to know who the fat guy on your passport is!” The Limey got through no problem, but Cervixxx got randomly selected to play 20 questions as we all freaked out on the U.S. side of the border waiting for her.

We rushed to the airport and made it there at 6:30pm for our 7:10 flight, only to be informed that it had been delayed until 8:40. With one phone call, Ridin’ Zamboner whipped around and picked us back up and we had dinner. Executive Spread met us at Finnegan’s, which seemed way too nice for the likes of us.

We got back to the airport at 8, found out our flight was delayed another 10 minutes and I played “Captain Passout” yet again, on uncomfortable airport seats and using my backpack (filled with my mug and hairbrush and other sharp objects I wasn’t aware I’d packed) as a makeshift pillow. The flight was super quiet as D-Cup, Skanky, Cervixxx and I passed out the moment we were off the ground and only woke up when they announced final approach. Lacy Bitch Britches picked Skanky and I up at the airport and we regaled him with tales of our weekend. To which he replied “Dammit, next time I’m going with you, I missed too much fun!”

On on to recovering before work tomorrow,
~Here 2 Get Laid

UpCumming Events:
6/27-29 Humpin’ Campout
7/12 jHavelina RDR (Tucson)
8/15-17 Larrikin Campout in Mexico
8/15-17 Bisbee RDR

…and we won. Well, at least no one got arrested this time.

Humpin’ started with a minor geographical hiccup, but it was easily sorted out and everyone found the runstart.  The hares informed us that the trail would be as flat as Flotation Devices, and have 3 beerchecks. After the hares departed we introduced the virgins, paired ‘em up and rocked some Father Abraham. The pack departed and left Dr. Zaius and I to guard the beer.

After a few minutes we smelled smoke, thinking ”It’s California, there’s always a hillside or something on fire”, we disregarded it. Moments later I spotted flames in the woodchip flowerbed where the smokers had been congregating, getting their last nicotine fix before trail. 2 gallons of water later, the park was safely extinguished through the cooperative efforts of Dr. Z and myself. 

As the pack began to filter in, we put out the snacks. Big thanks here to Dr. Z for filling in for the fill in snaxxx, as she was unavailable (read: I was drunk in El Centro), and negligent in her responsibilities. Circle was delayed as Captain Jerk had a pressing phone call to make. He lost his car key on trail (why those things should probably stay in your run bag…) and needed a locksmith to give him a blowjob, er, unlock his car. 

Once circle finally got underway and out of traffic, it was long, disorganized and hilarious. So, a typical Humpin’ circle. Control was lost repeatedly, down downs were real and imagined, new shoes were drunk from, we heard that Captain Jerk was called to bail out the Beermeister from jail, and the smokers got drenched.

As the last 10 or so of us loaded the cars and clarified directions to the OnAfter (honestly, they weren’t that difficult, we’re just half [on a good day] minds and we’re trying to make things far more complicated than necessary) someone noticed a helicopter overhead. In the same moment, 4 police cars entered the park, lights flashing, andcame to a stop directly behind us. Sober ambassadors negotiated us out of trouble and foundout that the call had come in that we were having a “naked orgy”. Which begs all sorts of questions. What other kind of orgy is there? Also, would a clothed orgy have been ok? Is Rancho Penasquitos the new Oceanside? Is Oceanside going to up the ante the next time we are near them and call 2 helicopters? Should Humpin’s 2nd commandment (Thou shalt not start or end in Oceanside being the first) be Thou shalt not run in Rancho Penasquitos? Is Rancho Penasquitos even an incorporated city? Burning (like when Captain Jerk pees) questions all.

As we left the park, another cop car joined our procession and we (the Kimchi mobile, the Chewcaca mobile and I) enjoyedsurvived our police escort to Jose O’Reilly’s.

On on to more naked orgies and fewer police!
~Here 2 Get Laid

Upcumming Events:
5/30 SD RDR
6/7 108 Beerchecks
6/13-15 jHavelinas 1000th Run
6/20 Half Assed Lingerie Run
6/27-6/29 Humpin’ Campout

Friday at 7pm, I was racing daylight to the Tecate Divide. Daylight won and I hit the pass just after dusk, putting my arrival in El Centro close to 8:30. The moment I arrived, I dropped my stuff and was whisked into Sir Trots A Lots’ vehicle en route to a pub crawl! The 4 of us (Sir Trots, A Fish Called Wanda, Just Mike and myself) hit 3 bars, had a circle, did some PR and retired to the Casa de Trots for a midnight snack and pass out extravaganza!

Saturday started with a geekout movie fest and the arrival of One Hand Bandito, Lacy Bitch Britches and FeFiFoCum. The prelubing started, in true Half Assed fashion, roughly 7 hours before the trail, with mimosas and mudslides. Shortly thereafter, Tiny Dancer showed up to his first hash in the Pacific Time Zone after living in San Diego for 6 months, and Pizza Platelet stopped in to show us a dead body. He had to go bury that thing in Yuma and promised he’d be back shortly. The rest of the Yuma hashers were up next, bringing the youth element, and Penis Machinist (The Japanese Ladykiller, according to Wanda) was right behind them. The last arrival was also one of the most interesting as Grassy Ass burst through the door, lumpia fixin’s in hand!

After prelubing all day, harelies started around 7 (I think, as I said, we’d been drinking for a while…), after chalk talk, Father Abraham led by 4 year old Just Bradford (I helped him a little…), and an interesting rendition of My Name is Joe, the pack was away. The trail was not lacking for checks and it kept the pack together pretty well. Lacy Bitch Britches was certainly a sight for sore eyes at the beercheck, and Tiny Dancer’s words will live in infamy “Let’s sing a song, do you guys know Yogi Bear?”.

We looped around back to Casa de Trots (making a pit stop for a playground check) and had dinner before circle. FeFi really pulled out all the stops with carne asada (and fixins), baked beans, tater salad and I made my trademark green bean casserole. The kids, including Bandito and Lacy, played some video games (the actual children beat the hashers quite soundly) and then it was time for reeeeeeligion!

We left the kids inside to play while we adjourned to the garage for down downs. With fewer than 15 people, it should have been a short, quiet affair. Not with this group! Not only did we have plenty of material, we also had a naming! After the strangest interrogation ever (”What’s your favorite farm animal?” “Giraffe.” “Most closely guarded secret?” “I’m Polish”), Just Mike will be known, now and forever more as Pulls His Sausage!

After circle, some of the Yuma hashers took off and we started the Flippy Cup tournament. Things started to get fuzzy in my memory after the 5 a side death match, which my team (mostly Humpin Hashers, I think) won outright. I have it on good authority that over 100 beers were consumed by the small pack, plus numerous other libations. After the beer was gone and Flippy Cup was over we started in on the margaritas and that’s where my memory becomes quick flashes of scenes: Lumpia at 1am, mudslide floats, messing with a passed out Tiny Dancer and finding that the floor of my room was overbooked.

Sunday morning started way too early. We went to bed near 4am, and awoke at 9. We did a quick clean up (so we’ll hopefully be allowed back), showered (most of us alone), had some superb breakfast as catered by Wanda and FeFi and got on the road near 11:30. The drive home took a little longer than anticipated, but we made it to Humpin’… which will be in the next post.

On on to Humpin’!
~Here 2 Get Laid

Upcumming Events:
5/30 SD RDR
6/7 108 Beerchecks
6/13-15 jHavelinas 1000th (Tucson)
6/27-29 Humpin’ Campout

…Well actually, I just saw a whole lot of underpants!

Last Sunday, with Chick Clit out of town, we celebrated her birthday in a way she’d be truly proud of: We paraded around the Carlsbad/Oceanside gray area with our best underthings on over our outerthings.

Don Juan a Beaner set a trail that was so well marked that the entire pack came immediately back to start because they couldn’t find a second puff of flour. I’m not sure what happened to him from the time he left to the time he returned (I was off saving the hash, more on that in a minute) but he came back looking as though he had gotten on the wrong side of a mountain lion.

Meanwhile, back in the Kohl’s parking lot, a few of us put our half minds together and realized *gasp* we had no hash snaxxx! Well, that would not stand! Splatterpussy, Flotation Devices, ASSS and H2GL to the rescue! After receiving our budget from Dr. Zaius, into Albertson’s we went. We were careful to stay in a group, because 4 people with underpants on the outside is perfectly normal, one is a freak… (Or Quailman)

As the pack began to appear directly below us we noticed some security guards in close proximity to them. Well, BORT took one for the team and lured the guard away so that the rest of the pack could get by. This caused BORT not the “win the hash” as he usually does, and meant that the FRB mug remained with Don Juan (who mysteriously lost it in the cavernous depths of the cab of his truck moments before he was supposed to wear it while haring) for another week. (Which is way more than “4 more beers”, be honest, a week is more like 12-15 more beers!) The hash shit did pass, to Shigmata. I’m not sure why, as I had done about 12 down downs by that point. I was called up for reasons ranging from not being there in 2 weeks to wearing someone else’s underpants. I also got to stand in for the lovely and talented Chick Clit and drink her birthday down down.

I’m glad that we are back to having OnAfter’s as they were always one of my favorite parts of the hash. The OnAfter is where you get a chance to talk to people, to really get to know them. Well, this particular day, we adjourned to Hooters and had a blast. We confused the waitress, played “duck duck goose” and were asked politely by the manager not to swear because Hooters is “a family restaurant”. Right. I know there are plenty of parents who take the kids out to stare at some T&A over a meal, but if you ask me, Hooters is more geared toward making families than feeding them.

The OnOnOnOn was at The Alley, as usual. We stormed in there and took over the karaoke and in true Humpin’ fashion, showed that we can make anything worse.

On On to being the new temporary Hash Snaxxx!
~Here 2 Get Laid

Upcumming Events:
4/11-13 Splatter’s Birthday Campout
5/30 San Diego Red Dress Run
6/13-15 jHavelina H3 1000th Run

It was a lovely warm day near the beach in Carlsbad. The noon start at Magee park brought out all the pimps and hos in thier animal prints and blinged out best. We gathered next to a church that was hosting a baby shower, boy were they shocked. The first thing I noticed was that it was very difficult to recognize people, we just aren’t used to seeing each other in leopard print, crushed velvet and sequins, and that’s a shame. Like all Humpin’ hashes, we had copious amounts of beer at start both dark and light, to get this crawl started right. After introductions for our virgins and out of towners (and boy there were a lot) we had a quick renditon of father abraham (had 7 ho’s), as led by Weed Whacker.

The first beerstop was at the Ho-cean House for beer and wine. This place looked way too nice to allow the likes of us inside. We had a minor issue with the beer selection, but AssHopHer put it right, and I got my beverage of choice (this is still a free country hash, after all) Whilst inside and carousing, I ran into Pre-Cum, a hasher from Phoenix, who just happened to be in the neighborhood. We sang some songs (what would a pubcrawl be without singing?) and were on our way.

We tramped through the sand and fell behind the pack a bit. On the beach we met up with a few groups of jailbait and affirmed the fact that Forrest Hump is going to hell. Not to worry, the gals got our due with some adorable surfers. As we ascended the stairs I noticed ECT in her cop uniform, writing tickets for violations real or imagined, and she had already hancuffed Forrest Hump, justice is swift in the 92008.  Weed stopped traffic for us (literally) with a bullfighting manuever of  his money jacket. His reasoning: ”Everyone stops for money”.

We made it over to Dini’s for beer and songs. We had a  rare occurance of the “Wild West Show” that went for more than 3 verses, and I’m pretty sure we picked up treasure on trail here. After everyone had a beer and we were ushered out the door we were on to At Your Cervixxx’s place, to have 40’s of OE and champagne cherry cocktails. This is where things started to get fuzzy for me. I ran into Who Said Head nursing her blisters and spied All Roads Lead to Anal watering the garden. At some point in the day, (I’m really not sure when) I was thrown over a fence by B4 and caught by Geriatric Stud. Thanks guys, for only ripping my fishnets enough to be tasteful. After we drank all the booze in Cervixxx’s yard, we followed trail (I think….) to the back yard of the Pizza Port. They didn’t seem to want us in the front, mingling with the other customers. I do have to give them credit- we had food ready and waiting and a bathroom exclusively for our use. We were having so much fun we didn’t want to leave, that is until they said the magic words, “No more beer.”

Into the Alley we went, although much to our dismay they didn’t have karaoke going. I managed to wear part of BORT’s drink and drank most of mine before being dragged (Thanks, Afterbirth) to the Jello Shot check (Otherwise known as The Unraveling of the Hash). The Jello Shot check is widely aknowledged as the place where we did, in fact, make everything worse. The drunk became the obliterated and the obliterated became the absolutely wrecked. Jalapenis and PADII joined us, taking the places of Royal and Chick Clit, who mysteriously disappeared.

As we entered Boar’s Crossing (which until yesterday I referred to as “that one with the couch”) I realized that I needed some air. I ducked outside and found Ridin’ Zamboner from Tucson redecorating the gutter and being cheered on by At Your Cervixxx. Figuring that wasn’t the kind of air I needed, I collapsed onto the couch next to Orca Hole Lick, who was handcuffed to Goes Down Syndrome. Moments later, they were replaced (in true musical chairs fashion) by Morning Cocktail, with Weed Whacker crawling on his hands and knees across the lobby. She went to tend to him as Geriatric Stud walked through the doorway carrying Don Juana Beaner around the middle. Don Juan looked a lot worse for the wear, his eyes were rolling, his feet were skimming the ground and he had cuts around his eye. Geriatric deposited Don Juan next to yours truly and left. The bartender then informed me that I needed to get him out of that place because he was starting fights. I’m not really certain how he (or I, for that matter) left that establishment, but somehow I made it to the end.

I’m reliably informed we had a lovely meal of Chinese food, and as we started to gain lucidity back, we noticed that we were drinking can beer and not our usual kegs. This prompted questions as to the whereabouts of our beermeister. Rumor got around that Royal Flush got a DUI and crashed the beertruck, that it was impounded with all the run bags in the back, and that he would be spending at least the night in jail. This rumor only escalated as time passed the next morning at Hennesey’s. Eventually, the story was that Captain Jerk had gone to bail him out (which could have been true, as they showed up at the same time), he had been shot trying to evade arrest and was on life support. Royal Flush cleared it all up when he said “I thought you wankers had had quite enough to drink, so I took the beer, went home and crashed out”.

Also, for the record, we found out first hand that Carlsbad police do indeed have a telephone to recieve complaints on, as they showed up at The 6 to quiet us down. Carlsbad has some funny laws. Open containers are hunky dory, but make so much as a sound in a hotel room at 9pm and the cops will pound your door down. They do, however, have a decent sense of humor. When Shutter Up told one of the female officers “Hey, you’re kinda hot.”, she laughed it off and didn’t immediately cuff him. Probably because that would have only encouraged him.

That’s pretty much all I can remember, and I was taking notes! Hopefully that helps some of you piece your day back together… I’m still working on filling in some gaps. Also, I found pictures on my camera I know I didn’t take. Whoever grabbed my camera, thanks for returning it!

On on to the next day (my next writeup, to be posted tomorrow) (Edit 3/21: yeah, that didn’t happen. Sorry.),
Here 2 Get Laid

Upcumming Events:
3/28-30 Hash de Tucson
4/12-13 Las Vegas Canoe Trip
5/30 SD RDR
6/13-15 jHavelinas 1000th Run (Tucson)

We want to hash today!

There was plenty of controversy leading up to this, the 14th running of the Half Assed Hash. The main points of contention were whether or not we could consume a keg, assumptions about the male to female ratio and if Anal Rose could satisfy that many randy harriettes. After long discussions via email that began in astrophysics and quantum mechanics and ended in blow jobs, we ran out of racy things to discuss at work and were stuck deciding if we’d open season Splatterpussy if she was unable to keep the rain away. Luckily, there was no need to break out the rancid condiments; Splatter consulted Shigmata the night before, and he pulled some strings within the family.

  Today’s half mind vocabulary word was brought to us by Salad Shooter, the letter “G” and the number 69. Arduous:  requiring great exertion; laborious; difficult. That was the word Salad used to describe this trail in her hare lies. Obviously, since this is a HAH3, the trail was the antithesis of that. As one of the many folks lending a hand to FeFiFoCum on his virgin hare I bolted to my station and marked my beercheck.

Obviously, I didn’t mark it well enough (I thought a 6 foot bright yellow arrow was sufficient, silly me) as Scratchy missed the beercheck  completely and Shigmata was so focused on flour that he nearly ran right by Goes Down Syndrome, Undercover Cock Rubber and me. The first beercheck was also where Anal Rose decided to raid my trunk for leftovers of my journeys. He found my angel wings and halo and decided that since our current “Half Shit” was not in attendance, this would do just fine as a stand in.

FeFiFoCum’s deflouring was a scenic beachfront affair, with lovely ocean breeze, plenty of booze and sand getting in places it shouldn’t. Reminds me of prom night. 

The second beercheck was Salad’s speciality: jello shots. Shrimp Skanky rolled up on his bike and enjoyed some refreshments with London’s Bitch, and Maui Waui before Studfinder and Flabio DFL’d in.

We ended at Slow Poke’s lovely cottage by the sea, and had great food as catered by Impy. After a dinner of hot dogs that put our last weenie roast to shame, we got down to the business of circle.

Shigmata was the recipient of the Flo D Stuntman award, for managing to break his Arrogant Bastard pint glass. Personally, I think he should have gotten the Half Shit for bringing glass to the beach and for spilling so much beer. However, the Half Shit went to One Hand Bandito, for one reason or another (I’m going to go with the “rambling trip to nowhere” guerrilla down down, but I’m sure there are plenty more valid reasons). Betty Cock-In-Her was incredibly proud of her brand new shoes, and literally jumped into circle for the chance to drink from them. Circle concluded with yours truly being called out for “Hash Plague” and given a truly vile shot that seemed to do the trick, and a birthday spank train for Goes Down Syndrome.

 As the skies opened up, we retreated into Slow Poke’s front room for a tea party. We had tea and biscuits and a conversation that would have made the Queen blush. The party began to break up into on afters and the sound of breaking glass was my cue to leave. All in all a pleasant day. A question from your humble hash trash; Can we ever have a HAH3 without rain? It must be the only hash in SD county that contends with rain nearly every time it runs.

 On on to checking the weather report,
Here 2 Get Laid

 Upcumming events:
2/29-3/2 Betty Ford Rehab
3/8 Humpin’ Bar-2-Bar
5/30 San Diego RDR
6/13-15 jHavelina’s 1000th run (Tucson)

Also, its time for mismanagement erections! The nominees were announced as follows (Note, this list is not up to date or comprehensive. Use as directed. Please send any corrections to Anal Rose, not me, as I really don’t care.)

GM: Splatterpussy (Abuse of power from the previous regime. Uncontested. What do you think this is, a democracy?)
RA:  All Roads Lead To Anal, ZAP, or write in candidate of your choice.
Hare Raiser: Here 2 Get Laid, Witch Fucker or write in candidate of your choice.
Half Trash: Here 2 Get Laid or some other unlucky wanker.
Half Cash: FeFiFoCum, Goes Down Syndrome, Shigmata, or write in candidate of your choice.
Half Flash: Doktor Dive, Undercover Cock Rubber, or the write in shutterbug of your choice
Half-erdasher: FeFiFoCum, Witch Fucker, or the write in style maven of your choice.
Songmeister: Salad Shooter or the write in minstrel of your choice. 

Or, if you can’t say anything nice…. 

As I drove to the  ”Bye Bye Boobies” R*n, the skies opened up and unleashed an ungodly downpour. I managed to get lost trying to find a start location that has been used no less than 3 times in the last 6 months, mostly because it was dark and no one was there yet because Half Assed time generally runs even later than Humpin’ time.

As I bundled up in layer upon layer of clothes and huddled under the small bit of shelter that Lactathalon’s van’s hatch provided, Anal Rose bestowed a new job on yours truly. I had the honor (and once you’re on her…) of being Hash Cash. I actually enjoyed it! The added responsibility and my abysmal math skills aside, it was really neat to get to see everyone and meet all the new folks.

I’m not sure exactly how chalk talk was done, as a river was flowing through the parking lot, washing the marks away as soon as they were set. After the pack was away, the rain let up, momentarily, at least.

Personally, I had just gotten out of bed after recovering from Vegas RDR, and trying to stave off pneumonia, so I went to the end with all the other pansies. Not 5 minutes after arriving, Kravin’ Kimchi Koochie set off an alarm of some sort and a cop rolled up. Luckily the fast talking Splatterpussy was there, and sober, and we were left alone. It also helped that the alarm wasn’t attached to anything and the cop was dyslexic.

The circle was… interesting. There was the first appearance of Lactathalon’s new boobies, the burning of her old boobie holsters, a hostile takeover and not nearly enough beer. Just when the natives were getting restless, Salad Shooter busted out the boobie cakes! One chocolate boob, one vanilla, both with white chocolate pudding in the middle. Lactathalon cut them both to match her new scars and they were delicious. (The cakes, not her boobs, I’m not an authority on those. Perhaps we should ask Zima, Warrior Princess?)

 After Lactathalon decided that she’d had enough of us and our antics, we adjourned to the bowling alley for the 2nd celebration of the evening, my birthday! I hopped in a car with Shigmata, All Roads Lead to Anal and Sucking Seabiscuit. We ended up so lost we had to call for directions not once, not twice, but three times. The rest of the hash stumbled in shortly thereafter. We took over the bar area, much to the chagrin of a table of patrons and one of the bartenders. After some karaoke and a few pitchers of beer, we finally got our lanes and bowled until the place closed down. I’m pretty sure I won, but it’s hard to tell when someone has to pick you up after you fell down on the way to the lane.

On on to staying out of the hospital!
~Here to Get Laid 

Upcumming Events:
12/31 Humpy New Year
1/17-21 Tex Mex Intercourse
2/23 Phoenix RDR
2/29-3/2 Betty Ford Rehab

After writing and rewriting about the Las Vegas Red Dress Run, I realized there is no possible version that doesn’t incriminate someone (read: me), therefore, there will be no blog. After 3 drafts, and redacting so much it looked like a government document, I figured this was the best way.

1. We went to Vegas.
2. We got drunk in red dresses.
3. We came home.

Any more details than that, and I wouldn’t be obeying the city’s credo: “What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas”

Thank God for that.

On on to negotiating a cessation of hostilities with my liver,
~Here to Get Laid

Upcumming Events:

12/15 SDH3/Larrikins Holiday Bash
12/31 Humpin’ in the New Year
1/17-21 Tex-Mex Intercourse