I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 243 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #243 |
| When: | Aug. 11, 1999 |
| Where: | None |
| Hares: | Rosebutt | Message |
| Nothing here yet | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| Hockessin Hash House Harriers 11 August 1999 Hash Trash - Run# 243 The Norman Johnston Manhunt Hash The escaped killer is on the loose even though the powerhouse H4 was on hand to track him down. With more cunning than Austin Powers, with more energy than a spent pornstar, and with more smarts than a bevy of dropouts from the Newark College of Cosmetology, the infamous disorganization of Hashers were on the trail of old Norm "Bugeye" Johnston. We gathered here at the center of the universe where the menage a trois of PA, MD, and DE (brace yourself) cum together. Actually, we were at the park on Appleton Rd., about a mile north of Rte. 273, and it was a lovely summer evening. After being initially seized and pounded, because he was mistakenly identified as the fugitive killer, our live hare and birthday boy, Rosebutt, got us launched before 7 PM. Terror must have gripped the heart of old Norm upon hearing the barbaric shrieks of "ON-ON !!" being yelled by about 30 hounds of the H4. With a fresh supply of beer sloshing around in our bellies, the hapless (OK, so a few of us have some hap) hounds charged up and down and over the hills covered with crunchy drought stricken grasses and weeds. We called out, "Norman, R.U.?" And his distant, sing-song reply was, "Escaaaaaaping!." Well, fuck you, Norm. We're gonna getcha! So, we proceeded to find bits of his clothing---obviously ripped off by thorns on trail. A sock here...lace trimmed panties there...a jock strap suffocating a chipmunk, etc. The awesome collective intellect of the H4 figured out that our fugitive must be naked. And then one of our hounds screamed when she thought she saw an ugly bare ass behind a bush. Her fear turned to run-of-the-mill disgust when it was determined to be only Rosebutt's butt. We had pretty much long and easy running along woodland trails. Not much shiggy. A few piss-ant water crossings, some browned-out grassy hills scattered among the deep woods, and an occasional getting lost on a trail that could have used a few more flour spots. It was a course for runners, but, at least, we were spared the torment of thorns and poison ivy. We probably did somewhere between 4 and 5 miles (ed. note: 4 or 5 miles my ASS! I believe it was more like 6!! But, who's counting? - DW)over the hour or so that we were on trail. The ON IN was back at the parking lot and from there we drove a few miles to Rosebutt's house for the Apres which was excellent. We feasted on barbecued chicken, corn, shish kebabs, and topped it all off with some fine birthday cake. Once stuffed, we circled up for our Down-Down ceremony. A double down-down and a chorus of "Happy birthday, fuck you..." for our bare assed hare and host, in addition to some other victimized hounds for real or imagined violations. It was a good Apres and well-deserved since we had to run "hard and long" (Appropriate descriptive terms for the "Hung Hash"). Well, Norman Johnston eluded us. We almost had him where the hair grows short and curly, but the dread of being punished by having to do a down-down probably pushed him into a panic stricken flight. Or, maybe, it was the sight of Rosebutt's ass that freaked him out. | |
| Note: | |
| from web archive | |
| Files: | |
| WebsiteArchiveTrashes200-300.txt | |