I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 569 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #569 |
| When: | Aug. 3, 2005 |
| Where: | London Grove Friends Meeting House, Kennett Square, PA |
| Hares: | Bunion Butt Homo Lost Penis | Message |
| What: Hockessin HHH - Hash #569 When: Wednesday August 3, 2005 @ 6:30pm Who: Homo, Lost Boy & Bunion Butt Where: Meet at the London Grove Friends Meeting House @ the intersection of Route 926 Street Road) and Newark Road in beautiful southeastern Chester County Pennsylvania. This is only about a 20 minute ride from both Newark & Wilmington. D'Erections: Figure out your own damn way to get to Route 1 in the vicinity of Kennett Square and Avondale. A map will help. From Route 1 take the northbound Exit for Toughkenamon. The exit will put you on Newark Road. Take Newark Road north for less than 1 mile to a funky 5-point intersection with Route 926 (State Road). London Grove Friends Meeting House is on your left. SPECIAL BONUS - NEWLY DESIGNED T-SHIRTS & TANK TOPS, COMPLIMENTS OF THIS WEEK'S HARES! | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| Trailspotting (BEING THE SESQUITERCENTENNAL ANNIVERSARY OF THE FINAL VISIT TO THESE ENVIRONS OF ONE Wm. PENN) August 3, 2005 –Hash #569 Hockessin Hash House Harriers Choose a job? Choose a career? Choose a mind numbing, spirit crushing life? Why would I want to do a thing like that? I chose something different. I choose the Hash. Apparently, close to 35 others likewise chose the Hash this evening. Wankers all (no not even wankers; this group could only aspire to one day become wankers), we had traveled north to the lonesome country crossroads historically known as the London Grove. William Penn first Spotted the Trails in this neck of his woods when his allegiance still lay with London, England. Imperial Britain’s tentacles extended and stretched out of Buckingham Palace, across the Thames, over the Big Pond and straight up our forefathers’ colonial arses. Now we make the great 350 year leap forward and find ourselves on this date at the London Grove Friends Meeting House meeting up with our Hash House friends. Huddled ‘neath towering Poplar, Oak and Sycamores (some of which were likely as not peed upon by Little Willy Penn’s little willy) we received brief Marching Orders/Hash Instruction from the evening’s Hares Lost Boy, Homo and Bunion Butt, and were then off on trail. The Slobbering Pack initially processed with great solemn dignity past a lovely Quaker bone yard (“Hey, this guy’s name was DICTASS!”). Soon the Drooling Gang was padding softly along a horse path beaten through a cool green sylvan corridor. In rapid succession the Dribbling Idiots encountered: narrow grassy footpaths, skin flaying cornfields, muddy dry stream beds, crotch pricking shiggy, creepy mouth-high spider webs, a beer stop too soon gone, and some devil-eyed goats with a little cross-species buggery on their minds. The post-goat trail got a bit confusing. Confusing not for the Hares, who demonstrated themselves on this night to be by far the sharpest minds on trail. The Hares were not fooled in the least by the well laid, intricately woven matrix of flour dots, arrows and falsies. Your Hares sniffed out the true trail as easily as a dog sniffs out his own filthy droppings. No, the trail was confusing only to those dull witted, sweat soaked, heat besotted Hashers who, upon seeing the Friends Meeting House a tantalizingly close 1/8 mile to the North, decided they’d had enough of this mess (“Waaa… I’m hot. Waaa… I can’t go on any more. Waaa… I want my mommy.”), stuck their tails between each other’s legs, and slunk prematurely On-In. Those Hounds who decided to stay on the One True Path were rewarded with a journey past waterfalls cascading into crystalline pools of glacial melt, a meadow where thousands, perhaps millions of Monarch butterflies alit from and fluttered over an ocean of wildflowers, including Black-Eyed-Susies, Kiss-Me-Kates and Blow-Me-Bettys. These true Sons and Daughters of Kuala Lumpur encountered bare-breasted water maidens performing their Evening Ablutions (in slow motion) and smooth-skinned, hard-bodied Latin gardeners, stripped to the waist, stretching languorously to loosen the taut sinews of their strong backs and shoulders. See what you missed? Next time stay on the trail, Hashole. At last, the whole gang again ganged together as a single gang. The Holy Hash Circle was consecrated and the Right Rev. Butthead meted out appropriate Down-Downs. An old Hash Friend/Serious Runner type was returned to the fold and Baptized with the name K-Y (or K-Y Knot, or K-Why Not?, or K-Y Jelly Bean -- we will let the natural selection process inherent in a Hash Naming determine what this Harriet shall actually be called). Her husband John was left un-named, but I gotta believe that his Red Head and Tall Stature can be worked into some sort of embarrassing moniker. Salads of all types (well, two types), thinly sliced flesh from a bird, a cow and a pig, treats both sweet and savory, ales and pilsners were piled high onto a groaning picnic board. The Wild Pack tucked in, ate and drank their fill. Some among us made merry. With their new and now salt encrusted Hash Shirts plastered to their bodies, one-by-one and two-by-two the Hashers departed – some off to get a piece, others simple at peace. Postscript: Hockessin HHH regulars Kristin and Justin have been named by the Philadelphia HHH. They’re now known as Cock Ring and Porn Again, respectively. Such cross breeding between kennels can only serve to strengthen the herd. | |
| Files: | |
| Trailspotting.doc | |