I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 572 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #572 |
| When: | Aug. 24, 2005 |
| Where: | Elk Mills, MD |
| Hares: | Cock Ring Mad Hatter Porn Again | Message |
| What: Hockessin Hash #572 Where: Elk Mills, Maryland (Cecil County) - Guns optional When: Wednesday, August 24, 2005 at 6:30pm Who: Cock Ring, Porn Again, Mad Hatter (technical advisor) D'erections: I-95 South to exit 1B (Newark Rt. 896 North). At 3rd light, turn left at (TGIF Fridays at corner) and stay on 896/Rt. 4 towards Elkton Road.. Left on Elkton Road (Rt. 2) away from Newark Into Maryland and right on Fletchwood Road (Rt 277) - Wawa and Pat's liquors on corners (right after thestate line). Go a mile, cross Appleton Road at blinking light/gas station and continue straight through (~ 1 mile) to town of Elk Mills (don't blink or you'll miss it). Cross railroad crossing and go a little bit further and turn right into Elk Mills Community Park (note white 3 rail fence). Parking will be very tight. We will stack the cars and park everyone in. Look to the hares for assistance in parking. | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| Is This Heaven, man? No, It’s Barely Cecil County August 24, 2005 Hash # 572 Hockessin Hash House Harriers Here’s a joke, not very funny and probably a bit too long. Jesus and Moses walk into a bar. They grabbed two corner stools next to the bartender’s ashtray, ordered two Yuenglings and fired up a couple of Camel Lights. The TV above the bar had the Bengals-Browns pre-season game on with the sound turned way down. On the far wall the big screen was circa 1977 and its green, red and blue War of the Worlds projection death rays had long since gone olive, pink and gray. The blurred projection looked like a Central American rugby league. JESUS: This Costa Rican team’s good. I saw them kick the sh*t outta Western Scotland last week. MOSES: Rugby blows. (To the bartender): Clyde, click on the Hash Channel, will ya. I think the Hockessin Hash is just about to get on trail down in Elk Mills. J: Hockessin Hash? Are those the guys that kidnapped the Hondouran cabinet member last year? M: Naw, different H4. These folks mostly just tresspass a little now and then. Property rights issues, maybe a coupla DUI’s. That’s it, Clyde. Can you get it to focus any better? No? That’s the best you can do? J: Christ, it looks like a 3-D movie and we got no glasses. What’s going on up there? M: The Pack is still getting trail instructions from this week’s Hares. See how the Hounds sorta mill around in a rough circle? Their nervous chatter shows they’re really hungry to get on the trail. J: It’s like being in the paddock watching a racehorse take his saddle. Who’s that skinny blond guy with the bag of flour? M: Porn Again. He’s one of the Hares, I told you. Pay attention. J: And the hot little number with her hair pulled up? M: Another Hare named Cock Ring. Her friends call her Cock. Nice, huh? J: F*cking A nice. I’d like to get her in… Yo! There they go. M: They’re on trail. On-On! J: They don’t really run all that fast, do they? Mostly seems to be a lot of ambling. M: Wait until they find the True Trail. The pace picks up then. There! - See! The Pack’s in the woods and really beatin’ feet now. The long downhill really puts a jet up their asses. They’re flying. J: Not for long, my man Moses. That’s the f*cking Little Elk River in front of them. That’ll stop ‘em! M: That’ll stop sh*t. These Hashers plow right through the water. See, they’re nearly on the other side already. J: Moses Almighty! That dude just fell off that river boulder into the creek. He spanged his arm pretty good on the way down. M: That’s Butthead. He’s the pack’s Religious Advisor. He looks OK, he’s up and moving. Two more Yingies down here, please. J: Wow, that’s a great overhead shot of the railroad trestle. M: Aerial photography is courtesy of the Goodyear Tire Company. GOODYEAR: RUBBER FOR ALL YOUR NEEDS. J: I like the part where the Hounds have to actually climb up a goat path cut into the mountain to get to the railroad tracks. Look at Mad Cow scamper! The fuzzy projected image now showed a line of Hashers picking their way carefully single file along a treacherous high railroad cinder slope. The line stretched from the FRB’s just now cresting the hill and climbing up onto the tracks, down to the Hashers sucking hind teat, their feet soaked as they trudge along the muddy stream bank awaiting their chance to summit. In between, Hashers scrambled foot and claw, tooth and nail to climb the eroded volcanic heap. Now the image up on the big screen is that classic signature Mark Burnett shot to lead into commercial – a Hasher in an orange tank top is perched very uncomfortably atop the railroad bridge while a heli-cam-copter does 360’s and doughnuts around him, all the time racked in perfect focus, or as perfect as the crappy big screen will render. MOSES: J, check this out. The guy at the top of the bridge? Is that Cums Early with a death grip on the hand rail? He’s moving his feet pretty carefully. Hey, Jesus. How about a quick miracle here? One loose deck board, just to shake him up. JESUS: No way. That’d be a dirty trick. In his current bio-emotional state he might pull an asshole muscle. BARTENDER: Four bucks. J: Keep it. Who’s that guy who always seems to be lagging behind the Pack? He’s got that self-satisfied look on his face. Sorta herds the Pack together and waits for stragglers? M: You’re talking about the Mad Hatter. He’s the Artistic Director, or the Technical Advisor – something like that. He might be called the Choreographer. He’s with the Cherry Hares tonight. He’ll sweep the trail and make sure no one gets lost or kilt. But his main job is to look the part of the mentor, smugly watching his Cherry Hares put together this fabulous trail. J: They’ve stopped. What’s what? M: Beer stop. Look at that - another goddamn bridge, this one’s falling apart. They’ll hang here for a bit then kick off the second half. Gimme a light. J: Five weeks now I’m down to less than a pack a day. The crumbling bridge upon which the Hares have set tonight’s Beer Stop spans the Gramies Run tributary to the Little Elk Creek, which at one time powered several local mills. In the autumn of 1812, the commander of British military force bullied the operator of a nearby grist mill into furnishing the invading army with flour. In protest the mill owner ground broken glass with the grain, bagged it, loaded it and sent the British supply wagon on its way. When this act of sabotage was discovered, a British patrol returned and hanged the miller in his mill. When a British regiment on its way south, eventually to set fire to the White House, moved down the Little Elk Valley toward Elkton on April 29, 1813, a band of the Maryland Militia, stationed in nearby Fort Hollingsworth marched to this valley, engaged and repelled the invaders. Five days later that British regiment burned Havre de Grace. Atop this old bridge, the Hounds were lapping up the last of the “Halftime” beer, some straining against an unseen leash to get back on trail. There is a Hasher of a certain type that feels compelled to lead the charge out of the Beer Stop. And while this type is most certainly to be pitied, they are also to be admired. Because striking out on your own, pushing forward the frontier, bushwhacking to find fresh trail are all noble traits. Those who possess such traits should be rewarded. Perhaps they shall be rewarded, but not tonight. When these Front Running Blowhards took off from a perfectly good Beer Stop, they dragged off most of the Slobbering Pack with them. Waiting up the trail for them was a diabolical trail marking never before seen by this scribe on a Hash: CB – BN! Check Back to Beer Near. Brilliant! About face, march back! Put your tails between your legs, you dogs! Ha-ha on you. The wily Hares, the wisest Hounds, and Cherry Marguerite remained at the bridge to finish their drinks in a civilized manner. They were still on hand to welcome the misguided Hashers back to the Beer Stop and thence on to True Trail. JESUS: The Pack’s on the move again, and they’re heading back to the Little Elk. MOSES: That’ll put them right back where they came from but under Brewster’s Bridge. That’s three bridges on this Hash, all coming along at key junctures in the trail. That ain’t just leitmotif, JayCee. These Hares have some serious thematic elements working here. J: Themes probably having more to do with the difficulties and rewards of getting yourself up on the bridge, than with any danger, real or imagined, of actually crossing the bridge. M: You saying that putting yourself into the position to succeed is the real challenge? Finally crossing over is cake? J: Right. It’s the struggle that enlightens. M: Well, these Hashers sure as sh*t are struggling to get up that concrete bridge abutment. It’s like they’re on a sheer cliff face and they just ran out of fingerholds. Hey, look at Toby. He’s pulling his Papa up over the top with his leash. He’s a good boy. Goood boy! J: My old man loved dogs. M: They’re the best, man. J: One more beer, Moses? It’s my turn. M: Just one. Let’s watch the Hash Circle and then roll outta here. Jesus and Moses sat silently for some time, sipping their beers and staring at the TV. The H4 Pack alternately loped and walked along blacktop, fallow fields and darkening woods. The dusky forest gave way to open meadow and ultimately On-In. The Hounds seemed to be excitedly chattering about the wonderfulness of the trail. With difficulty, Reverend Butthead gathered and calmed the hopped-up Hashers and called all present into the Holy Hash Down-Down Circle. Cherry Wes and Cherry Marguerite were honored and given new transitional names of Just Wes and Just Marguerite. Quite a few Hashers were subjected to the Hashus Interruptus treatment. After frantic cries of “Cock! Cock! COCK!! Cock! Cock! COCK!! COCK!!!” and a funereal verse of “…♫ Why are we waiting…?”, the two Hares and their Junior Assistant Trailmaster were brought into the Central Circle and rewarded with that least rare of all Hasher accolades – the Nine Down-Down Salute (3 X 3 = 9). Just as our Religious Advisor attempted to solemnly bring the Holy Mess to a close, some long dormant fold within Himalaya’s brain sparked to life, inspiring him to perform a kind of St. Vitus song & dance mummery, all the while professing his extreme reluctance to have even a single finger shoved up his ass. The Right Reverend carefully placed a rolled up towel between Himalaya’s teeth, which seemed to slow down his prancing a bit. Order restored, the kennel was bade to go in peace. And except for a couple of hours in the Fletchwood Inn, that’s what we did. Jesus and Moses drained their pints and stood up. JESUS: Good trail. Great terrain. MOSES: Yeah, nice night for it, too. Where was that Hash again? Thanks, Clyde. Later. J: Elk Mills. So long, Clyde. They stepped out of the bar and looked up at the rising quarter moon. M: Elk Mills, Huh. You sure that wasn’t heaven, man? J: Heaven? Hell no. It’s barely Cecil County. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Postscript: I was remiss in failing to note a recent Naming. On August 17, 2005 Just John was baptized, taking the name “Browntown” . Browntown weighed 204 lbs. - 8 oz. and is 77 inches long. Looks like K-Y Not has got herself a new young trophy husband. A Rainbow of Feet Thanks to Thunder Thighs who got together some multi-colored On-On footies – Black, Red, Green, Blue - we should save these colors for our upcoming Inaugural Kwaanza Hash. Bunion Butt August 2005 | |
| Files: | |
| Hash barely in maryland.doc | |