I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 576 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #576 - 10th Annual Hockessin Crab Hash (And First Saturday Hash) |
| When: | Sept. 17, 2005 |
| Where: | New Jersey |
| Hares: | Groper Long Ranger | Message |
| Hash #576 - Groper, Long Ranger, and a Host of Others - 10th Annual Hockessin Crab Hash (And First Saturday Hash) Saturday, September 17, 2005, 3:00PM, Zoo Jersey Please RSVP to Groper if you're cumming: Groper4@... see attached flyer for more info (by the way, I think we are the only hash that does an annual crab hash) | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| “EAT ME!” 10th Annual Crab Hash Hancock’s Bridge New Jersey Hash #576 September 17, 2005 Hockessin Hash House Harriers There were a whole lotta Hashers helping to put together this decicentennial version of the annual “Running with the Crabs”, A.K.A. 10th Annual Hockessin HHH Crab Hash. But, of course, it must be clear to all that it was Groper who pulled this event together by the short hairs. Three cheers for Groper! Hip, hip, (respond Hooray). A sweaty Pack of about 35 Hounds traveled down the Lower Alloways Creek and massed at the cool as all hell river shack of Just Joe. Just Joe once again welcomed us to his riverside digs with open-hearted Jersey benevolence. Very quickly I fell under the intoxicating influence of the low lying marsh gasses, and though I strive to report the truth of what happened that night, I cannot swear that it happened just like this. The day’s Hares were Flygirl, Groper and Long Ranger (who was setting his second HHHH trail within 72 hours). You could identify them by the swollen, giant red New Jersey swamp ticks which had attached themselves to the upper braincase of each Hare. The common Hasher was identified by the brilliant psycho-do-rags wrapped around their upper braincases. Thunder Thighs was evidently in a kinda “Eat Me!” mood when she designed the headwear. My sentiments exactly. Cream Cheese puzzled over the information which she had just extracted from Bunion Butt, in the sly manner of Mata Hari, that the Hash was to be a “C” to “C” trail and we currently stood at “A”. Huh ? Soon enough this alphabetic gibberish was made clear when the Great White, a 27 foot rubber tire frigate out of Stanton, Delaware and skippered by Woody Woodpecker slipped into the berth next to the Crabby Hashers. We clambered aboard and were comfortably transported from Point “A” to Point “C”. Then we were On Trail and then we were On Beer. We paused at an abandoned farm in the marshes for a drink and refreshing sun shower. The pale ghost of a rainbow tried unsuccessfully to impress us, but the centerpiece of the Beer Stop was the beautiful and intricate brickwork of the old Estate House. The Hares mercifully choose trail which could be traversed and completed with dry feet (sorta). Thirty-five pairs of sorta dry feet piled back into Woody’s wheels and On In. Rev. Butthead gathered together the Holy Hash Circle, during which Down Downs were proposed, argued against, and ultimately indiscriminately administered for various Hash offenses most grievous. Two thirds of Miss Pissylvania’s favorite ménage á trois, Virgins Myrna and Barry were welcomed into the Pack with suds and song. When Just Carrie was brought into the Circle to celebrate her fifth Hash, a cacophony of jabbered nominations for her naming bounced back and forth within the Circle. A feverish group dynamic (or mob mentality) took hold of the assembled Hashers, and somehow Just Carrie was reborn as Nip / F☺ck. Ask her husband F☺ck, F☺ck, F☺ck, F☺ck, F☺ck for details on the Nip. At long last, Just Solveig has formally crossed over to join the Cult of the Hash. Years of Husband Himalaya’s prodding and various other Hashers’ urging could never bring Solveig to enter the Hash Circle and be named. So tonight the Hash Circle came to Solveig, swarming around and encircling the startled Virgin. It wasn’t a pretty scene – the Slobbering Pack gang baptized her hard and put her up wet. Lovely Solveig escaped with the sweetest Hash name I’ve ever heard – Danish Butter Nookie. It doesn’t feel right to offer a “Welcome” to Danish Butter Nookie, since she has already long since welcomed most of us into her home. The Hash Circle then imploded upon itself and we gratefully agreed to go in peace… because the crabs had arrived! Yum, yum. Eat ‘em up. The Drooling Hounds did their very best to eat up all the crabs, beer, lasagna, baked beans, salads, breads, brownies and cake. Just as our stomachs were bulging and Hashers were pushing away from the table, Master of Ceremonies Delinkwent bounded up to center stage to introduce the eight jutting contestants in a stunning wet T-shirt exhibition. One by one, with grace and much good humor, the glamorous gals stepped forward to be doused. STD, the reigning Queen of the H4 Crab Hash T-shirt contest, had the great honor of wetting down those shirts and the treasures nestled within. M.C. Delinkwent gently coaxed and urged the sexy contestants to come forward and present their twin talents. The crowd warmly hooted their approval and generally agreed that, as Benjamin Disraeli remarked to Queen Victoria upon the occasion of her coronation as Empress of India, everyone does indeed look good in a wet T-shirt. Had we felt comfortable rising from our seats, I’m sure that the appreciative audience would have stood in ovation. As it was, the crowd went bonkers when the lovely STD made her final promenade as outgoing chest champion and displayed the dazzling form which made her so. Delinkwent then brought out all 16 contestants for a rousing curtain call. Amid all the cheers and boners, the M.C. determined the nominal contest winners to be Groper and Long Drop. But we all knew that the Whole Hash was also the winner, populated as we are with such good sports and great boobs. The contestants with the great boobs were Tinsel Tїts, Miss Pissylvania, Handful o’ Cum, Nip / F☺ck, Just Myrna, Bone Me, Long Drop and Groper. The beer kegs bobbed like they were on the verge of kicking, and the Hounds began to behave as if they were the ones who had kicked them, which they were. A bonfire roared and running, prancing and mincing little boy Hashers leaped through and over the flames. Frank Lloyd Thong, wearing no discernable thong, was not the miscreant who started this charge into the flames, but he certainly seemed to finish up leading it. In the flickering fire, Hasher’s dangling body parts were cast in a most complimentary light. The pleasing interplay of motion and movement, light and shadow served to encourage more and more Hashers to join the procession of naked fire jumpers. I tried to keep track of the number of Bare Naked Hashers by counting balls and dividing by two, but I kept coming up with an odd number in the numerator. When Flygirl joined the prancing parade, further despoiling my equation and distracting my attention, I gave up the count and had a glass of wine. The evening settled and grew mellow. The moon was well above the horizon and some few stars appeared through the New Jersey mists. It was late in the summer and the Hockessin Hash House Harriers had once again moved to the winter schedule. Our next trail will be autumnal. Before not too long, we’ll be tromping along muffled trails in snowy woods. But on this night, sipping cool drinks with fine friends on the Jersey Shore, it was easy to hold fast to the Summer of ’05. Bunion Butt September 2005 | |
| Files: | |
| Hash_Trash___Hancock_Bridge_Crab_Hash.doc | |