I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 581 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #581 - The Pirate Hash! |
| When: | Oct. 22, 2005 |
| Where: | New Castle Middle School, New Castle, DE |
| Hares: | Flygirl Long Ranger | Message |
| Aye Matey, WEAR YOUR BEST (or worst) PIRATE ATTIRE for Saturday's hash Help us roast that wench Groper for her birthday! see the attached flyer What: Hockessin Hash # 581: The Pirate Hash! When: Saturday, October 22, 2005 at 3pm Where: New Castle Middle School, New Castle, Delaware Who: Fly Girl and Long Ranger Mis'Directions: From all locations (I-95, Rt 13, Rt 40), take Delaware Route 141 South (Basin Road), until it intersects with DE Rt 9/273, turn LEFT at light onto Rt 9/273. North Parking lot is on left side of the road, look for hashers Please follow all traffic signs to avoid getting a traffic ticket (Woody!) | Hashers |
| Hash Trash | |
| Yo Ho, Yo Ho! The Hasher’s Life for Me. Hash #581 October 22, 2005 Hockessin Hash House Harriers On October 22, 1717 Edward Teach, captain of the Virginia sloop Betty seized and commandeered the tri-masted argosy Good Intent on the Delaware River somewhere between Port Penn and New Castle. Everything of any value was free-booted from the vessel. For the most part his thievery was peaceful and there was no loss of life. After the encounter Capt. Teach, better known as Blackbeard the Pirate, returned to the West Indies to peddle his booty and party through a Caribbean winter. On October 22, 2005, 288 years to the day later, the Hockessin Hash House Harriers once again came together in New Castle, clad in pirate regalia and eager to run through the Delaware River backbays and party through the rainy autumn twilight. Our buccaneer bosses for the day – Long Ranger, displaying a bit of fey gaiety in his puffy shirt, and Flygirl, innocently flaunting the aphrodisiacal costume of the Pirate Wench, welcomed their trusted mateys to the Hash with the promise of treasures to come. The treasures would take fermented form in the shape of an icy chest of grog, and fraternal form in the shape of communal companionship with like minded corsairs. Thankfully, there were no Virgins sighted on this day, for virgins and vagabonds do not mix well. Seasoned marauders all, we were quickly On-Trail and In-Woods. Like rum soaked raiders sneaking through some soggy lowland in search of buried loot, we sloshed through marshland, swamps and shoe-slurping sodden quagmires. The sole stretch of firm footing was an abandoned rail road bed, now converted into high ground greenway. Deep inside a dark and overgrown wood, with the heavy cloud cover negating the sun’s directional cues, the Slobbering Pack wandered north, west, then east and, though I cannot be certain, south, at last finding ourselves at the Beer Check. When you combine the effects of the soggy trail, our wet feet, too much ale, poorly placed flour marks and a raw driving rain, my recollections of the way things went that afternoon and evening are not to be trusted. Put a plunderers blunderbuss to my head and force me to recall the day’s events, however, and I might be inclined to tell you that: Tinsel T!ts and Matilda the Dog, with an estimated 7-9 teats between them, made only a cursory pre-Hash appearance. Neither bitch stayed for the running of the trail. For a couple of married Hashers who live in the far northern Baltimore suburbs nearly two hours from the Hockessin Hash Homeland, Do Me On the Beach (a Founding Mother of the H4) and Circle Jerk (who I hear is regularly banging a Founding Mother of the H4) have been spending a great many Saturdays with us, back where they belong. Dead End broke free from his heavy work schedule to not only straighten out the questionable Hash Cash financials, but to actually make it onto the trail. You can mark the seasonal changes of the calendar by the NYC sports logo emblazoned upon his broad chest – the loser Yankees are again tucked away in his closet while ‘tis the season of the loser Giants. Lusty Nipples announced the birth of his little 6 week old Hasher. Bunion Butt, festooned in some sort of high-tech satellite headgear, overthought the costumery part of the pirate theme, demonstrating once again that he is not nearly as clever as he had imagined. Hard to believe that she has reached another birthday milestone, but Groper continues to defy the years. With teenage spirit and attitude she simultaneously filled out her shapely pantaloons and pulled out her boobs. I hope Groper never grows up. The most impressive costumes were worn by Spud Nut and Gay Blade. Gentleman Sea Captain Spud Nut had all the appearance of a powerful commander of men, but also that of a bit of a dandy. I think I even saw an Irish linen kerchief poking out from his frilly sleeve. Gay Blade looked not so much like a tavern wench (although during my seven minute musings later that evening that is the very image which did it for me) as she did a Master Helmsman on some swift frigate. Some three centuries later it is not hard to see her piloting some nimble class of aircraft. Longtime friend of the Hash Just Joe, who has oft time opened his seafarer’s wharfside home to the Hockessin Pack of Puppies, most recently for a September Crabby Hash, slipped quietly into the Holy Hash Circle, was rewarded with a fresh drink, and further rewarded by not being forced into a Down-Down of that drink During his long overdue ceremonial Baptism into the Hockessin Kennel, Just Barry, who has never missed a H4 Trail since first being introduced to the concept, accepted the name (as if he had a choice) of Doggie Erectus by demonstrating the ancient Yoga asana Downward Facing Dog in a series of slow motion horizontal pelvic thrusts. Shrimp chowder, jambalaya, mango-jerk chicken, rum infused carrot cake and so much more. Flygirl’s culinary wonderfulness always impresses and never disappoints. One Hasher who was guilty of Hashus Interruptus was nonethelessa spared a punishing Down-Down. All You Can Eat arrived after the Hash, after the Circle and pert near after the Après. She was greeted warmly and she greeted warmly right-back-atcha. Slutmaster and Senior Sex Toy were also late arrivals. Slutty skipped the trail but was kind enough to make the après and share his weakened influenza bugs with us. An unconfirmed rumor of the impending arrival of the Dancin’ Fool spread like wildfire through the après assemblage and resulted in a mad scramble as self-chastised Hashers sifted through rubbish cans in an attempt to retrieve discarded aluminum and plastic. The shame of a non-recycling lifestyle hung heavily over the band of buccaneers. There were reports, later confirmed by your omnipotent Grand Master, of a sighting of the sexy sister sidekicks Gay Blade and Up the Rear at the Washington Street Ale House – purported on this evening to host an aberrant cell of the D.C. Men’s (Men only?! Wassup wid dat?) Hash House Harriers. Blackbeard’s flag was not the skull and crossbones long popularized by Hollywood. Flying high on his mast was the stylized image of a smiling skeleton holding an hourglass in one bony hand and a long, pronged tool (his sword perhaps, Mr. Freud?) in the other. The bulbous head of his tool is poised to pierce a derriere shaped red heart. The unmistakable message – grab your love wherever you find it, for time is short and waits for no one. A Pirate’s Howl of Lust: Oh… Ohh… Oohh… Aarrghhh!! Bunion Butt October 2005 | |
| Files: | |
| Hash_Trash___A_Pirates_Life.doc | |