I am too lazy to update the web side but back end is up to date.
| Hash Details | |
|---|---|
| Hash Number: | 977 |
| What: | Hockessin Hash #977 |
| When: | May 22, 2013 |
| Where: | End of Dawson Drive, Newark, DE |
| Hares: | Mary Fucking Poppins Smells Like Hash Spirit | Message |
| What: Hockessin Hash #977 When: Wednesday, May 22, 2013 at 6:30pm Where: The end of Dawson Drive, Newark DE, 19713. That's one of the industrial parks off of RT 72. Anyway, which ever way you are coming from just find Dawson Drive Newark, DE 19713 and drive to the end of it WHO: Since none of you cheapskate- freeloading Wankers stepped up to hare this week, a yet to be named live hare will be taking care of these duties. Whether he or she makes this a pleasant stroll or a deathmarch, depends on the mood and the weather, and so does whether we are going to have pizza at the Apres or just Cheese puffs. Hash Cash? 5 bucks Kid Friendly/Dog Friendly? As usual, For trail sure, but the yet to be named hare is not responsible for their welfare. As usual for the Apres No!, Unless somebody invites us to come over to their house instead at the last minute. | Hashers |
| Asshopper Bunion Butt Chasez Boyz Cousin It Dead End Dirty Wet Pussy F6 Gizz Specialist Jubal Kum On Inn Lick Stick Lost Penis Mary Fucking Poppins N'aybe I Should Cum on Time Narcigism Nip Fuck Perfect Woman Smells Like Hash Spirit Sporto The Wetter the Better Up the Rear Wet Lay Wickwacker Wishboneher Woody Woodpecker | Hash Trash |
| HAPPY MEMORY Hockessin Hash #977 - May 22, 2013 A quarter hundred Hashers massed on a recent evening five days short of Memorial Day for a Hash. The location was auspicious and rife with the military undertones of several eras: Memorial Day Holiday being established to honor the dead sailors and soldiers from the Great War To End All Wars as imagined by our Holiday establishing Establishment of 1919; we gathered on the outskirts of the Pencader Hundred, a geo-political district from which our colonial forefathers reckoned that a militia of one hundred men “Good and True” might be mustered on short notice; our vehicles were parked on the former site of the DuPont Company’s World War II era open air munitions storage depot, the earthen berm remains of which can still be seen, and in fact are often Hashed upon, though now much eroded and heavily wooded; to get to this Hash staging area, we turned our cars east at the intersection of Chapel Street and Dawson Drive into the Delaware Industrial Park, whereas if we had turned west at the same intersection we would have found a one story block building housing a small specialty boutique plastic manufacturer, and if we had made that particular turn back in 1967 or 1968 we might have witnessed the plant running two and sometimes three shifts busy with transforming pellets of low density poly-ethylene into large, liquid-tight, flexible and zippered black bags destined to be shipped to, in this order, Long Beach California, Honolulu Hawaii, Danang South Vietnam (where the bags were re-packaged) and finally back to cities and towns across the United States. So the Slobbering Pack was in a pretty fine and cheery mood as we took off into the early evening. On trail this evening to join Hares Mary Fucking Poppins and Smells Like Hash Spirit were Lost Penis, Wick Wacker, Up the Rear, Dirty Wet Pussy, Narcijism, Chasez Boyz, (The Hasher Formerly Known as) Sporto, Wet Lay, Bunion Butt, Perfect Woman, GIZ Specialist, Woody, Asshopper, Wetter the Better, Naybe, Just Catherine, Fuck Fuck Fuck Fuck & Fuck, Lick Stick, Wishboner, Cum-on-In, Nip-Fuck, Cousin Itt, Jubal and Dead End. Super special, last minute volunteer Hare Mary Fucking Poppins took us through scrub brush and piney forest. Tea colored mud puddles lined the shady ATV trails, which this evening would prove to serve as just about the only non-asphalt Hash terrain to be found. High tension electric power lines buzzed overhead and Perfect Woman explained how the lines voltage could be estimated by the extent to which your pubic hair stands on end. Our lost tribe wandered in the woods for forty minutes and forty seconds, emerging from that desert only to be cursed to Hash suburban streets in search of our beer. Blessedly, up ahead, glimpsed just beyond the COUNTY PARK – No Intoxicating Drugs or Beverages Except Between Dusk-to-Dawn sign, the beer wagon gleamed in the post-dusk light. Great timing – dusk came along at just the right moment. Jubal, on the other hand, demonstrated terrible timing, arriving late to miss the initial calls of “On-on!”, running the entire trail leading up to the Beer Near by his lonesome, then showing up at the Beer Stop just as the Pack took off for the last half. Did I say half? More like the last twelfth, for before your Hash Scribe could find a tree large enough behind which to discretely hoist kilt and yearn ate, we found ourselves nearly On-In. One final scamper past the Food Bank of Delaware’s vegetable garden and we were truly On-In. The oft time Hare now assumed his full time role as Religious Advisor and called the Holy Hash Circle to order. His wrath was mighty and swift. Crimes against the Nature of Hash included First In: Narcijism – GUILTY! So drink Mother Father. Visitors into the Circle: Chasez Boyz and Jubal – GUILTY! So drink Mother Brothers. Hashi Interupti: Wishboner, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck, Fuck & Fuck, Up the Rear, Cousin Itt and the rest of you Wankers – come back into the fold but still GUILTY! So drink you Mother Humpers. The Circle was winding down with a few announcements. “There’s gonna be a couple of Hashes down at the Beach this weekend.” “The Hockessin 1000th gonna be in October.” “Wick Wacker’s got some shit for sale.” And with that, the Hash went off to get a piece of chicken. The Communion Beer and other superior suds were prepared and served by Summer Biermeister Perfect Woman. He had one week to prepare and came through fabulously. A splendid repast was prepared and served by Smells Like Hash Spirit. She had one hour to prepare and came through fab…. how could she really put together a four course meal that quickly and deliciously – yet she did. And all that after pulling her groin jumping rope. At that well-worn Hash bar Up the Rocks, we rubbed elbows and shared toilets with pool sharks and dart tossers, regular barflies and early evening nighthawks. Hashers were leaning together in small knots, heads touching to hear one another over the din. Glasses clinked and a hand or two groped. Memorial Day in just a few days, and the Hash is in full swing. Bunion Butt | |