Montreal Hash House Harriers

Hash Trash, Run #201 (Ste-Therese)

By Kristal Tits, Hash Scribe


Hares: LOB, Whino

Hashers present (in no particular order):  ME, Mustapha Kunt, Turkish Delight, 
Old Cheddar, Double Fisted, Wank My Moose, Eat Me, Yogi, Captain Hook, Sniffer, 
Fly-by-night, Muddy Nipples, Whino, Dead Animal, Total F**kup, Foxy Lady, Marco, 
Louise, Raymond, Shag Hag. 
Honorary participation goes to the (over)zealous barman.

Weather report: As Yogi put it best, "It's f*cking COLD!"
That did not, however, stop me from enjoying my traditional pre-run sundae. I went 
across the street to the smoky establishment (was it Le Roi d'la Poutine?... can't 
recall clearly) and since they were all out of "softie" ice cream, I had to go with 
something more substantial: praline.
So, the weather was a little on the chilly side, a bit damp, but nothing too 
dramatic. Even Double Fisted had her sweatshirt off by mid-run.

Comment from hares: I didn't hear what he was saying, but I could hear LOB laughing 
all the way as I tracked down those four false trails.

First in: I'll bet it was those Front Running Bastards again...
Last in: Double Fisted and I came in last. I hurt my foot, swear to God!
 
Markings: Since this hash house is all dead hares (as opposed to live ones), you get 
no merit for getting it right. You do get doubly criticized though if you get it 
WRONG! i.e. the fantom checkpoint in "that guy's driveway". Sure LOB... you put 
the checkpoint and it's gone now. Boohoo hoo. 
Also, the area around the highway where all sorts of trash lay strewn about did 
confuse some for a while. And was it this week someone confused the bird-droppings 
for a marking??  
Kudos though for the comment about that rich bastard's boat ("nice boat JERK"), 
though next time it would be recommended to use some colour other than candy-ass 
pink. It would decidedly look more manly.

The run: The run itself was quite decent. Sniffer, visiting from Australia (who 
by the way thought it was a bit nippy out) enjoyed it tremendously. I guess 
there's just nothing like small-town Quebec, though he did keep his distance 
from the "roi d'la poutine" across the street from the car park. Maybe it was 
the midget sitting on the bench outside eyeing him strangely that put him off.
It must be noted that Mustapha arrived late, doubtless because of some big bicycle 
traffic jam on the 15. Indications were left for him at the start though I can't 
explain why, and he caught up fast enough. Old Cheddar also arrived in a tardy 
fashion, but I don't understand how he managed to join the group. A bit like the 
continual mysterious and mystical appearances of the walkers on street corners 
in the middle of nowhere. They must walk really really fast...
Everybody admired the foliage and the half-peeled "Concert d'une vie" posters... 
and in no time at all, we were all up at the pool hall drinking golden fluid in...

The down-downs: Numbskull, shaming McGilligans everywhere, decided to stay home 
and *gasp* study. Because of that we were treated (subjected) to the stylings of 
Dead Animal. He did the requisite returnees down down, the victims of which I 
don't recall. Some drank to "Thanksgiving", LOB got his wildest dreams fulfilled 
when he was asked to drink out of his lovely NEW zebra-like shoes (but only one).
Turkish was awarded the (what the hell have we called those again??) the "right 
breast, which comes attached to the left breast" I think it was.
Dickhead went to Foxy, for somethink or other. 
Yogi Yogi Bear gave out a down down to Wank My Moose for following him to the big 
outdoor John, and then realized he's have to give himself a down down for fouling 
the trail. He even awarded himself the newly covered shit for that, too. (the colour 
of the seat cover by the way, matches the barman's bathroom colour scheme. Just 
thought I'd mention it in case you were wondering what to get him for Christmas) 
Marco on the other hand got hit for those flashy red athletic shorts that could 
clothe a whole family of Etheopians. Good thing this wasn't the running of the bulls.
They're reversible you say? Don't forget it next time then. Then again, if you 
think about it, Sniffer's black track suit with diagonal lime-green and bile-yellow 
stripes really was pretty terrible as well. Oh well. Next time he drops by from 
Australia we'll let him have it. Come to think of it, he did get a huge 
birdbath-like bowl for his down down. Let's call it even then.
And just to be different, the down-downs were ended with a stirring rendition of 
"swing low sweet charriot" courtesy of the GM.

The on-on: What on-on?  Aside from Double-Fisted, Dead Animal, LOB and myself, 
nobody took advantage of the FREE POOL. Even Old Cheddar, who claimed he was a 
fan, stayed away from the felted tables. Pathetic.
The only fun was had when Total F**kup stepped into the role God had intended for 
him and auctioned off the goodies our pal from Downunder had brought. A sizeable 
sum was raised and we are supposed to get more info on how that (500k) run turns 
out. Good luck to the hash team, and may you short-cut your way to the first place.
On the ride home Sniffer got to listen to the three estrogen producers talk about 
Russell Crowe and other things of vital importance, like what Double Fisted was 
going to wear to that godforsaken Thanksgiving party. 
All in all a successful run.

Miscellaneous: Everybody, please do your part to try and come up with a good name 
for Raymond. He almost went up for christening, but I think the GM forgot just at 
the last minute. Louise is also nameless at this point. I would just suggest that 
Raymond, gentle guy, reminds me of the grandfather puppet on the old episodes of 
Passe Partout. 
As for the fact that I'm writing up a report... well, I thought we were in good 
hands last week when that moustachioed man named OAP stood around all importantly 
and took diligent notes at circle time, promising saucy scoldings and raucous 
rhymes. Nothing came of it, and so this time I decided to take the matter into 
my own hands. But for now...

...enough drivel. 
Comments, questions and suggestions can go to hell.
-The Gulp  (aka Crystal Tits)