Dog Shit, Cool-Aid and Carrots;
To Mark Or Not To Mark

Run #215
January 7th, 2001 (First Hash of the Millennium)

by Kristal Tits, Hash Scribe

Wankers present: Foxy Lady, Dead Animal, Turkish Delight, Mustapha Kunt, Bl*w Job, Poo Bare, Numbskull, Double Fisted, Muddy Nipples, Total F**kup, Witchy, Flipper, Oral Supplement, Captain Canada, Pop-a-Weenie, Paul….and later, Yogi.

Weather report: What the f*ck do you expect? It’s the beginning of January for christ sake! grrrrr…

Trail: I’m sure that in poor little Anna’s mind the trail was a masterpiece of careful planning, cunningly set out and beautifully marked. We never found it though. Well, ok, we found the beginning, say 1/3 of the whole thing. Apparently it went all the way to Westmount! sure…

Markings: what markings?? No, it’s ok, I understand the hardships one might go through trying to grate carrots. What if darling DF were to scrape her hand in the process and be unable to "service" her beloved!? No, the cheese grater is better left to those who actually use the utensil on a regular basis (like those who cook once in a while, for example…)

Then again, it might have been the dogs going around eating the trail, and leaving ‘other’ markings in their place. I must admit those were not hard to find, but not always "on on". Never had the wise old saying "don’t eat yellow snow" been more useful.

The pukie-coloured cool-aid stuff didn’t cut it either, nor did Pop-a-Weenie’s HHH snow marking, which melted. (how ironic)

She might have used the help of a certain of our hashers who legend has it, set a trail up in the snowy mountains near Madrid, a trail of orange food colouring so intense, it was reportedly spotted from outer space, clear as the Great Wall of China…

The down-down: Right, so in keeping with the tradition of "never in winter" when referring to running, our fearless hare awaited us in Paul’s fortress while we struggled to find the rest of the trail,… I mean, came running back home tail between our legs.

The down-down was held at the apartment just across the landing from DF’s, so I thought nothing of it when I crossed over to retrieve my bag. Little did I know I was about to interupt Numbskull and his new-found lover, Max the cat. I found them it quite a compromising position, and akwardly left the room. Jeez, some guys can’t go without nookie for even the shortest periods of time! Poor cat. I hope there was enough vaseline…

Anyway! as I was saying, the party was back at Paul’s apartment, or as I will refer to it from now, the Fetish Emporium. The females took turns trying on the various chain mail outfits and fantasizing about Russell Crowe in his gladiator outfit. Oops, sorry, that’s last bit was just DF.

Oral Supplement tried on the hip silver mini chain mail skirt, and was ready for a night out clubbing, or at the very least a jousting match with some buffed warrior.

The circle: The most important event must have been Turkish’s newly acquired title of "doctor". Doctor Delight! what a nice name, but certainly nothing compared to the lovely names that were tossed around to replace the now apparently dull "Kristal Tits".

They must have had it in for me, cause they didn’t stop there and awarded me the Dickhead, for no good reason! * grumble grumble *

More beers were had of course, and the cat was let out of the apartment a few times, then we left.

The on-on: we went to DF’s favourite Vietnamese restaurant to say hello to our favourite waiters and light a few incense sticks in front of the altar at the back of the restaurant, next to the bottles of Corona-- las cerveza mas fina.

The meal was excellent and yet another hash went without major incident.

Let’s remember folks, this might have been the worst run of the new millennium, but as DF astutely pointed out, it was also the best. There is much to look forward to in the cumming months and years, so here’s to us!!!

Three cheers!

Comments, questions and suggestions nevertheless go to hell, new bloody millennium or not. On on.
-The Gulp (aka Kristal Tits)