Montreal Hash House Harriers

Hash Trash, R*n #223 (Plateau Mont Royal)
4-Mar-2001

by Kristal Tits, Hash Scibe

Péter le feu/Farting Fire or,
Why Online Translators Are Shite

Hare: Turkish Delight

On a fine early-March day, a black Beetle pulled up to 4455-something rue l'Esplanade just before the 1:30 start of the Montreal hash. Out jumped Humper, a visiting hasher unused to the tricky signs of Montreal parking. DA, living out his life-long fantasy of being a parking lot attendant, redirected him to a spot on the other side of the street, then stopped traffic to let him back up to yet another spot. After all this he realized the first spot was just fine. He left the street with a big grin.
In other preambling business, the newbies, one of them DF's little sis given up as an offering to the hash gods in return for a rain-free spring, were initiated to the marking "system" of the hash. "There are three media used", TD announced, showing off her knowledge of obscure plurals. "There's chalk, flour and PA-prika" to which everyone answered "pa-PRI-ka!" Darn, that English stress system is bloody confusing though, isn't it. 

Everyone finally set out and immediately started jumping around in weird patterns trying desperately to avoid the doggy hash markings that seriously abound in that area. Perhaps some of those are Mustapha's however, as we know he has a propensity for fouling the trail any chance he gets. We shouldn't be too quick to blame the poor pooches. 

Contrary to custom, we pretended not to know that the trail was going for the big anthill in the middle of the island, but managed to get there eventually anyway. As usual we scared a few of those health-conscious freaks who like to walk around on the gravel trails there. I was even asked by an alarmed-looking older man: "what are you looking for!?" When I told him I was looking for "pa-PRI-ka", he asked me "But, who's pa-PRI-ka are you looking for!?!". Did it really matter? Any paprika would do, so I said, and he looked even more confused. I left him afloat in a sea of doubt and insecurity as to the sanity of the world.
A few twists of the trail later we were behind the hospital. Running around like a bunch of Christmas shoppers looking for their car in a mega-mall parking lot, we finally exited onto Pine street. So far this was feeling a lot like the trail DF and I set in October, only backwards. A few splotches of flour and paprika puddles later, paprika puddles that look strangely like squirrel's blood...., we were on Sherbrooke and heading east.

dum de dum dum dum.... lalalalalalala lala la la laaaaaa......
The next few hundred blocks were a tad on the dull side, though I noted we were making good time and catching our fair share of green lights.
Finally we decided Parc was as good a street as any to start the climb back and went up that way. We met up with DA, who for once had taken the right way up St-Laurent. We continued upwards to where we finally encountered the famous Rambo/Wimp split. Only the true FRBs pressed on (Eager Beaver, yours truly, Mustapha, LOB and NS). 
In conclusion, we harried hashers can only speculate as to why Doctor Delight was so good to us this day, providing a truly terrific trail of bountiful backchecks and satisfying straights, innovative marks of a single "H" and marks of varied media at that.... perhaps she is a little lonely? (bored housewife syndrome) not enough outlets for her creativity? Anyhow, for one who had just returned from Cinti where half the pack are marathon runners and the runs are rarely shorter than 7K, I was most pleasantly surprised and gratified to find that Montreal isn't just the home of a bunch of beer bums.

Back at the ranch, the festivities were already under way and we had to rush our first bottle so as to catch up. Propmaster extraordinaire (NS) showed me his broken horn (oooh yeah baby), TD showed off her newly aquired bum/tit Mardi Gras jewels, Total F**kup broke out the peanuts to TD's great joy, and we all had another beer. Yogi's cubs came back sometime then. I guess they had managed to leave a trail of breadcrumbs while Yogi walked them away to "go sledding" and all the discouraged papa could say was "Darn, they're still alive." They both then sat down and started flinging those hotcars auntie Foxy had just given them. 
A conversation soon picked up over the merits of MAC cosmetics, which were the hot colours for spring, whether glossy lipstick is really where it's at, or could it be that matte was making a comeback... One harriette was even asked if she could give NS a pedicure, to which she responded that she would have to see if she had a pumice stone and nail clippers that could handle the job. Some inquiries were made into where the hell certain other members were and we were told to expect Wahiba's corpse floating face first in the St-Lawrence any day now. Bush Pilot, for his part, was "gone flying" and the only trace of him was his fleece, sported by DF. She no doubt was wearing it since she had LOST her own sweatshirt, an offence for which she was made to down it down a little later. 

The circle was a lot of fun, especially since I was already on my third or so beer. I remember Oral giving a pathetic demonstration which ended in an off-tune "could be masturbating!..." to the great joy of Total F**kup. The newbies (Scott in particular) did a better job of it, only getting to "why are we waiiiiiiii....ting...". A little while later we were given a clue as to his drinking prowess when he sang the engineering song with NS and Abbot.
Retardees this week included Eager Beaver, TD, Mustapha, Captain, Oral, Muddy Nipples and almost everybody else in the room. TD was given a down-down for a run that was "too short!... not enough backchecks...not enough dog shit! TOO SHORT!.. too many beer stops..." etc etc.
Daytrippers were Eager Beaver, myself (says who!?) and Yogi. This last one actually had an altercation with a parked car. He had to be removed from under the offending vehicle with the help of three strong men and had the battle scars to back up his story. We should also mention the lovely ankle scars NS was bearing, thanks to the jagged ice on-trail. The more religious among us discounted his story and now hail him as the second coming.
Then, like with every good circle, we were treated to a scrumptious story of *possible* hash pashion, a teaser of an email from the far-off distant land of Colorado. It seems our valiant Yogi was kind enough to go shopping with a visiting hasher and was credited with "an amazing eye for fashion [...] (and being) high up the culture ladder". This visitor also claimed that despite the rowdy night they had all shared Friday, Yogi was "in great shape" on Saturday morning. Note that this bit of incriminating evidence was circulated by means of our hash listserve, but if anybody is looking for additional copies, they are still being distributed by the MH3 and a hard copy may be purchased at a cost-covering 5 cents a page.
The sinners among us were taken care of by Abbot, but unfortunately I can't recall clearly the particular offenses and this rag of a list I was furnished with afterwards is written in handwriting so incomprehensible as to rival the writing of NS on a bad day. They must have attended the same "How To Write Like a Sloppy Doctor" seminar. Frankly, I don't know why I bother collecting these papers, other than to recycle them.
I believe he tried to make our present visitor, Humper of Brighton, feel very much at home by pointing out that he's from Wales, the country that's not really a country. Others suggested he get a haircut. He looked jolly pleased.
DA finally led us out with a poignant rendition of Swing Low. Everybody had a few more beers.

The on-on was at that Chinese restaurant in Chinatown, you know, the one with the big round tables?.. Well, wherever it is, they have some confusing menus. I was sure I had pointed at one of the chicken dishes, but DF assured me I ordered quail. It must not have been my night, because I mistook the hot sauce for ketchup a bit later.
Still, all in all a successful night, and as yet no fatalities on the MH3.

DFL (Dead F*cking Last): Speed Hump; she *gasp* got lost on-trail!

Late-comers: Tigress, Eat Me and her sister, Eat Me 2 (Eat Me As Well? Eat Me Also?.. Eat Me Too!)

Picture of the week: Ironically, the picture of the week involves a camera. Old Cheddar was running around snapping away with his Molson BEER CAN. Maybe he can pull through for us and scan a few of those, if he ever gets them developped and doesn't drink them all away...

Exchange of the day:
hasher1: I wish there was a beer stop soon.
hasher2: yeah, a beer stop with hookers.
hasher1: ok, a beer stop with hookers and beer!
hasher2: yes, there's usually beer at a beer stop, that's what ‘beer stop' means...
hasher2: oh yeah, right.

Enough drivel for now.
Comments, questions and suggestions can go to hell.
-The Gulp (aka Kristal tits)