Montreal Hash House Harriers
Hash Trash, R*n #244 (Morin Heights)
08-July-2001
by Kristal Tits, Hash Scribe
The 3rd Annual Moron Heights R*n
or,
Invasion of the Ottawa Hashers
Wankers present:
Pop-a-Weenie, Dead
Animal, Foxy Lady, WOB, WrongWayPhil, Krystal Tits, Double Fisted, Bl*w Job,
Flipper, Penguin, Muddy Nipples, Easy Ride, Mustapha Kunt, Turkish Delight,
Rub-a-Dub, that guy originally from Kent, Kimiko, OAP, Brillo, PVC, Total
F**kup’s brother, the girlfriend, some bystanders, a dog.
Ottawa wankers
present:
Fat Ass, Plastic Jesus of the Holy Running Shoes, Comes Often,
Scratch’n’Sniff, Finger Licking Good, Delhi Belly, Captain Hook, Penisillin.
Ulitmate wanker
HAIRS (thank you DA for showing me how to spell that):
Total F**kup, LOB and Old Cheddar.
If I forgot anyone, well screw you!
Absent SOBs:
Tigress and Oral Supplement. They were probably still hung over from the jazz
fest outing, not that that’s an excuse mind you.
Numbskull, who will get it next time for being a pussy. He moaned something
about his car being unreliable, and something about a christening. I say, what
you can RELY on now, is never seeing him again!
*cracked whip sound*
Getting there:
Interesting conversations in the DF mobile. The ever-serious Delhi Belly was
explaining the fascinating customs of recently landed Chinese boat people. Their
research techniques were questioned as we also wondered who their internet
provider was. We went on to discuss what it takes to get to management level.
One brain cell and a healthy dislike of people is probably an adequate guess.
There was some talk of hiring a hash leader from the choice of Somalian warlords
in Ottawa or one of the Asian Mafia leaders from Vancouver. Stockwell Day’s
name was also thrown about, but he was thought to not be ruthless or stupid
enough.
Prelude:
I went to use the bathroom and met TFU’s mom and dad, who were saying
something about us hashers being quite nice on a one-on-one basis. This was
before three Ottawa hashers flashed everybody while urinating in their lake.
Lord knows what they were thinking afterwards, though the look of relief on
daddy TFU’s face as we packed our cars later on was apparent.
We stood around some more waiting for the carload of Ottawa hashers and/or Mustapha, seen earlier wobbling upwards in first gear on his trusty bike. (Three cheers for the hash ironman.) Neither was showing up, so we took off at 1:30-something, but not before TFU had tried (unsuccessfully) to have us all forfeit our right to sue him should we come to harm.
The markings:
Very nice flour markings. No, really, no complaints here. No in-out trail
confusion. No horrible back checks.
The only comment I might have is that the markings in the last portion of the
trail (on the lake) were non-existent. Some could argue the difficulties when
marking on water are insurmountable. I say rubbish. We almost lost Mustapha, who
had no idea where he was going, and who almost swam right into the lilies on
several occasions. We should be raising research money, and I’ll be looking
into starting a foundation for the hashers who want water markings: Wankers
After Safe Trustworthy Excellent and Obvious Floating Tracks for Immediate
Manipulation and Exploitation. Send donations to Krystal Tits,
W.A.S.T.E.O.F.T.I.M.E. foundation president and funds collector.
The trail:
It was a wonderful trail. Maybe that’s what it takes to set a trail: at least
three HAIRS, the rough equivalent of 1 (one) brain cell.
Over the hills and through the woods we ran and waded, some having splashed into
the water at the first opportunity, and every opportunity thereafter.
Scratch’n’Sniff spotted some fluorescent orange mushrooms on the grassy
floor. You would think it was where Mustapha had fouled the trail, but we knew
he was still behind, trying to walk again. We all ran after the true FRB
extraordinaire, basically, looking for Jesus to show us the way to happiness
(beer) and enlightenment (more beer). The little bugger was so fast, he himself
decided to do a hash hold at one point. I guess the appeal of being in the lead
is not as great when nobody knows you’re there. Hey, next time you could leave
pack arrows, Jesus!
We even waded through a beaver habitat complete with beaver sewage. DF looked
thrilled. It was worth it though, to get to the beer stop, where DA led us in
song. Bestiality’s Best Boys being a hash favourite, none were left
disappointed.
The rest of the run was on assfault (well,
who else’s fault could it be?). PJ just took off like a rocket, lending
credence to the story that he is a marathon man. I’m sure DF has her own
stories about that, but now is neither the time nor the place to be discussing
that. Please skip down a few paragraphs.
A little later on, Scratch’n’Snif and another nameless hasher jumped the gun
when it came to the swimming part: “hey, I don’t think this is the right
lake…” Sure enough, they had the wrong lake. Odd, considering how few lakes
there are in Quebec.
Meanwhile, in the correct lake, nobody seized up while swimming, Captain Hook
didn’t even need a paddle attachment and Delhi Belly looked downright happy
“arrhhh!” as he pulled himself out. DA opted for the long way around, Foxy
for the even longer way around. They must have been afraid of getting eaten
alive by those monstrous tadpole mutants lurking in the darkness of the lake.
Once back, we milled about, watched Easy Ride and Old Cheddar play with the
food, fiddle with the grill. It was not long before DA started…
The circle:
DA gave a down-down to the HAIRS, of course, and to the latecummers (those
Ottawa bastards), but forgot completely to get the retardees. Holy omission,
Batman! No matter, I got one later for daytripping. On DA’s paper there is
also something about Fatima’s Mouse House, but since that really does not ring
a bell, I’ll assume he was recycling paper and that it was from a previous
run.
Brillo celebrated her 50th mug celebration to the tune of “Playing
Ping Pong With My Balls”, a Fat Ass selection. She did quite well time-wise,
and all were impressed.
It seems it was Mustapha’s birthday, another special occasion. Total
F**kup’s brother was hauled out at one point, and we debated calling him
“Complete Success”. Definitely not a hash name, but then again, is it really
likely that he’ll join again?
Double Fisted took centre stage at that point, and as usual, pandemonium
erupted. She did manage to get DA in there for new shoes. Heck, it can’t get
any newer than that! Tag still attached and everything! Oh, wait, Foxy’s
weren’t even laced up. I guess that’s newer, by like 5.6 seconds. This of
course triggered the big controversy: When are new shoes down-downable? Our in
house Light/Light poll revealed an almost unanimous answer of “I guess you
should wear them before”(Pop-a-Weenie). DA and Foxy were not polled, and as
such, the poll is incomplete.
DF even managed to get in a few more down-downs, like Penguin for “checking
foliage”. Sometime shortly after, Delhi Belly decided he would start a
revolution by raising his arms in the air and bellowing
"“oooooooooooooooooohhh!!!!…..”. We just barely avoided
getting into the Hash Anthem, instead doing a premature Father Abraham. There
was much spillage, as we were in mid-circle. DF, much flustered after this
apparent loss of control, started sputtering about yelling about who was here
and who wasn’t, prompting OAP to ask her “your grammar is here?”.
There was also the incriminating picture of LOB’s pissing puppy, Shelby the
Sheltie, and the undisguised efforts of a true federalist, Delhi Belly, to make
all the hash songs bilingual: “why are we waiiiiiiiting!” (meanwhile: “pourquoi
nous aaaaattendons!”). Noble endeavour, no doubt about it.
The highlight of the circle you ask? Finger Licking Good treated us all to a
tit-o-rama and exposed herself while doing a graceful twirl.
The apres-circle:
I fluttered from hasher to hasher trying to get some interesting tid bits, and
so it is with great pleasure that I announce to you all that DA and Mustapha are
soon off to sunny California to open a wine bar. That or they’re off to swing
with the Vancouver hashers. I was also able to chat with TD’s friend, Kimiko.
Turns out she’s doing a Ph.d. in applied linguistics. I had to leave before
long; a conversation of that calibre is deadly to a beer buzz. I greatly
insulted Rub-a-Dub, calling him an Ottawa hasher. Point is, I’d never seen him
before. Let’s hope he forgives me some day.
I also interviewed
that guy originally from Kent:
-No, DA was lying,
I’m not from Coventry. I’m originally from Kent.
-ah. Do you come
here often?
-No, I don’t
come often enough…Last time I came was two years ago.
-So, you come
every two years?
-Well, I came two
years ago.
Muddy and WOB were caught out on the boat and thoroughly drenched. “I’m Singing in the Rain” TD went around singing “I don’t care if it rains or freezes, s’long as I’ve got my plastic Jesus…” I had a long conversation with Fat Ass about the origins of his hash name, a favourite passtime of mine, and we discovered that we were both lucky enough to have been touched by the legend, the myth that is Slobbo of the Free China Hash. After reminiscing for oh, 2.5 seconds, he broke into “Playing Ping Pong With My Balls” (reprise).
Everybody enjoyed the lake melons and other ass. grub, including Easy Ride’s chicken legs. Everybody also enjoyed spitting pumpkin seeds into my bag. Thanks, it made for a great midnight snack once back home.
The rest of the afternoon was spent singing. WrongWayPhil, of the one-song TaichungH3, sat, mouth agape at the sheer variety of lewd and crude songs. Delhi Belly’s version of Rawhide especially, was entertaining. Someone commented that perched atop their open-air veranda, the TFU clan looked like a bunch of tourists at Park Safari, and one can only hope they enjoyed the show.
Hash Fashion:
Double Fisted
takes the prize. There is something quite charming about a mature woman wearing
pigtails and hello kitty flip flops. Just ask Plastic Jesus. Speaking of the
two, they suspiciously disappeared for a while, and PJ came back insisting that
he really needed a cigarette.
Brillo was sporting a wonderful throwback to the eighties: white t-shirt with rainbow coloured tie die. Delhi Belly walked around, hands on his rotund gut, saying “look ma, no implants!”
Wallflower award:
PVC and Comes Often.
About Mosquitoes
black flies and other things:
Yes, you guys were all quite correct in spraying yourselves multiple times with
OFF and/or Deep Woods. I have a collection of over 12 bites. That or it’s
another infectious disease.
Quotes:
You blowing
through town?
-Mustapha to DF
KT:
She’s multi-talented.
S’n’S: That’s what Jay says.
–on DF
There’s a
pissologist among us.
-WWP on his paranoid delusions that he was being followed
I’m from the
Hugh Jorgen Memorial Hash in Vancouver.
-Delhi Belly
This triggered a lightbulb moment for me. Just say it out loud, you’ll see.
Your fly is too
big for my cockroach.
-KT to Fat Ass
Well, that’s it folks. Sorry the hash trash is so early, and so short. I’ll try harder next time.
As always, comments, questions and suggestions can go to hell!
KT (aka The Gulp)
PS: On the way to Hawkesbury afterwards, I was made to listen to the ramblings of our dear roving reporter, DF, at the pig roast. I would just like to apologize to everyone for lending her my tape recorder and unleashing the beast. I can’t take all the blame though, as the Molson Ex probably had something to do with it as well. Efforts will nonetheless be made to retrieve the tool in the hopes of preventing this from ever happening again. Thank you.