Present
Yogi, Pole Dancer, Turkish Delight, Mustafa Kint, Recovering Foxy Lady, Muddy Nipples, Eat Me, Old Cheddar, Virus, Abbott, Skinflint, Poo Bare, Bl*w Job, Speed Hump
Weather
Mild, around 10, and sunny.
Why, we, poor down-town Hashers always feel like having chosen the wrong place to be… Once in West Island, the other on the South shore…
Sunday it was on the south shore. Great South,
cause we were sweating : sunshine, mild temperature, something like Indian
Summer.
South shore, then, in Brossard, a well known place called Miss St Hubert welcomed us, looking like Bagdad Cafe, same exhausted clients turning their head (head, who said head) at every new cumming, lost in the smoke, Santiags bartender (but leather pants and white Rhett Butler shirt –and moustache- though), and a stage with karaoke stuff, also a bicycle hung on the stage guardrail as well as Xmas decorations.
It seems that this place has host several
Hash in the past, and memorable afters, above all.
After official presentation made by Captain to new cummers, we run around the neighbourhood, running straight, coming back, howling, running again for almost one hour.
We were totally lost in this maze. Just Old Cheddar pretended he knew where we were but noone listened to him… Fortunately Captain and Oral have doodled the entire area with chalk, blue and yellow, then at every check point we also doodled the sidewalks… I am sure it was a real mess after we left, cause there were check points “à ne plus savoir qu’en faire”, check backs “à la pelle”, false trails “en veux tu en voilà”, arrows in this side, and in the other, crossed out arrows in every directions…
Superman FRB Mustafa has run like a fool to keep us on the on on trail… I tried also to deserve the mission which was given to me as well as the chalk, but finaly after 2 or 3 false trails I was -almost- out of energy… and then become a F*ing last (lost) runner…
As said by Turkish, it was a tricky run, and since
it requested a bit of logic and method, I am sad to announce that we were
all lost and that we found our way back just like horses (Intercourse with
a horse, boy...) smell the stables…nothing more than
horses…
Back to Bagdad Cafe. Beer and coke, ready for the down-downs.
- Hares for tricky and rubbish and too short and not enough snow run
- Returnees Foxy Lady, Poo Bare and Bl*w Job
- Chatting, instead of running, Pole Dancer and Yogi
- Muddy and Eat Me for telling stupid stories about cars
- Muddy for unappropriate language “Check Engyne”???
- Captain, too many Bang bang, as always
- I, Speed Hump for using stupid French expressions (merci beaucoup)
- Jean-Guy, the leather pants bartender (eyed on by Mustafa with envy or greediness, I can’t say)
And maybe others I can’t remember..
The circle was dismissed cause everyone wanted to be Britney (girls) or Elvis (boys)… We sang American Pie, I will survive, a couple of Irish songs (mainly Captain, BJ and Yogi), Suzy Q, Country Road, and others… Then Jean-Guy sang a hit from
Elvis and then, we, hysterical women couldn’t keep our self control much longer and invaded the stage to tore off his shirt…
To summarize, Indian Summer, Tricky run, Doodled Sidewalks, Horses smelling, Britney, Elvis and Jean-Guyyyyyyyyy…
