Ok, so maybe I deserved it. Adding a small intellectual element to the hash went against my better instincts. No way that these scoundrels and bastards of beligerence would take to solving riddles if they were to receive their beer. I KNEW better. But the idea had stricken me, so alas, the riddles were brought to bear.
So I began by laying trail the wrong direction. Slugho, in his amiable way, could not bear to venture astray, and instead was led the wrong way, while the rest solved the first riddle easy enough and headed for the tracks. Over the tracks, in the face of the big hill..... which I made you climb. That was my second mistake. One must not, so early in the hash, drag the hounds against the forces of gravity. The 30 sec of grueling, uphill trudgery exacerbated their combined lust for sweet, sweet vengeance.
At least there was plenty of cold beer waiting on top.
Only to run down again, and eat shit on the shifty trails.
So many green asses in the down down circle: the hare's greatest delight.
Another beer check followed, for I would not want to leave my dearest hounds lapping at creek water. From there, knowing full well that we would go A to A, I still led them away, and towards downtown.
One of the most brilliant Thursday's of this spring, with downtown ablaze with foreigners, tourists, and small kids with cotton candy hands, and I led them through our Farmer's Market. Cross the street, blow your whistle, distract 2,000 people with crazy antics! But no, these lazy, schloppy mo-fo's decide to cut.
And almost catch me. First was Just Adam, a virgin with little bearing, who was flummoxed by my repeated professions that you cannot catch the hare without first going to all the beer stops that I did. Hahahahahahaha. That and running across busy traffic in evasion seemed effective.
Second was the runner. After he took the hypotenuse of my two legs, I turn just in time to see the "clever" cheaters. (Like it's sooooo hard to predict where the hare is going to be when its an A to A.) But he comes running strong, gaining ever more. Sent a Miata to come track me down, who drove away after I through flour on his import. Take that you Japanese! but he gained, and gained, and gained, but I was getting closer. Finally, only 10 yards behind me with 100 to go, I bust into gear, vowing to throw up from the anaerobic state before I'm caught. But I wasn't, safely, but barely, the hare was not "caught" this day.
Which isn't to say that I wasn't punished for my trailing sins.
First was my virgin, who not only tried to go by my name upon introduction, but in turn also called me by my non-hash name. Then three other virgins thought it would be funny to do the same.... none of whom did I know.
There was also the down down's for trail. Down-downs for almost being caught. Down-downs for not-my virgins telling back jokes, having too much deodorant, having glass eyes, showing their asses (which counts as a bad joke,) and finally, and worst of all, for wearing new shoes.
Fuckin A. I know most of you wankers remember when Just Aaron came, and wore new shoes to Red Dress. I drank from that glorious chalice with glee, for indeed I had neglected to inform him of our rule.
This time it was Just Josh, who only hours before the hash informed me that he would make it. Did I remember to tell him of the new shoes? No, and for that, with very little groaning, I did drink the sweaty mixture of filtered sock and soul.
But god damnit! I refused to be responsible for not informing Just Adam, whom I had never met before in my life, thta he should not wear new shoes. But Lo.... the mob mentality of the hash would punish me for even this crime! I vowed to fight the good fight, and upon receiving the goblet of brewed badness, I threw it on Matzo Balls instead. How cold was THAT ride home! Woot Woot.
At which point our hash was broken up by the fantastic men in blue of SLOPD, who were understanding and even a littel curious as we posed next the the CSI. Glorious, glorious moment.
But we did have to leave the park AND forever relieve a rookie of her old name.
On to Spikes! At least I'm pretty sure that's where we ended up. After I don't know how many beers, it was kind of a blur.
At Spike's we drank and reveled in our hard-won endorphins.
We named a new hasher, please welcome... ummmm.... First Period? no no, that was last time.. Ummmm., wait, it'll come to me... ok, not its not. You guys fill in the blank. It's your fault that you get the hash scribe all tweaked out, how am I supposed to remember this?
I barely remember getting the hashit! Much less getting it stolen. I believe it is Matzo who is in possession. Which isn't surprising, he would get a hare all fucked up and steal the hashit while I look for my wallet.
All is ok however, for I am in possession of his riding chaps. Hard to get a good "ride" these days without the chaps. Silly Wanker, ransom only works when I don't have something valuable of yours!
For those of you who thought the treatment of Fred Ass-Tear was abusive, I must concur. Which isn't to say that I didn't enjoy it. Because I did. I must have done something horribly right in order to be treated so wonderfully wrong, so thank you. But know that vengeance is yet a dish best served with your spleen.
Fred Ass-Tear