#740…Not In My Hair Pickup Hash…Wednesday, May 17, 2017
So there we were….well first off let’s cover where we’ve been: After a couple years or so as Hash Scribe, Cuntput decided he could no longer grace us with his written wit on a regular basis. No other half-mind would take the reigns or accept a nomination during erections, so we have been scribe-less for months. Monogamistake (I think you are supposed to refer to yourself in 3rd person in these things) has decided it has been too long and our drunken stammering should be documented, so he will write mostly truthful synopses when he makes it to a hash, and, if he can’t find a willing stand-in when he can’t be there, he might just make shit up.
So there we were, it was an absolutely gorgeous day outside so we decided to meet inside a dark bar. We were not supposed to have a hash this day, but a traveler on a dire quest to hash across America was very adamant so some of us decided we could drink an extra day of the month if he laid the trail. And what a shitty idea that was. Not In My Hair was this lovely gentleman’s name, and if you enjoy running around confused as fuck on pavement for a few hours without a drink, you should hop on this mother fucker’s wild ride.
So there we were, sitting in the bar waiting for wankers such as Weird Al, Tae Kwon Blow Me w/ K9 Just Bella and her virgin, Monogamistake, Snatchcracker, and maybe someone else. I feel like that was it but I can’t remember. We had a few beers and the bartender sadly let us know that The Elbow Room will be closing very soon. They had just gotten word the night before and although it had leaked to some reporters already, no one was supposed to know. So uhhhh, don’t tell anyone? After a few PBRs were downed and we decided no one else was going to show up in the middle of the city on an amazing evening for an awesome travel hasher we may never see again–we went outside for a quick and ugly circle. We didn’t even bless the hare because he had already laid the trail and we didn’t have an RA, but Not In My Hair explained the very few marks that would be on trail as it was a little different than what we were used to. We did half-assed introductions, and gave almost no advice or training to the virgin, and then the hare sent us on our merry fucking way as he “headed straight to the beer check”.
So there we were, running south down Pennsylvania through a lovely crowd of hobos when trail took a couple sharp turns and we found ourselves going up Mass Ave and finding a check at the corner of Mass Ave/Alabama/Vermont with chalk going in AT LEAST 369 directions. Weird Al and Monoga picked the 2 directions they thought would be most probable and headed their seperate ways but saw only 2 marks at best. They came back as the rest of the pack showed up and we split in 2 other possible directions with marks. No luck. We met back up in the center with only 2 remaining options. Weird Al headed west back towards the start that would obviously have to cross the trail we already were on like an idiot. The rest of us headed (WSH?) the only remaining logical way for far too long before we gave up on finding more than 2 dots of flour. We got back to the check to realize Weird Al never came back. Someone said they had heard a whistle that could have been in his direction so we took off back towards the hobos. We crossed right in front of them going west using a chalk mark that we had already used going south and before we knew it, 3 dots! We were on and had just been schooled in our own city by a traveler with one of the most marvelous circle jerks I’ve seen.
Trail went on with several tricks. Weird Al got so far ahead of us that he took a tour of the city while we went the wrong direction because Cuntpletely Forgettable (oh yeah, she was there too) can’t read a hare’s arrow. Lucky for us the wrong way we went short-cutted a mile or so off and Weird Al came running up to us visibly shaken from some trauma where he had to check every wrong direction of another evil check. By now we are more than a couple miles into trail, very thirsty, and knowing the beer check is in a bar we have our hopes up for a BN at every bar we come across. We received nothing but blue balls until the point to where we knew either our hare was a massive dick or we missed the BN because we were rapidly approaching the start. At the last minute we hooked back up Mass Ave and it turned out to be no surprise that our hare was, in fact, quite dickish. The most glorious Beer Near was in front of Mass Ave Pub half a mile from the start.
Excitement for the tasty free beers of the pub, since our hare promised to buy at the beer check, was soon let down as he had them dig Hamm’s out of some back room for us. But god damn if it wasn’t the best Hamm’s we ever had after they rubbed the dirt off of them with the bar towel. Weird Al was awarded a nicer beer since he managed to actually run more distance than the hare himself had done when he laid it all. Chivalry. Racism. Disgusting.
We prodded back together as a pack to do circle in the always empty Saffron Cafe parking lot where Monogamistake whipped out a cooler of his own Hamm’s (leftover from Banned Camp and has since been chilled and warmed several times and then sat in his basement with the cat piss until haphazardly thrown in the cooler 5 minutes before trail). Down downs were had. Traditions were shittily explained to our virgin Just Val who slammed Hamm’s and belched like she was true blue. We even went around and explained how we got our hash names as we handed out Hamm’s to the homeless that went by.
On After ended up being at Ralston’s where we named Just Bella (K9). She could have been named such atrocities as Beerowolf, or Foster’s: Korean for Dinner, but say ‘goodbye’ to Just Bella, and say ‘hello’ to Who Said Shed?