New Years Eve Pub Crawl
31 December 2014
The following Hash Trash was penned by the highly esteemed scribe: Donkey Fluffer

The Catman on Mallory Square forced his ridiculous laugh on the crowd. I glanced down at my Mojito and thought "This is the last sober moment of 2014". Really a lie, because I'd already had Bloody Mary's and several beers, but whatever. I attempted to watch the sunset, but mostly watched the crowd fight over places to watch the sunset. I was wearing full hash attire and spent a lot of time trying to adequately explain this hashing affliction without having long drawn out conversations. "We're a drinking club with a running problem" only seems to make the muggle ask more questions. It doesn't help that they all want to read the patches on your happi, some of which are not child-friendly. Most of the time I just want to say "piss off" especially if I'm trying to get my drink on.

Anyway, I responded to a last minute request from Marilyn Manhoe to get some ice and get the start beer cooled down, so I left my just ordered Ropa Vieja and snagged some help from Osama Bin Hashing, Fidel Assbro and It Puts the Tanning Lotion in the Basket and we made it happen. Manhoe arrived shortly thereafter and I could empathize with the frazzled look on his face, knowing what it takes to organize something like this and be running short on time. He gave me a big brohug and all was right with the world.

Kramalot signed everybody in, Reverse Rumspringa had a full selection of haberdashery, and GI Swallow handed out the outstanding hash goodies. We got a backpack with a ice cooler compartment, personalized credit card quality toe tags, a t-shirt with Manhoe art, and condoms.
The Tyrant cranked his bullhorn to eleven (sneaky Spinal Tap reference) and cracked the whip on the bawdy crowd of degenerates. A few announcements were made and off went our hare, that masturbating multi-tasking son of a bitch called Manhoe.

I watched Rumpley Foreskin offer beer bongs from his mannequin contraption with a strategically placed, phallic shaped, golden nectar dispenser. Ingeniously he had added backpack straps and he rucked that headless perv all over the Cayo Hueso.

Dog Fucker pointed at the sky and loudly proclaimed "boob check!" A perfect ring had formed around the moon and it certainly looked like everybody's 2nd favorite hash mark (BN still ranks higher). We took off on TT and found ourselves at The Smokin Tuna. They lined up the beers on the railing outside and we partied in the street, singing inappropriate tunes and reuniting with old hash friends. At precisely fifteen minutes it was On-On and I found myself on my knees at Tropic Cinema, taking a very large, very strong, jello shot from a huge syringe, graciously fed to me by the lovely GI Swallow. Everybody then violated the landmark Marilyn Monroe figure. Wankers were getting a little drunk by now and inhibitions, minimal to begin with, reached a new low.

Walking down Duval Street singing the days of the week (Is everybody happy? You bet your ass we are!) made the muggles stare but it was cool that a lot of them joined in.

Bobby's Monkey Bar handed us some strong orange rum punch and we again gathered in the street, avoiding the muggle crowd and keeping ourselves hash pure.

After the walk from hell where I dripped beer-scented sweat because of the 80° temp, we reached The Southernmost Inn and they gave us some of the best Sangrias I'd ever poured down my gullet, with umbrellas and cherry's even. As I'm sipping my delightful mixture, some wanker, I can't recall who, runs up and tells me "Donkey, Osama is in the pool naked!" as if I'm his babysitter and I should do something to stop him. Instead, my eyes lit up and I ran outside to get in on the action. My kilt came off and I hollered "now I have somewhere to pee" and I jumped in. We were up to eight or so nudists when we were ordered out of the pool by the damn tyrant. He had his reasons, but at least I got to cool off...and relieve my bladder. We moved on.

We wandered by Truman Annex and did a beer check in a parking lot just outside the Navy base. An "On- In" teased us. By this point the pack of a hundred or so were feeling pretty good and there was every imaginable verse of "Cindi Bear" floating from various points in the 1/4 mile long parade.

Pickle Maker wrapped himself in the "Happy Fucking New Year" banner that Manhoe had secured from somewhere, and walked down the street to an incredibly perfect location to greet 2015. The U.S. Coast Guard Cutter Ingham, moored at Fort Zachary Taylor. Onboard the floating museum, we had party favors, hot catered food, and keg beer. Manhoe cracked the whip again and we started circle. First up were the numerous virgins and most took the debaucherous initiation very well. Accusations were next, and I don't think many escaped the Tyrants wrath. We drank from his filthy bedpan, we flashed the body parts he demanded we show, we counter-accused and he drank from the pan of piss. A couple highlights was when Whorenament found herself completely disrobed for some obscure violation and Cockodile Hunter attempting to drink from the Pan of Shame while wearing the Sleeve of Justice. Her incompetence with the elbow-restricting tube caused her to douse her pretty dress and face with the sacred nectar. To add insult to injury she promptly dropped the pan on top of her head, Much to the enjoyment of the drunken sots watching.

We paused to grab champagne, in real glass On-On champagne glasses no less, then we watched the drop of lights that dangled from the mast as we counted the final seconds down to the New Year. There was a few frenzied minutes of kissing and swilling the bubbly but we were shortly called to order again.

Next came the toppling of the Tyrant. Shiggy Shave-Her led a coup and Manhoe was ousted from his Dicktatorship. Shiggy promptly proclaimed "I fucking hate every one of you" and we sang Swing Low.

The majority of the pack traipsed to the Green Parrot for On-after, many swigging from the bottles of champagne that weren't consumed earlier.

Yes!  We still hash every other weekend!  No there have not been Hash Trash Write-Ups for awhile because we need a Hash Scribe!

Are you funny?  Can you write satire?  Contact the Tyrant and volunteer!  Give back to your hash!

Well, didn’t we just have a fine time on the Hash Pub Crawl this Thursday?  To all of you hounds who missed the trail, it was a great time for some intra-hash introductions….  To celebrate the upcoming unholy-union of Lollypop and Sh'la Pisonya.

We started at Krawl Off Duval, with $1 craft beers on Hash-Special, and drank for a few rounds while SLUT passed out buttons and penis-balloons, people donned their tiaras, the groom introduced his entire extended family to us, and the North Dakota emeritus-GM tried to hide himself among the masses.

At the appointed time, the Tyrant brought everyone together for introductions, and Lollypop presented the Hash with a commemorative plaque with a photo himself and his bride-to-be mid-coitus (go ahead, I dare you to click that link at work).  A respectable gift for one visiting a new hash, Marilyn ManHoe was pleased with the gift and the proprietor of Krawl Off Duval promised to hang it in an honorable location at the establishment.  They nailed it up above the shitter.

Then, Ribbed for HIS Pleasure was sent off with chalk and he brought the walking-pack to the new Barbecue establishment called Charlie Mac’s.  We drank a few rounds, took pictures in compromising positions, Ribbed kissed and made out with the Groom’s step-mother….  And then the Tyrant grabbed the chalk, proclaimed his boredom, and took off at a walk (pizza in hand) and laid trail to 801 Bourbon.

When the Tyrant got to 801, wearing a tiara, he was immediately “eye-balled” by several of the customers (“eye-balled” is a new term meaning they raped him with their eyes and tried to grab his balls).  The Tyrant tried to order a pitcher or two of beer for his thirsty hounds, but the barkeep refused, claiming they offered beer only in individual sales.  So, ManHoe bought himself a yuengling and retired to the back bar in the men’s room (aka: 1 Saloon)  where he could find satisfaction.

After the pack arrived at 801, and the Key West virgins were introduced to the wonders of the back-bar….  Ribbed grabbed the chalk again and took us to his favorite nearby drinking hole:  Bourbon Street Pub.  We drank, we sang songs, and we had a honorable good time until the Bride mentioned how much she really wanted to get naked.  With this, Toto McScroto seized the opportunity to grab a stick of chalk and guide the pack to the Garden of Eden, where we met up with several lost hashers (SLUT and Snoop Dingleberry must have gotten lost on trail together).  Ribbed immediately doffed his clothing (again), but his tiny penis was overshadowed by Pisonya (the Bride) performing a topless hula-hoop show as Just Hillary taught her how to move her hips.

When Pisonya got cold and put her shirt back on, and we had all had enough of drinking beer with Ribbed’s cock hanging about…. Trail was laid to Sloppy’s and while the pack played, Pleasure Me Orally and the Gilded GILF were sent on a black-ops style mission to procure beer and ice for a surprise Religion to honor our visitors from the frozen north.

The Tyrant then laid trail to the parking lot behind Sloppy’s on Ann Street where a long circle was held so we could mock and thank our visitors, introduce their parents to Hashing, and most importantly…  name our two skinniest/tallest harriettes.

Due to fantastic stories you will never know if you chose not to attend, we welcomed Queef Gagger and Doggy Pole Pleaser to our ranks of debaucherous named Hashers.

The beer flowed only slightly longer, until Lollypop and Pisonya were brought in to drink a final down-down for us as a wedding present….  But the groom had worn cranium-gear in circle.  So, he was forced to consume the last beer…  which he almost finished before he launched his entire evening’s libations onto the pavement as the Tyrant began swinging Swing Low.

All hashes should end with the honored guest vomiting.  It was a beautiful climax to the evening.

The group then reconvened at Sloppy’s, and much rejoicing continued through the evening.  A terrific way to spend a Thirsty Thursday.

The Three Kings Hash started at the Krawl off Duval on Saturday,  January 5th. 

Great respect and thanks to the crew at Krawl's for their hospitality, their understanding of our loud boisterous group, and definitely for the beer specials!

The hares were Gilded GILF, Just Rafy, and Just Janae-nae. The hares disappeared right at 4:30 into the alleys beside and behind Krawl off Duval while a healthy sized pack drank cold beer at the start. While the trail twisted and turned around Duval, Whitehead, and Simonton, we finally came upon an SN and SH marks, which although they were briefed at chalk talk, confused Casper Gasper. "I have no idea what those marks mean. I've run 2 1/2 years and never seen marks like that!"

In a black plastic trash bag, the pack found delicious cherry and strawberry Jello Shots and four beers. After the pack collected all the hashers (Casper Gasper had made the Tyrant wait until her virgin arrived 10 minutes after trail started), we were off in search of another beer stop with some whichaways (marked in 2 directions), a couple of fakes into Bahama Village and back around, across and down Duval and then east while Mu-Sick got sidetracked at the finish line of the Ragnar Relay R*ce that just finished their relay run from Miami. Thar She Blows and Marilyn ManHoe spotted several of the Miami, Wild Card, and Fort Lauderdale hashers wearing their r*cist Ragnar shirts and invited them to join the hash. Unfortunately Buttplug, Don't Ask, Don't Tell, Jamaica Me Horny, and the others declined to run the hash since they had just run about 20 miles in the last 30 hours.  However, he r*cist bastards DID decide to crash our on-home, drink our beer, and pester our Tyrant during the religious ceremonies.

Several hashers were perplexed by the True Trail marks at every check since only the hare can leave a true trail mark. Rumors were that a certain tall brunette harriette running with a pony tail who answered to the name of Just Breonna was putting those true trail marks even though she was not the hare. The trail continued on east to Gilded GILF's house for another beer stop, where Marilyn ManHoe and Bloody Treasure Chest caught each other on their technological devices.

Departing over a locked wooden gate to another whichaway in the street, the pack headed northeast around the cemetery, east and onto Palm Ave at Peary Housing, which added some confusion since the New Year's Trail marks were crossed out but went the same way down Palm Ave. The trail finally separated from the New Year's trail and went straight down Palm Ave and into the Section 8 housing area for another check, only to return back out onto Palm, right behind ACE Hardware, a fake pass at Finnegan's and right toward the Coast Guard Gate, knowing that it is a dead end. Then, we saw the Beer Near sign with the direction out after the beer stop. Luckily, the entire pack did run into the school bus parking lot and to the Yeungling on ice, with a few Jello shots left. Mu-Sick kept blowing his whistle so that any late hashers can still make it to the Beer Stop and luckily Thar She Blows and a Hash Virgin showed up a good ten minutes after the last of the pack had arrived.

After our Yeungling Beer stop it was back around the old seaport next to Dante's, with another whichaway (marked in two directions) before running along Turtle Kraals, departing the waterfront at Sunset Watersports. We then proceeded south back to the start for the on home at Krawl Off Duval, where magically the Wild Card, Miami, and Fort Lauderdale hashers appeared, while the seven large pizzas disappeared.

The Tyrant ran the circle with a large white cooler stocked with Key West Belgian Wheat Beer, which some accepted and some disliked immensely (but were afraid to complain since the beer was free). After the Circle Up Song, Down Downs were held for the hares, with our visitors, Lofty (which was sporting a hash cap given to him at the 30th anniversary of him running the hash since 1975) and Yo Adrian from South of Perth Hash, Australia, singing their home hash anthem. R*cers did a down-down for r*cing all the way from Miami, wearing r*cing T-Shirts. Several Virgins were introduced to the hash and did their down downs, including Virgin Bob from Fort Lauderdale who had to come all the way to Key West to be introduced to the hash, rather than running with such riff-raff as the Fort Lauderdale or Wild Card Hash.  StrongSauce69 regailed us with glory stories from the great Agaña H3 of Guam, and sang us their Holy Hash Song.

Several harriettes exercised their option by utilizing the "Key West Hash Guidelines" and showing their tits while having a hasher do their down down for them.  Allowing the opportunity for Mu-Sick to perform for SLUT in the most enjoyable down down he had ever done in his 33 years of hashing.  We celebrated Casper Gasper's 25th birthday with a Spanking Tunnel, and Lofty proclaimed that it was a thoroughly enjoyable hash especially due to the magnificent boobies. After the beer disappeared, the pack went to several different on-on restaurants. Thanks to the hares for a fun Three Kings hash.  It was enjoyed by all.  If you weren't there, you missed out.

Here is the how the night progressed:  Although the posted run start time was at 8pm, hashers started showing up at 7:30, wearing funny hats and drinking beer in the parking lot at the main gate at Trumbo Point by the Flying Vagina building.

Thar She Blows collected the $7 hash cash from everyone; virgins were free.
The hares were Mu-Sick and Thar She Blows, both in top hats;
Pullin' Out had a beer mug hat;
Bloody Treasure Chest had a sparkly hat;
Ribbed had a patriotic red, white and Blue tophat;
Miss Squirtz-A-lot had a tiny hat;
Fluffer had a lotto pink flamingo hat;
Pimple Rain had a red stripe hat with guitar picks hanging down;
The two virgins from Tampa had a tin foil hat and a newspaper hat;
Nursing an STD had a blonde mullett wig (does that count as a hat?);
Wet Dreams May Come showed up without a hat but soon put his 3 foot long dreadlocks in a bun on top of his head (also, not a hat);
And the Tyrant, our beloved Marilyn ManHoe, had on a New Years Disney TopHat.

After we went through a case of beer with a pack of about 35 hounds at the start: the hares did Chalk Talk and left at 8:15pm, asking for 5 minutes. Even though the first first beer stop which was under the garrison bight bridge was only about 300 meters from the start, three of the hashers went straight to the second beer stop at the Barrelhead bar. As the REAL hashers ran along the boats and under the garrison bight bridge they found the hares waiting at the beer stop with the beer on the wooden buffer platform under the bridge where they had to crawl across the water and walk down the planks to get to the tasty nectar. The FRBs proceeded out there and sat down on the planks to enjoy their beer.

Finally after 10 minutes the hashers out on the planks managed to carry the beer back where the rest of the pack was able to drink the rest of the beer. Two more hashers, who were not at the start, showed up at the beer stop. The Hares then passed out the copies of "the man song" and invited all male hashers to sing along . The hares then asked for a 1 minute lead to Barrelhead bar under the Thai restaurant at garrison bight marina about 200 meters away. Since the Beers were only $1.75 each at Barrelhead bar we ended up doing 2 rounds there and the Harriet's sang a responding song called, "It's a small dick" to the tune of it's a small world.

The hares asked for 10 minutes as they left Barrelhead pub and made a left turn through the Peary court housing area. Yet only a mere three minutes after the hares left, they got snared in the housing area by Pimple Rain, who tried to blame the timekeeper for the error (however, since the Tyrant is never in error, this is impossible). The trail went out over a tall fence in the housing area when the open gate was right next to it. But that didn't stop several of the hashers and Harriets from climbing up over the 10 foot fence. Pimple Rain and his partners in crime then stayed at the exit gate to the housing area to hold the other members of the pack back to let the hares get a bit of a start.

The hares led the trail through a bunch of small alleys with Boob & Dick checks to Grinnell then up Grinnell past a likely beer stop at Finnegan's and around Dante's to trombone back to JDL's Big Ten pub on Caroline, where we drank them out of Yuengling beer. We tried to get the visitors to sing the "Visiting hashers song", but because several of them did not make it to the beer stop, they enlisted the support of all the hashers singing the third song.

From JDL's the trail went down Caroline with another boob check and across Duval, which was crazy with drunk people, to end up at Banyan Tree resort at the room where Shit Happens, Fluffer, Kenny Can't Cum, Dr Doodoo Chum Bag, and others were engaged in a massive orgy (with free cookies, too). Thar She Blows had to stop at mister cheapies to pick up more beer after the hounds drank her dry!!!

After Mu-Sick led us in the song "my first time ever" we all grabbed the champagne, the cooler and headed to Schooner Wharf to watch the wench drop and show off our "Happy Fucking New Year " sign which Mu-sick carried throughout the run. We all toasted with champagne and we all kissed and hugged and fornicated. Some kissed longer than others, right Ribbed? Then a scooter full of beer magically appeared and Marilyn ManHoe called us to circle for Religion!!

After the Hares were punished, the Tyrant called the virgins out and explain to them the hash house traditions. The first two virgins told jokes, but when it was just Kirstin's turn she simply asked "can I just show my tits?" (What a WONDERFUL phrase to hear a young lass utter...)

As accusations started, the Habu Sake (rice wine with the snake and scorpion in it) were brought out for punishment down downs. Curses to Mu-Sick and Thar for bringing this witches nectar down upon us all!!!  For dropping her beer with coozie in the water at the 1st beer check, and not jumping in to save it,and bringing such a vile drink to bear on the Hash, Thar She Blows was the object of the 1st accusation. Marilyn ManHoe, All Hands on Dick, and Ribbed for His Pleasure were among the first to imbibe in these strong imported spirits and I believe this where my recollection of events goes a bit hazy.  But I recall the Tyrant Punishing some unlucky bloke with the SLEEVES OF JUSTICE, and then we all heard gunfire (or were they fireworks?) and the entire hash screamed "Shots fired! Save the Tyrant!" as the entire pack tackled/protected/crushed ManHoe with their warm, wriggly, heavy bodies...

Many more got to taste the cobra & the scorpion brew (mmm...  mapley) before the circle ended with Swing Low. The On-After was back at the Big Ten Pub with half the pack for the 2 a.m. free breakfast, which was served at 0236.  At about 0330, we all started walking back home for the night. Happy Fucking New Year, you god-damn wankers.  Welcome to 2013...  

Yo, Key West Hash Harriers;

Mad Cow here, writing a guest-star Hash Trash: Ahoy! And many thanks for the twilight flounder through the Dismal F*cking Swamp on Saturday.  I never thought a Keys bayou could smell worse than a dead hobo’s ass-crack. But I now stand corrected.

We started in New Town, we had three beer stops spread throughout the mobile-home park, we got wet in the canal...  and we ended with Religion behind Daddy Bones where we drank beer before the Tyrant moved us all to Shanna Key to get warm and eat fried chicken.  It was good while it lasted.

The evil Hares Just Kat and Bloody Treasure Chest might have saved the septic-tank swan dive for the end of the hash when we all REALLY had to pee… or succumb to a timely bout of diarrhea, projectile vomiting, draining our gangrenous wounds, etc. as none of the above could have challenged the toxicity of this primordial soup. NAAAASTY! I guess the participating “(occasionally) high and (not so) tight (anymore)” types must REALLY enjoy being examined by military docs OR y’all have damn low health insurance co-payments. At least the impending typhoid symptoms will temporarily distract us from the recent chlamydia outbreak… (It is rumored that Fartacus is Patient Zero. Again. Bet he got it “sloppy seconds” from a blow-up doll. A male one. So it was scrawled on the bathroom wall of the 801 Bourbon Bar. In his own handwriting).

As for the rest of the hash: Wow! I never knew so many dumpsters could be crammed into a single zip code! Well done! Unfortunately, the local vagrants won’t lie still long enough for me to draw chalk lines around them, so where’s the fun? The shitty beer succeeded in slowing the progress of this Recovering Mormon by at least a day. And counting. Twelve steps in the wrong f*cking direction… damn!

And…aaaah! The huMANity! Many thanks to our fellow DFL, Ribbed for His Pleasure who was clad in a strategically holey, neon-green Richard Simmons hand-me-down body stocking. Alas, instead of “Feel the burn!“ it was “Feel the freeze!” Note: If your hunky physique carried a mere ounce of fat, maybe your publicly-displayed manhood wouldn’t have shriveled to the size of a juvenile maggot. Question: Does it hurt when testicles re-ascend? Antarctic rubbish heaps don’t sport colder junk. Yes, it was chilly. You knew that beforehand. Next time be prepared: Bring a (child’s) tube sock on a lanyard. Anyway, thanks for sharing.

“Pullin’ Out”  - thanks for the (ab)use of your house, where we started trail!  Some of us actually made it to the sink. Others of us weren't tall enough. The rest of us forgot to flush. But that's why God invented bleach. P.S. Next time chuck all your used lube onto your landscaping  tarp so we can use it as a Slip ‘N Slide From Porno Hell. This clever lagniappe will undoubtedly make Marilyn ManHoe wax nostalgic over his first intimate experience, as proudly documented in one of his early family albums (not to mention his uncle’s home computer).

Ahhh… I SO hated to toddle off (on a mysteriously wobbling bicycle) during the On-On-On where you all went to Shanna Key and the Tyrant bought you all pitchers of beer and hundreds of wings… Alas, my picky partner Dick Reckoning was more peckish than the entire Donner Party, yet considered the offered fried fare beneath him, probably because he was raised with snobby French culinary expectations. Or, maybe as a child, he was molested by a bucket of chicken wings (more likely, the entire diocese of Bordeaux). Alternatively, someone may have laced his beer with ex-lax (or, so he claimed to the hotel maids). I hope he didn’t give y’all pink eye, as he has been known to do…

All in all, this hash reminded me of sex in college: Over too quickly, foreplay consisted of beer, and it only cost ten bucks. Thanks!

On! On!
Mad Cow

The hares for Fantasy Fest Saturday were Mu-Sick & Thar She Blows. Beer was provided at the start, at Big Ten Pub, Simonton Beach and the 2 dollar beer store on FitzPatrick, (the 3 beer stops), and the on home behind the courthouse. FRB was just Brionna. DFL was FOSIL (friend of sick in luggage), because he said he picked up trail at the green parrot.

Thanks to the 3 virgins. We also have visiting hashers FOSIL, All Hands On Dick, Kong, and Finger Condom. 3 of the Key West hashers had to leave from the third beer stop to participate in the parade pre-organizing ceremonies. There was plenty of beer, soda, and water to watch the parade. Food booths were conveniently around the corner from our location in front of the post office.

Several other local and visiting Hashers stopped by at the end and visited our viewing area. we supplied beer to all the hashers they were in the floats in around the floats participating in the parade except for the Tyrant, who went right by without ever seeing or hearing our calls. congratulations to TurdinHand Magellan, Just Breonna, and our Canadian Virgin for getting the most beads. Watching TurdinHand working it and shaking his booty for beads was very entertaining.

Written by Mu-Sick

One would think that given the choice between dressing up for Navy Balls or going hashing in a shirt that you will never want to wear again would be an easy choice.  However, last Saturday several of our hashers were unable to get their priorities straight and were absent for a booze, blobs, and boobs filled hash in the ghetto.  Our Tyrant, Pleasure Me Orally, Salty Green Rim Job, and Farticus proved that they prefer Navy Balls over hashing.  Truly, a shame.

The hash started off well.  Unlike last week, Banana Butt Plug and fellow hare Just Clare were smart enough to bring beer to the on-start!  As we downed our golden nectar, Banana Butt Plug proceeded to completely confuse our virgins at the chalk talk, requiring Nursing an STD and Miss Squirts A lot to clean up after his mess.  The hares, bravely requesting only a 7 minute head start, ran off leaving us to finish our vessels.

We slowly jogged around old town until we spotted our first Beer Near check in a hotel courtyard.  Due to the lack of hiding places, and because they wanted us to suffer, our hares dumped the beer into the hotel fountain.  For those who don’t know, which is… nobody. Water in Key West is pretty warm.  Our once ice-cold beverages transformed into piss-warm nectar, and yet we drank.  At this stop we also found a couple of permanent markers.  Since it was a graffiti hash, and most of us had white shirts we didn’t mind getting defiled, and since we are grown adults, almost everyone had a penis on their shirt within minutes. 

Leaving our nice hotel environment, we ventured deep into the ghetto of Bahama Village.  Not far into this section of the trail, many of us thought “Trailer trash no shoot us” should have been included during the blessing of the hares.  An angry black woman verbally harassed the Queens Enema, and multiple vicious dogs attempted to eat our virgins.  Somehow surviving this running of the gauntlet, we arrived at a house complete with a beer check outside.  True to the theme, more markers came out, more penises were drawn, and the hash moved on.

 We finally left the ghetto, the hash running at a quicker pace than usual for some reason, until we no longer saw angry locals undoubtedly ready to defend their shacks with most likely stolen firearms.  On the way to the next beer stop, we scarred multiple children for life as we ran through a kid’s park, showing off our penis-covered shirts.  The final stop was in another park, this one absent of kids with the exception of ourselves.  Even more penises were drawn, suggestive language was written, swings were almost broken, and the sweet nectar was downed. 

The hash ended near the broken Coast Guard cutter, and a circle was formed.  The hares were punished, virgins told crappy jokes, hairy butts were seen, and both Just Claire and Tiny Dick Connoisseur bared their breasts multiple times for no reason.  The hash ended after Ribbed for His Pleasure made us cry uncle with his multiple additions to the S&M man hymn, and we moved on to consume plenty of burgers and wings.

           

Don’t forget to buy your red dresses and tutus!  On-On! 

-Nursing an STD.

On the last Saturday of the month of September (which is the 29th for those of you more simple minded folk) we donned our best fake muscle, billowing capes and random face paint at the White Street pier for the Superhero Hash.

The brave and foolish Tiny Dick Connoisseur and Just Adriana decided it would be good for them to hare. Let just say things didn’t start off too super for our Superhero duo. First off, where was the on start beer? Second off, where was all the on start beer!?!?! Shame hares, shame. Many a spandex clad superheros were in attendance. We had a hand full of Batmen (men and women alike), a pair of Quailmen and a Ghostbuster. I know what you’re thinking, Ghostbusters don’t have super powers. Turns out this Ghostbusters super power was being able to shed his jumpsuit and magically turn into a much paler, and much less endowed, Borat. Oh how the women didn’t swoon at Ribbed for His Pleasure and his not so super Super Power.

And as we always do, we jogged. Trail took us on a ziggy zaggy path up towards Shanna Key.
It seems to be a habit for EVERY F@!KING hare to tease us with an awesome stop here. Screw
you all! The beer check was mercifully nearby though right next to the high school. I found this
be a poorly conceived beer check since there were no good nearby bushes for hasher to relieve
themselves in.

Then we jogged more, towards the heart of downtown. This part of trail was boring. I blinked
and there I was and the next beer check at Pocket Park. I liked this beer check though since there were many shadowy places that hash could cause trouble in. And we did. And it was great!

Again the next part of the trail was very unmemorable. I blame this on several things. A. NO
ON-START BEER! B. Lack of shiggy. On a side note, Pullin’ Out, we need KWH3 shiggy socks! So, where was I? Oh yes, yada yada yada trail ends at the parking lot next to Finnegan’s. Seriously hares! The parking garage was 500 feet away and a much better On-Home. So we
moved circle to the garage.

Once at the garage the hares pull out three coolers! Finally, the golden nectar of our Beer Lord! And as we all know, SHAME to the hares for not providing enough beer. We ran out in ten minutes. So much ice! Not enough beer. Guidelines were demonstrated, virgins were introduced. Erections were then held. During Erections, Salty Green Rim Job was expunged and Pullin’ Out drunkenly grunted something incomprehensible and got the job has our new Haberdasher!  And I, the esteemed Snoop Dingleberry was voted in as your Hash Scribe!

We swung low, drank many more a ....wait, oh yeah that’s right we couldn’t drink more beer
since the hares didn’t get enough. Wankers!  The we all pissed off for Island Dog as the On-On-On and hit the town for dancing on bartops while dressed as retarded superheroes, and 4" Spike randomly started lifting people into the air.

Honor to the Hash. Honor to our awesome superheroness!

Snoop Dingle B.

Well, we hashed again.  Trail started at the Bocce Ball courts by White Street Pier, with all participants sporting offensive T-shirts.  We had seven virgins (which became annoying at the end) and as a great surprise, the trail laid by Ms. Squirts a-lot and The Queen’s Enema was actually pretty decent!

We started by hitting the beach and heading east before zigzagging all over the south end of New Town.  There was a beer stop or two and then we arrived at the construction zone for the new High School, and as we crawled under the fence to sprint across it…  Turdinhand was busy trying to convince the crazy old woman who lived next door not to call the cops on us.

The pack drunkenly stumbled along trail until we found a True trail mark pointing straight north from South Roosevelt and across to the Palm Avenue Causeway.  Squirts A Lot insists she marked trail for us to do a short 15 foot swim and get out on some pier, but the true hasher’s of the group were unable to see her pitiful marking and we swam that half-mile of tepid water filled with the guts of cleaned fish and were welcomed by a security guard by the bridge.

One of the virgins was friends with Jack the security guard, and so he told us to get lost before the cops came.  So, we ran across the bridge to the west side of the channel where the hare’s had left us another beerstop and quickly drank all 40 cans of brew.  Some people tried to swim that last bit, and were run over by a charter fishing boat that angrily refused to give way to swimmers.

The Tyrant pushed for the crew to leave quickly, before the police found us and because it was starting to get a little dark…  so the pack started jogging west again on trail.  We quickly found the arrows pointing us into the Peary Court housing area, and were hopping fences and evading military police.  Several of us became covered in shaggy and chiggers, while bounding between fences and from backyard to backyard.

Now in the pitch dark, trail eventually exited Perry court and we became lost in mid-town before finally arriving back at the base of the Aids Pier where the hares appeased us with massive amounts of beer and even provided snacks and cakes!  This should be a lesson to you Key West idiots that if you can keep all the beer stops cheap (as in, NOT at a bar) there’s cash leftover for food!!

Religion was a beauty, the Tyrant refreshed the pack with the legend of the LA “Guidelines” and many breasticles were seen.  All 32 of the virgins were welcomed, and business was attended to.  The pack named two of our long time fellows, and it is with great honor and pride we welcomed The Gilded GILF and Flaming Mother-Fucker to our family.  Religion then swung low, and we all headed out on the town wearing our terribly offensive t-shirts.  Snoop Dingleberry drunkenly promised to write the hash trash, but he must have gotten beat up on a street corner because the Tyrant never heard from him again.

Hopefully all you clowns make it out to the next run!!  On-On!!