Official Organ of the Greater
Hash House Harriers
G2FMH3 Hash # 153 –
Hares: Doug & Kyle
Start:
On-In: Back Page (3rd Ave &
Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Sarah Down Under
In a dimly lit cavernous basement, incongruously located on the
And so, prompted by occasional nostalgia for my former tenure as NYCH3 scribe, I willingly gave myself over to
At
“Instant shortcut!” I proclaimed.
“Okay. I’m fine with that. I’m doing the trail,” Manslave replied.
And this is how it started – a small rift in approaches that led to my acceptance of a dubious character’s proposition in a dank bar…
The crowd assembled randomly at the start. There was not the comfort of a hash start mark, so the group gathered together as only those without other important social events to attend on a Friday can. Wet Willy and Mickey Mouth seemed to form the nucleus of this rag-tag band. So strong was the attraction that a now nearly extinct hasher, Wet and Sticky, was drawn to it, despite thinking the start was a block away. Even Ed Lunch made it. Longfellow, too, felt the inexplicable pull of a full moon jaunt in
Then, a whiff of chalk hit the air. Two hares approached from the East – Kyle and Doug. “Virgins and Visitors over here!” barked Kyle, belatedly etching a huge H3 start symbol on the road and ordering the five over. Doug laughed loud and long into the closing light.
There was something unnerving about Kyle’s oratory. The signs he’d made were new. The regulars drew close as Doug’s wicked grin underscored the impact of Kyle’s proclamation: “Someone has been here before us! Beware the double-headed arrows, my friends, for they are not of us! They are of the Wednesday night’s NYCH3’s Baldwin Birthday Bash Hash! Follow not the faded ruins of a previous trail, but follow the ONE-HEADED, true path to the On-In! Oh, some of you ran that trail, didn’t you? Show yourselves!”
A few hands were raised. Feet shuffled. Someone cried, “Is the On-In as likeable…or the same?” Doug snickered again. A few took this as a “definite shortcut” sign. Meanwhile, the pack was brooding. Internally debating. Flour as a trail marker had made a comeback, and been used both on Wednesday’s trail and this one. How were we to distinguish? Then the musings were shattered:
“If you liked it, you’ll like this MORE!” Kyle countered. “Bags over there! First mark — that way!”
Following his imperative, the pack ran. I veered off, north, up past the roundabout heading for Poet’s Walk, wherein the path to trail ruin lay. Wet ‘N Sticky, feigning confusion, followed. Up near a check near the Boat Pond, he’d been drawn into the turgid depths of depravity for which he was infamous (read: Laying down fake hare marks, then skipping the on-in and subsequent punishment)
“I NEED to put down a false check, SOMETHING!” he begged
“I’m doing the write up. I rat on people. Take your chances, big boy”, I replied.
Ahhh, cheating, subversion, revenge. We were bound to come undone. As we did. Our corrupt plans bit us harder in the ass as around Bethesda Fountain, the pack caught up and found true trail. We lamely followed. Once the trail led into something I believe was the Ramble, all hell broke loose. Manslave suddenly appeared way up ahead of me, despite refusing to short cut. Leo bounded past. Shadowy couples of non-hashers slyly wished us evil for shattering their evening peace with loud barks of “ON-ON!” And then we emerged on the
Up then to the Reservoir, and out near 96th. The Fuzzy Month-Ago Memory Imagi-Bastard assures me we went east bordering the Guggenheim, along 89th, then south to Lex and Dreaded 86th Crowds. It seemed implausible then, but totally plausible now, given that Sticky’s prediction of The Back Page as the On-In proved correct.
And there we were. Back again. In a dank basement on the
And there we still were. Then Grand Joint Master Choriki showed, with a gorgeous new ‘do and wisdom for Kyle, the stand-in-JM-in-the-absence-of-Mean-Jean-AND-hare.
Here’s where down-downs are hastened to get to the food. There were:
- The Hares. For the trail. Just because. And just because it almost duplicated the trail 2 days before.
- The Hares. For no start mark. No matter that it was drawn in ipso facto, and lovely. They deserved it.
- Lon? Jon? There was someone with shiny new Asics who was a relative newbie, and drank like a champion out of shoes so lovely it made me cringe in sympathy
- Norma was a G2FMH3 virgin, as was Leo. They’d both hashed before, but never under the light of the Fool Moon. Each insisted that they’d made each other come. (Mutual happiness ensued)
- Visitors Alistair (via English Andy), Jeannie (a
- Andrea was summonsed for not only swallowing on trail, but also for deciding some random non-hashing male was so inspiring that she had to ditch trail and follow him.
- Mastercard was late to the start, as usual, yet was called up for her running attire that JM Danny referred to as a “blouse”. “No! THAT’S a BLOUSE!” she immediately shot back, gesticulating toward Danny’s festive Hawaiian-print shirt.
- Also called up for fashion offenses was Baboon Ass, who chose to hash in hot pink micro-shorts and matching top.
- Mickey Mouth was next. Immediately upon hitting the on-in, she phoned her mother, presumably to assure her that she was at Friday mass, hair neatly tied in a bow and fingernails scrubbed.
- Lastly, brothers Wyeth and Bottom received their punishment. Wyeth, certain that the on-in was the very same establishment as Wednesday’s, began running south to the Raccoon Lodge. Of course, he was aided by his older older sibling, who’d cunningly placed a pack mark heading in that direction immediately in front of the true on-in. “Yeah! I f*cked up my brother!” Botto
And the festivities went long on into the night. Did I awaken the next morning with a brain full of beer and a head full of regret for accepting