NYCH3 #1103 – AGM

Considering the start (Limerick House) and the same on-in, we thought it only suitable to try a couple of hash limericks.      








With the heat of their passion quite high,
In the dark Lisa grabbed the K-Y,
But her burning desire,
Quickly set Dave on fire,
When she smeared her Ben-Gay on the guy.

Our new On-Sec Flaccido Domingo,

Prefers visitors and virgins for sex.  A co-

hasher once asked,

If he’d ever eaten ass,

He replied, “On trail — seven checks ago.”

There is a young woman of Croft,
Who plays with herself in a loft,
Having reasoned that candles,
Can never cause scandals,
Besides which they never go soft.

Vince Viagra’s our Florida cager,
Who once agreed to a wager,
He consented to fart,

The entire oboe part,
Of Mozart’s quartet in F major.

Said Peter vacationing on a yacht,

I’m so big, it ties in a knot!

His girlfriend named Lesley,

Said it drove her mad crazy,

When he “came” at her doing 30 knots.

Lunch traveled to a place called Bombay,

Where he modeled two breasts out of clay,

The heat of his prick,

Turned the clay into brick

And rubbed all his foreskin away.

To his friend Andrew said rather blue,

My wife Sarah just told me we’re through,

For she says I’m too fat,

And his friend told him that:

“You can’t have your cake and eat Sarah too.”

There is a young man we call Cree,
Who buggered an ape in a tree,
The result was quite horrid,
All ass and no forehead,
Three balls and a purple goatee.


Our front running bastard Marie Wickem,
Who hates men that have no prick in ‘em,
On her knees every day,
To her God she does pray,
To lengthen and strengthen, and thicken em.

Kiss My Rash who broadcasts in Georgia,

Has no inkling of how he should forge a,

Romantic relation,

His idea of flirtation,

Is to unzip and yell “cumin’ toward y’a!”

Our absent hasher Magoo,
Once fell asleep in a canoe,
While dreaming of Beavis,
He pulled out his penis,
And woke up with a handful of goo.

For a hot time in warm Louisiana,

On a Saturday night Pam would cram a,

Small mike up her bum,

And then sing, fart and hum,

Delta blues to amuse her ol’ gramma.

Our gimp co-haberdasher Stacia,

Has a rather unorthodox mania,

She shaves her dates’ heads,

Straps them tight to their beds,

And then masturbates on their bald crania.

“Oh Eleanor, in you I must confide,

I’ve never seen such a beautiful hide,

Bend over and unveil,

Your glorious tail,

I’m Head-Up-Ass and will not be denied.”

There once was a hasher named Sweeny,

Who spilled gin on Fire-in-the-Piehole’s weenie,

Just to be couth,

She added vermouth,

Then slipped ole Fluffy a martini.

Oh the air did turn green,

From a fart from Mean Jean.

The pack sat aghast,

At the royal blast,

But stood and sang “God Save the Queen!”

In the check-out at the food store,

BootyCall was advising the poor:

“Hey you up front!

That’s too many items you c*nt!

And they won’t take food stamps for beer, y’a dumb whore!”

I hear Fast American Dave,
Keeps a dead whore in a cave,
She was missing a tit,
And smelled quite a bit,
But think of the money he saves!

And then there’s FRB Devo,

Whose pubic hair covers his thigh-O,

Overgrown, dank and fungal,

It stinks like the jungle,

And harbors more crabs than the bayou.

To her new beau from bright California,

Teacher Kim said, “I guess I should warn y’a,

I’m unfaithful on drugs,

I enjoy taunting dumb thugs,

And when I find a rich guy, I’ll scorn y’a.”

On the hash we have Fairy Queen,
Who invented a fucking machine,
Concave and convex,
It would fit either sex,
With attractions for those in between.

Young Chad gave lessons in class.
One day, when he lay with a lass,
When she used the word ‘Damn’,
He said to her: “Ma’am,
Keep a more civil tongue in my ass.”

At the orgy Drew fucked twenty-two,
And man, was he glad to get through,
A whole night of sexing,
Turns boring and vexing,
But at orgies, what else can he do?

Got Wood(?)’s had lovers a many,
Her usual charge is a penny,
For half of that sum,
You can roger her bum,
A source of amusement to many.

On a date with a charming young bird,
Ted’s erotic feelings were stirred;
So with bold virile pluck,
He enquired: “Do you fuck?”
She said: “Yes, but don’t use that word.”

None could better Carla’s sex limousine,
With its neat, built-in fucking machine,
Engineered, hers connects,
To suit either sex,
And adjusts to the fat and the lean.


For Geoff: wanted, house-keeper;
Not too bloody refined, a light sleeper;
When employer’s inclined,
Must be game for a grind,
Pay generous mind, but can’t keep her.

A young hasher name of Meatballs,

Was equipped with octagonal balls,

The square of his weight,

Times his pecker, plus eight,

Is his phone number, give him some calls.

Pearl Necklace while dining at Crewe,
Found an elephant’s dong in her stew,
Said the waiter, “Don’t shout,
Or wave it about,
Or the others will all want one too!”

Wet Connection has features cherubic,
And is famed for her area pubic,
When they asked its size,
She said with surprise:
“Are you speaking of square feet, or cubic?”

Tall Jonathan hash lore relates,

Was scuffing with some of his mates,

When he slipped on a cut glass,

Which rendered him nutless,

He is practically useless on dates.

A nudist girl wearing three raisins,

A masquerade prize was her goal.

The judges said ,”Lookie,

From the front she’s Ookie Cookie,

From the rear she’s a Parker House Roll.”

Jon Carey’s head might be bare,

But his ass is covered in hair.

We tried to direct him,

To find his lost rectum,

So he shaved it and out fell a chair.

Karen Z., a pretty young lass,
Had a truly magnificent ass,
Not rounded and pink,
As you possibly think-
It was grey, had long ears, and ate grass.

There once was a woman named Alice,

Who used a dynamite stick as a phallus.

They found her running shoe,

Some place in Timbuktu,

And the rest of poor Alice in Dallas.

There once was a plumber in Lee,

Who was plumbing Dr. Deb by the sea,

She said stop your damn plumbing,

There’s somebody coming,

Said the plumber (still plumbing) . . .it’s me!

Pussy Repellant’s got passions quite gingery,

Tore a hole in his sister’s best lingerie.

He slapped her behind,
And made up his mind,
To add incest to insult and injury.

In 1966

Wa pulled down Ste’s knicks.

She licked his bum,

And said “Yum, yum!

This tastes better than Wheatabix!”

There was a couple named Krall-Kerry,

Who walked ‘round belly to belly.

Because in their haste,

They used library paste,

Instead of petroleum jelly.

There once was a man from the hash,

Who was told that his sex life was trash,

As he cried like a retard,

He was saved by dear MasterCard,

Who turned his dream into cash.

There once was a hasher from Sydney,

Who’d take it up right to Norma’s kidney.

Then a man from Quebec,

Took it up to her neck;

“He had a big one now didn’t he!”

Yello Smello wanted to grow up a saint,

And her mother, she had no complaint.

But men quite a few,

Were more fun than a pew,

So she wanted to be, but she ain’t!

There was a hasher called Sideshow Bob,

Who wanted a really great blow job.

He found a snapping turtle,

Whose name was Myrtle,

And now he carries a corn cob.

Rich, the married hashing fool,

Made sculptures out of his stool,

His version of “The Thinker,”

Was really a stinker,

But the portrait of Madonna was cool!

And just so you know that I’m game,

And capable of being treated the same,

I fuck boys a lot,

And tell them they’re hot,

And when cuming, I shout the wrong name!

One more (from Flaccido)

There was a young lawyer quite bright,

Couldn’t screw ‘cause her thing was too tight.

She discovered a loop hole,

By using her poop hole.

Now she screws all day and night.


For those who attended the Pub Krall the night before, it was a God-awful, dreary, drunk/hung over early afternoon.  For those who didn’t, it was just pissing rain.  There were no new hashers, thank God!  And, we were told by our fearless JMs that the trail was marked with flour.  Peter remarked that the pack couldn’t start out until Sideshow put out his cigarette.  Then we buggered off.


About 50 of us headed east on 23rd Street over towards Madison Park.  There we were stymied by a huge congregation of Swamis, celebrating something.  There was a circle jerk check right at the north end of the park, which left 50 hashers totally stranded looking for true trail.  Forget the throngs of people to dodge, but the music was awful and so was the smell.


About 20 minutes later, several of us found true trail going south and we followed, pack marking all the way.  To make a semi-short trail even shorter (it has taken me 2 days to cum up with the damn limericks!), trail basically formed a circle going south, east, then west to Washington Square Park, over to Hudson and then back north to the start.  A swan song it was not – but it also wasn’t too shabby for an AGM trail.


The Regular Down-Downs/Trail Offenses:


Former JM HUA doled this one out to the hares Dave Too Long and Got Wood?, commenting that while Got Wood? could dress like a whore, she couldn’t drink beer on Passover.


The runners up for the ‘Double Mint Award’ went to Chippendale because nobody can tell them apart or remember their names (Chad & Drew).  First place winners were yours truly and Yello Smello for wearing matching outfits (identical Big Sur Marathon T-shirts and same style DKNY pants).


Yello Smello remained for the ‘Fakester Award’ for wearing the Big Sur Marathon T-shirt without having r*n the race.


‘Pub Crawl Survivors’ went to Kindergarten Kim, Bootycall. Pearl Necklace, Fire-in-the-Piehole and three others I don’t remember (go figure!).


Peter and Lesley got the ‘Dumb and Dumber Award’:  Peter, because he surrounded himself with 5 women on trail, asking them to protect him as we ran through Chelsea and Lesley for arriving at the on-in after an A to A r*n, only to ask: “Where are the bags?”


As for the ‘Anal Awards’, they were as follows:


Couple of the Year Nominees:


Yello Smello and Sideshow Bob (just got engaged);

HUA and Eleanor (got married last June and now never have sex); and

Chippendale (Chad & Drew – because no one can tell them apart).


But, the winners were MasterCard and Lisa who, on multiple occasions and after way too many PBRs, have been caught on camera making out.  Because Lisa was unable to attend, she was replaced with a card board likeness of herself.


Worst Trail of the Year:  Sideshow Bob (hands down even though we let Magoo set too many trails last year) for his disaster r*n to Roosevelt Island.  Too long and too horrible to get into here.  So, ask someone who was there.


AOTY:  Another surefire winner.  BootyCall, who actually looked shocked after having committed the various hash offenses this year:


                     called Ookie Cookie at 2AM after falling on a broken beer bottle (drunk), ripping his ass open and asking her for free stitches because he did not have health insurance;


                     constantly glued to the bar at every on-in so that no one else get a beer and so that he can negotiate his own private bar deal (also drunk);


                     drank all of the beer at the Marathon and single-handedly ate half of the 4 dozen bagels (again. drunk); and


                     telling Marathoners at the 23rd mile mark (including the wheelchair participants): It’s OK, you can quit now! (obviously, drunk).


As BootyCall left the “podium,” a fellow hasher was overheard remarking:  “Beware!  This was only his rookie season!”


As for Peter and Dave Long, who left the Committee – “Good night ladies, we’re DAMN glad to see you go!”


As for the new Mis-management, they are:


Joint Masters

Mean Jean                        917 767 9705 (c)

The Down Down Machine

Jumpin’ Jack                                                       917 566 2423 (c)


Religious Advisor

Bottom                                                                  917 509 9953 (c)


Cockstar                                                   917 273 6864 (c)

Flaccido Domingo                                                  917 620 3299 (c)

Fire-in-the-Piehole                               203 918 8853 (c)

Hash Cash

Got Wood?                                                917 881 3058 (c)

Hare Raiser

MasterCard                                  917 495 7525 (c)


Karen Z.                                                   917 602 4747 (c)

Stacia                                                  917 428 3658 (c)

Trail Master

Head Up Ass                                           917 859 4689 (c)

Web Master

Danny Choriki                                               917 754 1004 (c)

As usual, the hash cash ran out, Dave Long can’t do math and failed to pay the bar tender on a rotating basis (so we ran out of cash before being notified), hashers stayed late, everyone got drunk and a few people got laid.  And me?  “Take me drunk, I’m home.”