Date: 16th October 2005
Hares: Fast American Dave, Ass Ranger & Kendra
On-in: Finnerty’s Irish Pub (
One of the reservations you have about signing up to be a scribe is that one day you might just run out of material. I mean, think about it, what’s involved in the event you’re documenting/misrepresenting?
3. Repeat (often quite literally) ad nauseam
Seriously, how hard can it be? Surely there can’t be an infinite number of variations on the same theme. It seems I needn’t have worried. When Einstein said,
“Only two things are infinite, the universe and human stupidity and I’m not sure about the former.”
…he was right. Those of you who have been following our continuing saga of “Hashing 101: How Not To Set A Trail” will be disappointed to learn that I’ve had to throw out the instructor’s manual. It seems it was actually course 102 since it presupposed a level of intelligence in your average hare which, upon reflection, is somewhat lacking.
Our case study today is the Live Trail. The first rule of the Live Trail is: “Don’t attempt a Live Trail”. The second rule is: “DON’T ATTEMPT A LIVE TRAIL”. The third rule is “Don’t attempt a Live Trail YET”. I think you get the idea.
Perhaps he wasn’t feeling brave enough or perhaps he’d been dropped on his head when he was a baby, either way Fast American Dave had elected for the slightly lesser-known Semi-Live Trail. This particular variation involves pre-setting part of the trail and then, knowing where you’ve done so, run the live trail into the pre-set segments. Sounds complicated, doesn’t it. Hmm…it gets worse.
Not content with complicating the setting of the trail, Fast American Dave provided a rod for his own back by delegating the pre-setting of the trail to someone else…and not just anyone else but to Ass Ranger. So now the Live Trail was in Fast American Dave’s head and the pre-set segments were in the vacuum between Ass Ranger’s ears.
This is all information we could’ve done with in advance.
The unknowing pack set off from
We found successive marks heading north and followed these from one check to the next leading directly north until we reached the corner of 23rd and 9th where, for some reason, they ran out. After the FRBs had covered everything within a two-block radius to no avail and the Pack had awoken from their 20 minute nap on the street corner, someone decided to call the hotline and from there the Pack pursued an uneventful beeline to the On-In, Finnerty’s (3rd Ave. bet. 13th & 14th). There were a few stragglers, amongst them the FRBs, who had been separated from the Pack and, we understand, two individuals (Lauren and some anonymous hasher) who had actually followed the trail (if only the Hash had medals). With those exceptions the Pack arrived en masse a good hour and change after having set out from the start. Sharp implements were kept behind the bar to prevent a lynching but the beer assuaged their anger as much as it did their thirst.
And so to the Down-Downs. The Hares were pulled up quite rightly for what has to be one of the early contenders for Worst Trail of the Year. A dejected Fast American Dave, an unremorseful Ass Ranger and a somewhat embarrassed Kendra drank together (it was the first thing they’d managed to coordinate all day).
Then, as if we needed reminding of the debacle, Kendra had to drink for forgetting the only task she had been given: Write the “On-In” mark outside the bar. Ass Ranger who, it seems, was ultimately responsible for generally screwing the whole thing up with his “islands of trail” was given a rendition of “Sh*tty Trail” by a couple of the visitors, no less.
Then the visitors, who will no doubt spread the word of Ass Ranger’s clusterf*ck far & wide upon their return, were then themselves asked to drink. They included “Snoopy” from
There was only one virgin this week, Eric, and I hope you all said hello to him because there are distinct odds he’s never coming back.
Steve, of Stewa fame, was told to drink for, get this, “being lost on trail”. Exqueeze me? Baking powder? Yes, you read that correctly boys and girls. Turns out the whole pack who HAD been lost on trail and who had called the hotline and were now comfortably supping a beer at the bar, spotted Stewa on the other side of the street approaching the bar. Let the record reflect that Stewa was following marks on the other side of the street TO the bar.
Lunch was called up to drink on account of having stopped off at a bar along the way to relieve himself. I’m not sure you can blame him: there were no guarantees that we would reach the On-In until Tuesday but, hey, when it’s a slow news day for trail offences, the slightest infraction is going to get you into trouble.
Which injustices brought us to the Asshole Of The Week. This, you may rest assured, was thoroughly justified and not altogether unpredictable: The Hares.
Their only redeeming quality was their choice of On-In and as the beer flowed and the pizza was devoured, the Pack slowly forgot why they were so p*ssed off with them and their sh*tty trail. It was an interesting tactic and it would’ve worked had it not been for the fact that we have write-ups.