Run #443 FHACed-Up All
the signs were auspicious when the Drunkards of the North, the
Gypsies,
joined the Drunkards of the South, the FHAC-U,
for a night of revelry. Fast friendships were quickly formed;
Mountain Dyke
and Rug Burns
took turns pulling down each other’s shorts, while it only took one
look for Deflowered
to decide that Erection
Denied would
make an appropriate object of lifetime pity. The Grim
Rimmer and Ugly
Fuckling
reminisced fondly about the anal-insertion games they’d learned as
children. Our longtime facilitators Tongueless
and Fits In
somehow absent (allegedly due to illness and work, although we know
once they're alone these Hashers make Handjob
for Humanity and
Scabass Faggot
look like monks), stand-ins seized control of the evening. Bigfoot
collected Hash cash and belched once in the faces of those who paid
up and twice for those who didn’t; Suckin’
Up Spouse went
wild with a rubber stamp, purpling D’Anglin
Anglin’s
pecker; and IR
Stupid stood
around looking, um, vacant, having devoted his remaining neuron to
laying trail. Somehow the enormous crowd was whipped into order and
virgin Just Dave
was brought up to do justice to the Sacred
Missal. Alas,
the Lonely Librarian remained less than satisfied, so the will of the
pack propelled Ram
Pam forward to
show the hapless virgin what true religion sounds like. Onto
trail shot the pack. As it wound onto the I-280 shoulder, FRBs Broken
Trojan and LCB
were heard whining that the cars whooshing by made it hard to
concentration on their r*nning, at least until Scarlett
O’Hairy and
Beats Me
pushed them in front of an 18-wheeler, upon whose front grille they
set a record pace to Daly City. The trail circled and jerked, circled
and jerked, and jerked again until even Crutch
Cargo and Dick
Chick were
moaning in anticipation and release, eventually descending into a
vast, muddy and increasingly dark canyon reminiscent of that time Mr.
Poopy Pants mooned
the Circle.
(Wait, that happens every Hash. But each time it seems so fresh!)
Wandering lost in the gloom, Kazoo
and Three Ball
Jay confessed
their secret unrequited passion for one another, and could only be
separated when Badger
confused them
for hedgehogs rooting in the bushes and had to be pulled off by Drill
Me. Feared lost
on trail, Open
Wide was rescued
when Likes to
Lick ran back
into the woods to find her telling Wanker’s
Island and Just
Allison how she
had survived by cannibalizing virgins Just
Kim and Just
Mark. Little
remained but the stains on their shorts. As quickly as the
pack staggered in it was shuttled off to the home of IRS,
who served
firstcomers martinis and latecomers beer and charcoal-hard
hamburgers. The party was soon in full swing. Virgin
Slim and Naked
Hasher had a
contest to see who could wolf down the biggest sausage, but with
large sausages in short supply no winner could be declared. Nutless
Sac embarked on
a quest to consume the pack’s entire liquor supply and came
perilously close to succeeding. Several Hashers headed straight for
the hot tub, until Fucking
Pesto Chicken
complained that all the swimsuits in the tub were leaking highly
reactive soap particles into his beer. Next
Time and Quack
Off quickly
convinced him that soapy beer made for longer erections, after which
Pesto
vanished alone into a bedroom and was not seen again. After
watching Pied
Piper climb
naked out of the hot tub, Chibi
Maruko turned to
Anthill
and asked why the warm water hadn’t made it any bigger. Their
progeny Zoomer,
meanwhile, was tugging away at his new toy until Samuel
Adams barked to
make it known he doesn’t appreciate being fondled that way, at
least unless No
Hands or Meat
Pie are
involved. The still-unnamed Just
Jason perked up
at the thought of a doggy four-way, then was crushed when Sammy
wouldn’t have him either. The Circle
was convened and the Sacred
Bucket deployed
for down-downs. The Hares were punished for assuming wrongly that
this crowd of drunks had any desire at all to r*n. Just
John told his
heart-rending story of being stranded for a week in Newfoundland in a
town where there were only 101 bars on a single street; Agony
and Glad He Ate
Her allowed that
they would gladly have traded places with him. The respective Hashes
traded gifts: Spouse
received an automatic finger-hand that Rhoids
of London swore
would be put to good use, while Enter
the Gerbil
received a dancing, singing namesake and a habit-trail tube,
declaring himself happy until the singing gerbil decided to leave
with an unknown Hasher instead. The party decamped to a
nearby Irish pub where Apple
Pie Ho --
otherwise known as Mr.
Welcome -- and
Semen Monster
attempted to rub one another’s clothes off through simple friction.
Much singing ensued when Xena
the Warrior Princess
and Bangs
Anything wafted
in on a cloud of alcoholic vapors. The merriment was only enhanced
later in the evening as Xena
demonstrated to several of Millbrae’s finest his innate ability to
drive while intoxicated, to fashion illegal nunchucks out of
household items and to withstand pepper spray -- not to mention his
skill at staggering blindly away, handcuffed, while shouting “I’m
not resisting arrest! I’m not resisting arrest!” Bailed out a
mere 12 hours later by Johnny
Cockring, Xena
was immediately ready to hash again, a sterling role model for those
of us sober enough to require such things. On on.
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