The White House Hash House Harriers
A drinking club with a running problem
#1158 November 11, 2007 Rosslyn
Hares: Dyke Tyson, Mount My Rear, Bob Lowblaw, A Salt My Ass
Virgins: Just Meredith, Just Dave, Just Melanie, Just Heather
Visitors: Queen Of The Pussies, Tour De Puke – H5, Will He Peter – Houston, Fiber Opdick – Carolina Trash, Guppy – Auckland New Zealand, Digital Input – Houston, Area 69 – Vegas (transplant)
Brew Crew: Knee Deep Pussy High, Wookin’ Pa Nub
Beer Bitch: Semen On The Pew
Analversaries: Nobody mentioned any, but that might have to do with a missing RA. More on that later.
Long Time No Seers: Wood Pecker, Fag, Tinkle Tinkle Little Star
Okay, so nobody thought to ask where EWH3’s trail this week was going to be, so we all had a serious case of deja hash when we arrived at the start. Thank God we didn’t have to run another 5.5 mile trek through DC on flat, dry pavement. NO WAY! We ran a 5.5 mile trek through all the shiggy and hills Georgetown had to offer. Really, this trail had more curvature than a burlesque show. But what we do isn’t all just fun and games. It’s dangerous. Highlighted by what we saw at end circle, the details of which may never be discussed again. And I’m sure the authorities would do anything – ANYTHING – to cover it up. I’m not even sure I want to discuss it, lest I enter the midst of a government conspiracy. But it’s my job to tell the truth or at the very least the truth as I see it. So, if you didn’t notice, our fearless RA, Can’t Fuck Dust, was abducted by aliens at the end circle. There he was, collecting violations from your faithful scribe when all of a sudden, he was whisked away from us and replaced by Red Eye Vagina. Now I like Red Eye Vagina (really, who doesn’t?), but replacing Can’t Fuck Dust with Red Eye Vagina is like replacing my normal coffee with Folgers Crystals. I don’t care what the commercials say, they’re just not the same. Sure, Red Eye Vagina finished the circle as best he could, but you could tell he was a bit shaken up. The real tragedy of all of this is that still no one has seen or heard from Can’t Fuck Dust since that fateful night. He’s no doubt being tested, experimented upon, and tortured by anal probes that will leave his ass looking more like a deflated weather balloon than a part of the human anatomy. We must keep him in our prayers. That’s enough despair for one trash, though. The truth is that you people did some funny (and stupid) shit, so let’s get on with the violations.
Veterans: We are grateful that there are people like you who serve our country. Have a beer. It’s our treat.
Hares: Sent the walkers out early. Apparently the climax of the opening circle was so powerful that they had to ask the runners to cuddle for 10 minutes before leaving.
A Salt My Ass: Promised a shot check and failed miserably to deliver.
Jackoff Lantern, Slip Knot & Queerly I’m Straight: Racism. All wore r*ce shirts to the hash.
3 Holer: Wore a kilt to the hash and flashed the walkers. We had to ask the walkers whether that move was a benefit or a detriment to his standing in the hash. 3 Holer himself was the first to speak up and say it was cold. Riiiight.
Lumber Jackoff, Jackoff Lantern, & Gay Guy Counter: Doing ‘shrooms on trail. Each of these idiots decided that destroying giant puffball mushrooms would be a delight to everyone. Apparently everyone delights in watching them drink.
A Salt My Ass: Arrives to hare a trail and says he’s “not drinking today.” You’re a hare. So, yes you are.
Hand To Hand Cumbat: When discussing her upcoming spa appointment, she remarked on how long it’s been since she’s had a facial. Who will volunteer to help?
Poop Weiner: Announced his desire for packaged meat product at the hash. That’s a dangerous request.
Mount My Rear: When the hares introduced themselves, she apparently forgot her own name.
Motormouth: Delivered shame to his family for generations to come when he lost a thumb war to Wookin’ Pa Nub.
The Hash Shit was not present. Don’t worry, though. That wasn’t aliens. Rambutt still has it.
And then we decided to name Just A#$% (the name of this hasher has been concealed to protect the identity of someone who may or may not be an actual person). Just A#$% is married to Meat Lover, formerly known as Just Jess until last week. So start this discussion by remembering what happened last week. When that doesn’t work, reread the trash for a quick reminder. Apparently Just A#$% met his wife in a gay bar. He is a bugler with the Marine Corps’ Drum and Bugle Corps. He has no sense of smell, which leaves him confused about why people gag at his flatulence. He lost his virginity on Labor Day 1997. Unfortunately, his lucky lady had shaved 2 days prior, expecting some action. I don’t think I need to tell you what kind of rash 2-day growth can give you, but Just A#$% confirmed that it was kind of unpleasant. So then we suggested that he be called:
Little Boy Blew
Get The Whore
Finger Lickin’ Good
How About A Pizza And A Fuck?
Drum And Bugle Whore
30 Minutes Or Less
You Can’t Handle The Tooth
Where’s The Cock?
Meat Seeking Missile
But then we named him…TASTER’S CHOICE
From there, it was ononon to Continental, where drinks flowed and blood spilled (not really, it just sounded good). Sorry if it was past your bedtime, but your mom got off Monday so we stayed out. Incidentally, she got off on Sunday, too. Tell her we said thanks.
Gay Guy Counter