Nobody asked me, but I thought I'd say a few words on the Bad Santa Hash perped by Zephyr and Venta the other night. Shampoo normally does the Trash, but he was having his "lady's time" and was indisposed. Like so much in our marriage, this one's up to me.

We started from Casa Venta, an unassuming little yurt in a part of town hashers can't afford to live in. Under the shocked gaze of staid North Torontonians, a ragtag band of Hashers spewed out onto Zephyr's front lawn and asked passing strangers to help them lace up their shoes. Among those present were Shadow, Natty Porn, Cougar, New Shoez, Shadow, Flyer, Phone Sex, Shadow, Dead End, Small Potatoes, Hump Day and Shadow. Zepher explained the rules of Hashing to the bored-stupid crowd, and we were off.

Don't ask me where we went. On we staggered, up one precious little street and down another. No parks, no ravines, no abandoned munitions factories. We waddled past McMansion after McMansion until Zephyr's cruel scheme of lowering property values by having Hashers lurch around was revealed to all. Casket Case gamely ran the whole way despite having been advised by doctors to crawl on all floors. The FRBs surged ahead to do whatever it is that FRBs do – I wouldn't know. Shadow disappeared, and perhaps that was best.

Two beer checks did little to ease the pain, but all things must pass. (At least, that’s what the doctor said after Shampoo XXXXX’d me with a plunger XXXXXXma. My XXXX wasn’t right for months. But never mind.) We got back to the ranch, and the utter tedium of circle took place. In an uncharacteristic move, Zephyr actually let Venta out of the kitchen to receive a down-down. This done, she was promptly re-chained to the stove. Bird Brian was revealed to have gone Nazi during his time in Germany. That didn't take very long. Natty Porn has become a real athlete and bragged about it, but we can't afford to kick her out of the hash – who would make our hash videos with the bad 80s soundtrack then? Shadow unfortunately reappeared. By the time I had sat on Santas lap and re-injured my XXXX, it was time to go home. As I left, Rose Eh was doing the one thing that could possibly make the occasion worse – telling everyone that they'd have to do it all over again tomorrow.

On-On,

Moist