1000th Hash -Trash #3

HOGTOWN ANALVERSARY

A Memoir: Loosely based on truth.

It's not unusual for me to wake up on the morning following a hash and attempt to piece together the events from the prior evening based entirely on clues. I awoke in a room in the Days Inn - not my room, mind you, but a room. In my room were two hashers, one of whom I had never met. On the desk was a wad of monopoly money. On the floor in front of the bed was a stack of cheddar cheese. On the nightstand, there were four drinking vessels filled with olive oil, three photo IDs (none of which belonged to any of us sleeping in that room), three rubber gloves, size extra small, a pair of reading glasses without lenses, and a pair of oinklers.

From these clues, I began to remember the following. Arriving in Hogtown on Saturday morning, I made my way to the hotel with a mission. My mission? To get drunk. Hashers milled about, hung over from the tacky dress run the evening before, searching for coffee, and not at all interested that I had finally arrived. Within an hour, we were all drinking again and all was right with the world. About eight refills later, we were on on.

Thousands of hashers boarded school buses bound for some park near Lake Ontario. I remember seeing the following Pittsburgh hashers: Hung Like This, Finger Food, Fuk Stik, Flicker (accompanied by Dave the Mason), Too Loose, and Spermit. Chalk talk was led by our Hogtown Hares and, following a warm up, we were on trail. We ran along some trails with Lake Ontario to our left. Soon, we crossed over to a road, then, magically, we were presented with a shot check. Mmm, who doesn't love Jell-O shots? I wasn't sure which was my favorite colour (I am spelling Canadian-style so the Hogtown hashers don't need a translation); I decided to try them all. After critiquing several hashers' methods of coaxing the gelatinous miracle into their mouths and initiating a rousing discussion about Survivor and other realty shows, we were on trail again.

We ran our way around a smaller body of water, the perimeter of which was covered in goose shit (the Pittsburghers felt right at home) and we found a beer stop! Beer good. Here, the St. Louis hashers and I began exchanging tales of our fair cities. I learned that the arch is a lot bigger than it looks on TV and St. Louis learned that Pittsburgh is inhabited with demure, shy individuals who aspire to reach the height of dignity and class.

From here, some of us boarded buses to the last beer stop. Robin Wood bus surfed and lost his pants. And I thumb wrestled the entire bus population, making a mockery of every hasher's thumb wrestling Dojo. My Dojo is supreme.

At the last beer stop, New Shoez freaked out because the beer lines had frozen, Hung Like This freaked out because literally everyone looked like Fuk Stik, and I freaked out because of all the Jell-O shots.

When we arrived back at the hotel, some of the more intelligent, seasoned hashers took showers and relaxed. I chose to follow St. Louis and headed over to the totally original, not at all cliche Irish Pub down the street. There, lots of people whose names I totally remember but just don't feel like typing drank more beer. Eventually, showers were had by most.

Back Door Buzz accompanied me to our feast at the Canadian American Legion Hall. He totally knew where he was going. After walking for about 2 hours, he realized he was lost. With only another twenty blocks to walk, I got tired and bored and made my companion carry me, piggy back style. Good idea on the way there, on the way back to the hotel, however, BDB picked me up and I lost my grip around his neck, and I fell. Straight back. Dutifully, however, he held onto my legs. In this way, I cracked my skull on the sidewalk. I cannot tell if my blurry vision and slurred speech is a result of the fall or the beer. Oh well.

Anyway, at the Canadian American Legion Hall, we ate some food. Then, we took a personality test based on our drawing of a pig. Then we drank more. Then down downs were given. I was outside, drinking, or in the ladies room for most of this so all I can say for sure is that Spermit drank because he has to. Then talent was displayed. I remember seeing Give the Bitch a Ring's boobs and Fuk Stik's good parts (and bad parts), but I cannot remember if these displays were a part of the show. I also cannot remember why the lady security guard was such a cunt. She wore a blue blazer with the severity of a Nazi and took every opportunity she had to yell at every hasher.

Back to the hotel, more beer, a facial massage, songs, beer, multiple tattoo applications, beer, wardrobe critique, and, eventually, I passed out on a chair in the lobby. Then, I read the bible and prayed.

The next morning, I awoke to discover my head four times its normal size and the aforementioned clues. Fat boy trail was entirely too long and included a shot stop for schnapps. Breakfast included too much bacon, well-prepared eggs, and funny Canadian orange juice. Eventually, I got tired and went home.

Just to be sure Hogtown's lost and found list is complete, here are the things Pittsburghers left in Hogtown: one pair socks, one blue baseball cap, a black men's small glove, a nylon wallet, and Finger Food's virginity.

Hey Hogtown: Thanks for your hashpitality. I'm sure some people have some really great memories of this shitty weekend. As for me? My memory is completely shot. Mission accomplished.

On on,
Hypnotits!