You know, I was just thinking -- maybe we should start asking someone to write Hash Trash at the *end* of the evening, rather than the start. You see, people are typically sober at the beginning of circle (exception GladHeAteHer), thus they are operating under some clear-headed notion they will actually remember what happened over the course of the evening. Just a thought. Oh, by the way, I've just used my last sick day. Until May. So, it's Ice Mountain for me from here on out. Please don't hold me to that.

But, enough about me. I'll be hitting that subject again later.

In summary, 669 was a marvelous hash. Forty-fucking-three people showed up? What the fuck? You guys really enjoy the cold! What is wrong with you people?

It was repeatedly stressed by several in the group that it was hash number 669, as though that number means something. I dunno.

Hares Cliff BangHer, Dewey Sexual System, and Meta Arsehole (oh, wait, nevermind) laid a very challenging and complicated trail, with checks, checks, and more checks, and not one, but TWO Beer Stops (by the way PMS, you need to bring an ID). The first beer stop was in some sort of weird graveyard/park/homeless sleeping area where previous visitors decided to replace the names on some of the headstones with "Fuck Off" (which, honestly, is a much better header for a gravestone anyways). Everyone was sweaty from the long hard trail, which was nice, because I'm tired of always being the sweatiest.

After more long, windy, check-ridden trail, we hit the next beer stop, which was very similar to the previous graveyard/homeless sleeping area stop, except there were walls, heat, and a jukebox that I unfortunately mistook for being broken. I was sadly disavowed of that assumption upon hearing "All Night Long" by Lionel Richie. By the way, just because people don't "move" when listening to "Walking on the Moon" by The Police doesn't mean they don't like it. I'm just sayin'.

Finally, we departed beer stop number deux and set off back to circle, where Princess was carrying his Hashshit along trail like he enjoys it (I mean seriously, he had the backpack belt on and everything). A friendly neighbor approached us and asked if we were doing some sort of marathon. Oh, ROFLMAO. ROFLMAO. ROFLMAO. Sorry, I really like that acronym. I then wondered allowed to 2 Fuck Canuck if she would mind if I asked to use her restroom. Apparently that's not hash-like behavior. I'm just supposed to piss in her bushes. She was so nice and I didn't have to pee that bad, so I decided to wait until I got closer to circle. Jesus, you guys have a lot of rules.

Back at circle, everyone was properly lubricated from the not one, but TWO beer stops. Latecomers Ricky's Crab Shack and Pornogenic appeared, apparently after discussing what they were going to wear to the hash. Boner Malfunction also appeared late, but certainly made up for his tardiness by dropping trou in circle. Good boy. Pornogenic started a new tradition of jumping (literally) virgins in the circle upon seeing Ewe Fucker (apparently not for the first time, I'm thinking). Not to be outdone, Jack Rabbit Slim and Plot My G-Spot picked up P-genic's torch and gave an equally a-rousing welcome to the other two virgins in circle. I think we all needed a moment after that.

Backsliders (ICHY, cough, cough), Pere Marquette runners (or "insane people" as I call them), FRBs and DFLs were all celebrated in circle. And then, it was time for Hashshit nominations. And they were few, but they were good. However, the clear Hashshit winner was I Have A Dick for her incredibly detailed replication of Lea Thompson's character in Red Dawn. Although one could have easily nominated GladHeAteHer for having seen Red Dawn enough times to be able to make that comparison. Also, for those of you who've never seen Red Dawn, it's
not the one starring Prince. That one's Purple Rain, as I had to explain to my father.

Lastly, hashers retired to Lemmon's for some more beer, food (if you got there in time, but if you didn't, you could easily just buy some White Castle and bring it there, as Pubic Head beautifully illustrated), and jukebox cramming. I played some great music, hopefully you got to hear it. Virgin Just Joe and Lock Nut Monster were kind enough to trust me with musical selections, which is a fast way to my heart. Then someone played some Tina Turner or some shit.

Ricky wore a Grinch tie, which is not at all feminine, Cliff again reminded me that I fell off a chair just because I told him he looked like he was wearing shoulder pads, PMS and Burning Asshole finally got to take off their matching
on-the-run-from-the-feds-and-have-to-live-in-the-wilderness coats, and Burning Asshole told me I chew too much gum. Hammertongue shared that he got to party with Girl Talk at Sammy's house and that made me totally jealous, but happy for him, because that had to be the party of the year. Finally, it grew late, and another Wednesday hash drew to a close. And I woke up with a really, really, really bad hangover.

On On to Pere Marquette, where hashers will kick some serious ass.

Respectfully,
Strap-On (clap clap) Strap-Off