• EWH3 Hash Trash #992-995: A WIE Travelouge

    Day 1, Eastern Market Metro

    “The Beauty and the WIEEEEEEE-st Trail”
    When: March 1, 2017
    Where: Eastern Market Metro (Blue/Orange/Silver Line)
    Hares: Bumspringa, GeriatricMandering, You Can’t Handle the Poop, Quantum Whizics, and Fish n Tits
    Virgins: Just Catherine, Just Chelsea, Just Dan, Just Dante, Just James, Just Leslie
    Visitors: Road Kill returned to us from Hong Kong
    On-After: Trusty’s

    The pack, a shambling mass, and was at rest. The weather had made, the wind was chill, and being 6:45 pm, the only thing for it was to come to and wait for the away.

    (Note: in honor of the literary theme of the trail, this paragraph is an allusion to the opening of “Heart of Darkness”. Be simultaneously impressed and confused as to whether additional references await. The answer is maybe, if I think of something that works. The mind of a man is capable of anything. [Note on the note: that sentence was a pretty famous quote from the book, but I’m going to stop pointing everything out now.{Note on the note’s note: No I’m not.}])

    The Hares, like my 2nd grade teacher, tried to make reading fun by turning it into a game! The pack pinged between tiny libraries, exchanging bad books for other books so bad, people put them outside in the cold to punish them. At last call the three books that remained were a student bible, a book about naval history, and “Heart of Darkness” (Haha! It all makes sense now!)

    Other quotes from Heart of Darkness that sound dirty if you don’t know what the heart of darkness is:

    • “We penetrated deeper and deeper into the heart of darkness”
    • “The brown current ran swiftly out of the heart of darkness”

    Violations:

    • Whoregon Trail was seen standing on the corner looking for virgins. She bagged them all, but could only return with so much meat.
    • Hercu-please was to blame for the pack skipping the shot check. He saw a man screaming in a cemetery and went the other way. The horror! The horror! (smirk) He is being violated because cowardice is not next to godliness
    • The Virgins received a commendation for literally putting their backs against the wall. They followed instructions so well! A little more time at the hash will fix that.
    • The Hares were handed commiserations for Beer Check. It was so surprising what happened, considering how well lit and open it was, with all those nice cars and that halfway house nearby. Who would have thought?

    Due to an unfortunate accident we will get to later, there was no naming this night. The pack retired. Some to Trusty’s and others into the heart of an immense darkness. (Modest nod to those who caught that that was the end of the book)

    Day 2, U.S. Route 50 East & A Wawa

    While most of you either slept in or dragged your asses to work to stare at blank screens and count the hours down, the WIE organizing committee woke to primary and secondary alarms to depart DC just as the clock hour hit double digits.

    Some say the best part of WIE is the drive there: the excitement building about all the possibilities, the excellent Spotify playlist to get you in the mood, and the food at Wawa. They’d be wrong, but I can see how a rice crispy treat the size of a cinderblock could be in one’s top 7 favorite things about WIE. A great thing about Wawa is there is no pretension that their food is remotely fancy. As someone told me: “I ordered macaroni and cheese with chicken tenders on top. I didn’t have to make that up, there was a button for it.” I bought a single Reese’s peanut butter cup, just because that was an option. I don’t regret that 19 cent investment.

    Maybe it’s Gaybelline led the pack in a bar crawl. He took us to two bars, the legal bare minimum for it to be considered “a crawl”.

    On the walk over, Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me was kind enough to play a song for us at the pedestrian crossing. Did you miss it? It sounded a little like this, but with more recollections from Lake Wobegon.

    The locals must have known we were in town, because they came in finery to rival Truman Capote’s Black and White Ball, if the ball was held in the returns bin at a 1997 Wet Seal. Never in my life have I seen so many foam platform sandals and big toe tattoos. All the ladies had the same short asymmetric haircut. It’s like they asked for Miranda Lambert, but got Adam instead.

    The bar crawl ended at The Sandbar, where hashers monopolized the karaoke queue from the jump. Which the rare exception, what we lacked in skill we made up for in enthusiasm. As one surprisingly self-aware hasher said, “I can’t sing, but I can entertain.” Apologies to the muggle who got the “alternative” version of the “Happy Birthday Song” sung to her by Nobody puts Gayby in the Corner. I’m sure she loved it.

    After we are all filled up on Natty Lite, we went back to dance our feelings out. Thanks to I’m Tho Thor for fixing that pesky smoke alarm issue. Sometimes the best solutions are the safest smartest simplest.

    Additional violations from the night:

    • Atari 6900 had great news, but didn’t want to stress out his already put-upon girlfriend, so he just texted her “hey, when you get a second we need to talk.” Good going, I’m sure that put her at ease.
    • Homo on the Range sung his roommates to sleep at 3 am with a moving rendition of “Popular”. Seldom is a song more appropriate, because he’s never more popular than at 3 in the morning.
    • Barbie Cream House decided to go to Seeeeeaacrets but got lost on the way back. It’s understandable, I don’t know if I’d be able to navigate the literal 1 mile walk, what with it’s ample lighting and being a straight shot.

    Day 3, WIE: A Brewery, A Bonfire, and a Bibliotecha

    “To awaken alone in a strange town is one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – Freya Stark
    “To awaken next to a stranger is also one of the pleasantest sensations in the world.” – some hasher, probably

    When: March 3, 2017
    Where: Ocean City, Maryland (Coast Highway Line)
    Hares: Imma fill this out later
    Virgins: Just Brenda (That’s right! We had an honest-to-goodness virgin at WIE. Rethink your friends, Just Brenda)
    Visitors: If you think about it, we are all visitors to Ocean City, aren’t we?
    On-After: The Library

    Throughout the weekend, All Flash No Drive did a superlative job in supplying the pack with Costco-sourced goodies. The only snafu was an inadvertent purchasing of plantains instead of bananas. I personally blamed her shopping assistant Rear Protein Injection for this mistake, since he’s such a size queen. I just wish people stopped being so nice and warning people before they tried to eat one. Sometimes you have to learn the hard way: after it’s already in your mouth.

    Following a brisk first half that was much shorter than planned because the pack got confused and ran the pick up trail from the night prior (h/t to Kuter Kunte for haring 1.5 trails!), the pack enjoyed a repast at the OC Brewing Company. Such a wonderful selection of beers! Everything was so nice. So naturally we had to go and hash it all up. By the Power of Gayskull deep-throated one of Gaybelline’s horns. Dude, don’t do that in public. Save it until we get back to our room! Necrocancer reminisced about his childhood summers in OC. In addition to stealing cars to park them elsewhere (see his naming), he apparently also used to change the welcome sign at the local Catholic school to say “I touch boys.” Normally you’re just supposed to tell a trusted adult, but who am I to tell you how to share your story?

    I was told that the second half of trail was long, hard, and fun (just like your… dad?). I wouldn’t know, and I’m confessing now in front of God and everybody that I zenned it.

    In fact, it appears that most people at some point bailed on trail. Only Twatterboarding, Keebler Shelf, and Just Kevin made it the whole way through regular trail. They were a little late back because they took a break to have a margarita. Which honestly after that trail, who wouldn’t need a drink?

    Special thanks to the Hares. It’s not easy to make a trail in Ocean Shitty fun and interesting. Maybe it’ll happen next year (Hey yo! Zing!)

    That afternoon after the ballbusters got back from their Bataan themed trail, the united pack made their way onto the beach to circle around a smokey bonfire to try to asphyxiate ourselves. My notebook still smells like smoke and cheap beer. That reminds me, I should really call my grandmother.

    Reports from the other scribes who were so kind to help me in this task.

    Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me on the Ball Buster trail:

    • A commendation for Homo on the Range: Homo tried to open a bag of chips with his teeth and failed miserably. Apparently bags of chips share a penis’s aversion to being teethed, good man!
    • All Flash No Drive was overheard on trail saying she likes to enjoy her pickles slowly. Her accompanying heavy sigh indicated that RPI’s pickle seems to enjoy itself very quickly!
    • Tuck Tuck Deuce took ample opportunity to criticize this author for his uncharacteristically lackluster sweeping skills at the beginning of BB, and promptly got lost on trail when he usurped sweeping duties. Let’s not blame him though, grumpy old men are easily confused and disoriented in unfamiliar surroundings!
    • Running trail in a short, plaid skirt, Sphincter Shy’s outfit found itself in one appropriate setting during BB, the playground of a local Catholic school.
    • The ring of the hotel room phone tore through the morning quiet like Sherman through Georgia, I answered with a feeble, “hello”. “Is No Strings Attached there?” I passed the phone to NSA: his wallet had been found on the floor of the Library. “Must’ve fallen out of my pocket when I took my pants off,” he said as he rolled back to sleep. NSA later retrieved his wallet to discover $60 in cash missing, the most he’s ever paid someone to drop trou for.

    Mambo # Hives‘ musings:

    • Trying to take a photo of Maybe It’s Gaybelline for the cover of ADHD magazine. Unfortunately they were all blurry
    • RPI spent the bar crawl listing off celebrities who died in plane crashes. More like RIP, amirite?
    • Cheech and Dong was very excited to see the ocean rednecks. She was so confused though. “What do they do? It isn’t like they have cows?” (Ed: Don’t say that before you meet their wives. – THH)

    And finally we held a very solemn occasion: An Intervention! That’s right, the hash took the opportunity of everyone being there to let Maybe It’s Gaybelline know how bad his mustache is. How bad is it?

    • It looks like 7th grade in Corpus Christi
    • He looks like a creepy uncle who is constantly clearing his search history
    • Colliteral Damage’s house is now on a registry, and it ain’t the historic one!
    • The single hair handle bar is so bad, he looks like Lo Pan, the villain from Big Trouble in Little China

    We say these things out of love, and a little bit of disgust. Mostly disgust, actually. Like 80/20 disgust to love.

    Additional Violations I didn’t weave seamlessly into the narrative:

    • Hercu-please, Dial F, and Poops I Did It Again gave the hash a case of the heavy crabs. Well, crab. It was big though, wasn’t it?
    • Hell’s Anal had a bit of a panic attack because she lost her room key. Turns out she lost them in her butt. Sometimes after a great hash I can’t feel my ass either. It happens.
    • Whoregon Trail gave the five minute warning at beer check, so this scribe housed his beer. After 5 minutes lapsed, she gave me a ticket for another beer. That can serve as a lesson to us all: Sometimes you swallow after a warning, but still have more work to do.
    • Dude that Guy offered to pay a waitress to come to bonfire with him. Don’t do it lady! That’s a sure way to wake up with a burning sensation.

    A naming at WIE is a sacred thing. Like being born under a lucky star, WIE-babies are blessed. Only the smartest, prettiest, funniest hashers get named at WIE. Unrelated, this self-effacing scribe was also a WIE-baby. Welcome to Just Jai and Just Kaz!

    Just Jai pays for her beer as a corporate douche bag. And while her stories were amazing, filled with sex, drugs, tiger costumes, and a peaceful food porn video, there was a very large elephant in the circle. Just Jai was actually supposed to be named on Thursday, but unfortunately fractured her wrist in a fall. And because she likes to go down in the cemetery, she will now be know as Jack!

    Thanks to Coliteral Damage for stunting for Just Kaz’s naming:

    Just Kaz is a Photographer by profession, but a Nuclear engineer by training. When he first came to hashing he was surprised by so many of our faces, b/c he’d already seen so many of our asses at Glitty Clitty S&Mom’s wedding. He once lost a black dildo, and he wasn’t even sure whose dildo it was. Probably shouldn’t have stolen it then. He loves beer shits and sand castles – hopefully not at the same time. He once lost a bet (or his suitcase – scribe got distracted) and had to wear a sundress on a submarine. How no one made a Madam Butterfly joke here, is beyond me. He also has skinny dipped in a towing tank (yes, we had to ask: it’s where people test boats). Definitely loves anal sex with Uber drivers (maybe where he got that dildo?) as well as bondage and cougars porn (pretty sure he meant the cat kind). There were many great names, but in the end, Just Kaz will forever be known as Fukushemale!

    Each WIE for the past 6 years we have recognized a special hasher amongst us who has gone above and beyond. Someone who exceeded the expectations of their neighbors and the functionality of their liver. This year, the august prize of the Rear End Loader award was given to Atari 6900! Congratulations buddy, you really did it.

    Following circle, everyone scrambled into the Library for pizza, and Iron Bartender!

    Your humble scribe was self-appointed to served as Top Judge for the Iron Bartender competition. While there were many years of training at the foot of mysterious college trashcan cocktails, this was not a job one man could do alone. Several others were enlisted and more than willing to critically judge all the mysterious libations (and their fellow hashers) that were brought to bear. Each was asked to write their recollections down on a card, so as to remain anonymous. Here are some of their comments:

    • “I drank them all. What do I win? I can’t feel my face. I’m going to lie down.”
    • “I ate a dick. I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again. Years of therapy and prayer down the drain.”
    • “I’m not that funny. Was I supposed to write something funny? They were all good.”
    • “How can you tell if you got roofied? That one totally probably had something in it.”
    • “I sucked icing off a finger. I don’t think that was technically part of the shot, but that one gets my vote.”

    Alas, the judges could not agree and the final winner was awarded by the most democratic of methods – yelling very loudly in an enclosed space. Congratulations to Nobody Puts Gayby in the Corner and No Strings Attached for their win with “Lemon Drop in the Pasta Pot.”

    And with that, your humble scribe blacked out and nothing else of the evening was recorded.

    Day 4, Home again

    Packing for a return is always tricky. How do I fit this new hangover I acquired? It’s so big. Luckily I left my dignity somewhere between the dance floor and my bed, so that made some room.

    Note for future WIEers: a great recovery brunch can be found at Bayside Skillet. It’s a little hard to find, but go past the Dough Roller, and if you get to the Dough Roller, you’ve gone too far. I recommend the giant pile of potatoes and scrambled eggs. Spread for the City was so tired, when it came to pay, she handed the waitress a $50 bill and asked if it’s okay that she didn’t have the exact amount. She forgot that change happens!

    If you’re lucky, you’ll be able to sleep all the way back to DC, waking only once to purchase yet another brick of puffed rice.

    And then, once home, swear to yourself you’ll never drink again. For the month of March. Okay, the first week, until the weekend.

    On- your intrepid reporter – on

    Texas Hold Him

OLD TRASH