RA: Poon-Apple Juice

Scribe: Blow Me Closer Tiny Dancer

GMs: Throbbin Hood and BMCTD (probably one whole sober GM between us… rounding up)

Oh yes, another special-edition brunch naming! And also a sacrifice of a name to the Old Ones. Your unholy eldritch GMs find this offering worthy, and in the devouring of the lost name we have become stronger.
Allow me to introduce our victim, Cody. (Apparently some muggles call him Brodie, but Rosetta Bone saddled him with the sobriquet Just Cody of the BroFactory upon first meeting, and he will probably die with that name anyway, so here we are challenging fate by trying to call him anything else.)
For fun, Cody is a fake-ass drama queen, also known as an actor. As Wait Wait’s roomie, he practices by acting like he enjoys Wait Wait’s percussive stylings and romantic… cacophony. Those may not be mutually exclusive. It’s a fun household: sometimes a lady calls on a gentleman at home and she leaves her unmentionables in the washroom (I’m assuming this is how Wait Wait would describe the situation), and the next morning no one asks whose they are or who brought their owner home for a game of hide-the-knickers. On the plus side, the boys do get to enjoy drunken spooning, and that is some wholesome pureness, so good on them.


Cody reports that he’s currently a 2 on Kinsey scale. Yay MMM threesomes!
On a more serious note, the man cannot be trusted around strippers or fast food, and has been asked to leave establishments providing each. On the same night.

Footage from the night in question. Someone was screaming, “McNugget rain!” Three guesses on who.

Let’s just say that on an evening in New Orleans that involved 3 bars, a strip club, a burlesque club, and a McDonald’s… he was kicked out twice, but police were only involved once. And that was for his drunken theft of some hapless muggle’s poultry-morsels. I wish that were a euphemism, but no. He literally purloined the nugs of an innocent.
While there were other tales involving flying ass-first through glass tables and being peed on by a Czech hobo, the scribe is too lazy to relay it all. A variety of unwholesome epithets were volunteered, but the successful candidate was Battledick’s clever call-out to both unidentifiable undies and felonious fast food filching:The Cumburglar. Please congratulate Battledick on her first hash baby!

On “You can still call him Cumby” on,
BMCTD

When: Thursday January 3rd, 2019.

Where: Gallery Place-Chinatown

Hares: Geriatric Mandering, General Tso’s Dicken, Cheech and Dong, A Midsemester Night’s Cream, and Head Injury

Visitors: On Your Knees, Roadkill, and Tie Me Up Trebek
Virgins: Justs Ben, Tony, and Jose
Long time no see: Mouthful of Clam

Everyone has some super tacky but outrageously comfortable snuggly thing that they’re attached to. Hideous sweats. Raggedy throws. Unmentionable snuggies. Tonight was the night to let those fuzz flags fly.

Battledick took a bit of a tumble on trail, scraping up her knees, and while some uncouth individuals might have suggested “There goes her love life” we prefer to think of her as taking a page from William the Conqueror’s (Domesday) book and laying claim to the earth beneath her, arising as a mighty queen. Further evidence for this interpretation was provided in the form of a personalized throne and the arrival of a scantily clad Goldman Ballsacks to serve as her charming cabana boy. There was some shirt swinging in the disrobement, and the queen was very pleased.

Deetz Nuts and Amerigo Vesploogi wore the same outfit and got into a bit of a CareBear Staredown… which became a stripping competition, and Deetz won by dint of demonstrating that he’d skipped any other layers and was just a sweaty man in a bear suit. That onesie probably needs to be burned now; dry cleaning can only go so far.

Violations:

When the Ball Drops was violated for stopping to pick up sidewalk chocolate and then discarding it again for insufficient nuts. According to her, if isn’t a little bit salty or a touch tangy, there’s no point in putting it in her mouth.
Third Girl Problems was unwise enough to bring his brand new kicks to trail.
And Fail Her Poon was spotted arriving on a Lyme bike. Dude, this is a federal shutdown, but we aren’t savages. Have some goddamn dignity.

And then, a joyous occasion!

The Naming of Just Franklyn

This software engineer learned his trade at the lovely Susquehanna University, which we definitely did not have to Google to find out is in Pennsylvania.

He enjoys crashing electric skateboards and cars, playing saxophones, and engaging in the kind of Frisbee that we don’t discuss at hash.
He also enjoys dead people, sometimes a little too much, as evidenced by not letting his grandma be the only stiff at her funeral.
His first blowjob was a bit spicy, but overall a B+ for sheer novelty.
The story that captured our imaginations the most, however, was the implausible tale of being kidnapped in a Craigslisting gone wrong out in San Francisco. It was decided that his kidnappers were definitely cultists, and there was some sort of “showing him the ropes” mentioned, but we tried not to dredge up too much of this trauma.


Instead, Deetz Nuts saddled him with the sobriquet Heaven’s Gape for being Bay area body-snatched. Please congratulate Deetz on his son.

On – I guess that makes me a grandma – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 6:45 PM Thursday, December 27th, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!

Where: Columbia Heights Metro follow marks to Columbia Heights Civic Plaza to start!

Hares: Atari 6900… and literally no one else?

Virgins: Just Calvin, Just Dave
Visitors: I Like Your Boobs, Getting Nailed… and some foreigners who literally no one could understand. Also it was cold and the phone wasn’t doing great.

Apparently our hash is a huge destination for the overseas wankers in town for the holidays. I assume that cumming along with us was some sort of anthropological experiment or last effort to really nuke their livers before a dry January.

Violations:

Immediately after being introduced, Getting Nailed tried to start Jesus Can’t Go Hashing.


Sit down, bro, we do not like you enough for a 20 min musical interlude.

General’s Farm Animal insisted he wasn’t compensating for anything, and the ridiculous size of his flask was purely related to his alcoholism.

Finally, The Cumburglar galloped into circle and regaled us with disturbingly re-enacted tale of something involving a horse? Or a whore? Or a houri? Or a sexy horse? Unclear, but there were sound effects.

We needed to be super quiet, and that wasn’t working, so we called it a stealth run on circle and headed over to Town Tavern to get rowdy.

 

On – swift and silent…ish – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday December 20th, 2018.

Where: Cleveland Park

Hares: Tuck Tuck Deuce, Red Vag of Courage, Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock, Sorest Rump, and PIO

Visitor: Just Benjamin
Long time no see: More Men and Moose Knuckles!!!


Have you drunk so much that all of the Christmas movies are blending into some sort of unholy jingling amalgamation? Did you end up with a mental image of a bearded misanthrope who would terrorize children and wear funny hats? Perfect, because this trail was all about Tuck, our very own Krotchety Kringle.

The weather was a miserable, cold, Krampus-piss night, and it got everyone in the mood to shout at toddlers and Humbug aggressively.

Violations:

We started with a bunch of commendations! One went to General Tso’s Dicken! Deetz was complaining about General Tso’s pussy keeping him up allllll night (noice!). Deetz, however, was violated for being inadequate at soothing the insatiable beast.

As beer check was by McDonald’s, there were commendation for everyone who paused to shove something hot in their greedy cockholes!

Sphincter Shy was violated because someone finally managed to make that “not within 60 yards of a school” stick. Congrats on completing your last final, now leave the children be.


Stain Gretzky ran into a pole and then – after complaining – had a bunch of bushes coming at her. Meanwhile, Throbbin’s implement got some sort of splooge all over her. Let’s just say that it’s the wettest she’s been in a while.

And just to confuse everyone, we said something nice to the hares for strategically placing a tit check by some bare-breasted statuary. There is a bust joke in here that I’m too lazy to reach for.

And with no naming and a continuous frigid drizzle, we hied our sodden forms off to Guapo’s for restorative elixirs.

On – so much you can never unsee – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: 12/13
Where:  U st, yellow/green
Hares:  Shitty Porn Story
Virgins:  Just Audrey, Just Brian, Just Victor, Just Kevin
Visitors:  long time no see em: pooples mountain majesty
On-After:  don’t know where it was supposed to be since the hares left, so we all went to Satellite Room where the pizza flowed and shots were a plenty

It was a night of dirty booty jokes, searching the depths to bury our treasures and ultimately the shortest second half of a trail in history. Luckily the construction site approved our permits to party and let us be most of the night.

Violations

Clitoral damage for not inviting me to the dirty jerking in may

Jiggly tits, for their Golden Dubloon booty shorts that kept the pirates squarely focused on dat booty

Basement boy toy, #SquadHoles and Just Brian who got booty grabbed by the random lady on the walker trail

Hares because there was no No glitter herpes on runner trail so it must be Lying dormant

Hares for bringing Failed shot check on walker trail

Hares blue the trail By using blue powder on the pirate trail, because we can’t see blue on the Sea

Seriously tho, the hares, if anyone would like to hare a trail please sign up!

Eiffel plow her for having his virgin Just Audrey pay his hash cash

Atari 6900 for boasting about his license to carry wood

Clitoral damage for yelling dirty dicks and herpes in front of Howard hospital, as if they didn’t have enough of those already.

Our RA Poon-apple Juice Because What does a Dyslexic hashing Pirate Say?

A: RRRRRRA! It was a bad joke then, and it’s a bad joke now, get over it!

And finally we should all be violated because to cap off the night we ruined some freshly poured concrete but none of us had the frame of mind to draw a dick in it…

On – arrrgghhh – on,

#SquadHoles

 

After we kicked #SquadHoles out, your lovely scribe turned RA was joined by Colliteral Damage for a very solemn occasion…

The Naming of Just David

Just David is the prolific author of a Burn Book, filled with Yelp reviews of men he’s banged. On a scale of 1-5, there are no fives. The closest entry is a 4 – his 8th grade science teacher, who had him so hot and bothered that he had sex in the PE locker room. That man got a 2. His Daddy Gay File isn’t what you think and the meanest thing he’s ever done is something you wouldn’t understand. Just David likes college porn and hot dogs up the ass. It’s his love for strange dick and Regina George that led L’Chymen to name him..

On – Is beer a carb? – On

When: Thursday, October 25th, 2018.
Where: Shaw/Howard University Metro
Hares: Special Head Kid, Seizure’s Phallus, Issues and Tissues, Trickle Down Sexonomics, Poonapple Juice, and Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me

Virgins: Justs David, Austin, Melissa, Wendel, and JC

Visitors: Village Tool, I Like to Swallow, Cocktistic, Jugs Juicy, Dribbles Before He Shoots, and It’s Not Cum It’s Ranch

It’s the Graffiti Trail! Where we all get a chance to start the night in virginal white and then defile each other in progressively colorful and crudely drawn ways! It is a chance for the artistic and the visual punners to thrive!

One fifth, two fifth, red fifth, blue fifth. You're welcome. ~BMCTD

It is, let us be real, a chance to touch other humans because we are social creatures and some of us don’t get enough of that.

Also, drawing boobies! WOOOOOO!

Violations:

  • Eiffel Plow Her was commended for his wine bag waggling. He managed to baptize several wankers with his sticky juices.

 

  • Cum Dumpling was found in the street aspiring to be a traffic cop. On the plus side it was the first time we’d seen him in the street without looking lost.

 

 

  • Seamen on a Pew was commended for being a super old wanker. As in Y2K old. He and the rest of his ancient cohort told tales of riding pterodactyls to opening circle and paying for hash cash with dotcom stock options.

 

  • Zombie was overheard complaining about having too many motorcycles. If anyone would like to offer themselves as a ride-able substitute with significant horsepower, maybe we can do something about her carbon footprint. 

 

And then we fucked off to Satellite Room without naming anyone!

 

On – Only pedants and Italians say ‘graffito’ – on,

BMC Tiny Dancer

When: Thursday, November 22, 2018
Where: Rosslyn Metro Station
Hares: Please Step Away from the Whores, Purple Peter Eater, Areola Boreales, and some more?
Virgins: Just Sara, Just Huckleberry, Just Cupcake, Just Andrew, Just Laura, Just Jan
Visitors: Mistress Cycle, Big Fat Gay Wedding, Robocock
No See’ums: For Sale or Rent, Vagina (I think I wrote that one down wrong), Fire In the Hole

I haven’t spent Thanksgiving with blood relatives since I was “too young to drink.”

Regardless, I really did feel at home this year.

Please Step Away From the Whores was the uncle who brings wild turkey to dinner then passes out in front of the TV.

Colliteral Damage was the aunt who would rather raise dogs than children.

Little Red Ride Me Good, like my mother, got so drunk she couldn’t even be bothered to stand up to greet the guests.

Mourning Wood was that cousin who couldn’t get a date in high school, but took advantage of cuffing season to finally put a ring on it.

Throbbin’ Hood was the picky nephew who won’t eat turkey and makes his mom stop at McDonald’s on the way over.

Bipolar Bear and L’Chymen were the red headed step-children.

And then there’s me… just trying to get drunk and forget it all.

It wasn’t quite time for dinner, so we rallied for a second course and a very solemn occasion…

The Naming(s) of Just Gracie and Just Charlie

This dynamic duo splits custody of Colliteral Damage and her pussy.

Just Charlie is embarrassed by the time he tried to hump his sister and had to ask C. Damage for advice. He’s scared of everything, including Legos. This DARE dropout once took treats from a strange and paid the price in naps.

Just Gracie once skull fucked a puppy. She’s a guard dog with no bite, who would definitely attack Sully, but couldn’t take on a ten pound cat. This dancing queen loves wearing her pink tutu and once saved her family from a balloon.

It was time for dessert, so we let Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock have the dishonor of naming the two more confused hashers on that particular parking deck…

Sufficiently un-sober for an actual feast, we parted ways to eat, drink, and get (cranberry) sauced.

On – in it for the leftovers – On
Poon-apple Juice

 

When: Thursday, November 8, 2018
Where: Smithsonian Metro
Hares: Atari 6900, Whoregon Trail, Sphincter Shy, Poon-apple Juice, Camo Sutra
Virgins: Just Ethan (He was Southern), Just Cole, Just Cody, Just (honestly, I didn’t catch this chick’s name, I was too distracted by Just Ethan’s accent), Just Ryan, Just Josh, Just Jay
Visitors: Missile Anus, In The Shitter, Two Fingers

On a cold November evening, we met to celebrate the true reason for the season: Whoregon Trail and Atari 6900! I mean, veterans too, but let’s be real. After hares away, we sang a few rousing rounds of the button song, while noting Texas Hold Him’s yellow hat, which he was very proud of. Notably lacking was the presence of his sidekick, bicurious George.

Suddenly, the pack was on-out. Your noble scribe took the helm of walker’s trail, leading the charge on a path that was somehow straighter than Schrodinger’s Cock. Across sidewalks and… more sidewalks we trekked. The trail seemed so hopeless that Tragic Carpet Ride expressed his desire to eat a dead human. Not one to be burned twice, I kept my distance.

Meanwhile, on the other trail…

Over hill and through valley, across sidewalk and.. probably also more sidewalk, the pack traversed downtown DC. Doing her part to service men, Jiggly Tits jiggled those tits at the Marines on trail.

God bless American, indeed.

The biggest mistake an alpha hare can make is leaving the pack in charge of their own shot check. Carrying a mere two gallons of a non-descript liquid, we approached The Spirit of Justice, which it turns out is just a big fountain. Shots were had, photos were taken (all by our official EWH3 Hash Flash), and we were on our way. Finally, in the close distance, the pack appeared, having arrived at beer check quite some time before us. I proffered a beer and stumbled upon Dial F popping bottles like cherries.

The pack must have confused the sound of the cork with a shotgun because they were off before my second drink. On the way out, Assmaster 2000 revealed his true form as he found a spot on the swing set so he could lure little girls to have a seat. Like a late autumn Santa, he was just looking for his ho’s.

The second half of trail passed without incident, although Sally the Jizzhound channeled his inner Virginia driver by leaving his blinker on for two miles. I arrived at end only to see Quid Pro Blow dumping chips into his box of donuts. Now, that’s a threesome I can get behind.

In my excitement, I reached into my dry bag to find it not-so-dry. I frantically pulled out to discover a small portion of a wine bottle embedded in. my. hand. Stain Gretzky sprung into action with a first aid kit, proving that not all heroes wear fatigues.

Thanks to this medical emergency, I blocked out the happenings, cumming to only for a very solemn occasion…

The Naming Of Just Lady

Just Lady is an adorable make-out whore. This panty-licker has had the unfortunate luck of living with Sally the Jizzhound for over three years – and no, she’s not the jizzhound. Just Lady likes to hump the bunny (I wish that were an innuendo) and has only pooped on the couch once. Thanks to Rosetta Bone, Just Lady shall henceforth be known as…

But wait, there’s more!

Letting him know his true place, second to a dog, we invited Just Chad into the circle, too!

The Naming of Just Chad

Just Chad definitely doesn’t have a beard. This born and bred Maryland boy loves blind people and the flags they fly. He doesn’t watch porn with dicks in it, leading him to believe he has a big dick. Oh, sweet naivety.  Just Chad is a late bloomer who doesn’t masturbate alone and lost his virginity on a church alter. He doesn’t talk dirty – what a shame – but likes hitting it from the Baaaa-ck. His fetish for powerful women helped him somehow woo an entire female rugby squad, leading to Rosetta Bone’s sloppy seconds of a name…

With glass in my finger and darkness in my soul, we marched to Trusty’s and tbh I can’t tell you a damn thing that happened there except Fireball shots.

On – 69 trails and counting – On
Poon-apple Juice

Dear Gispert, haven’t I written like four spooooky trashes already this year?

I mean, I get it. Halloween is a hasher’s dream. Costumes, glitter, boobs, beer – what more could you want? But don’t you think we’re overdoing it just a little bit?

Eh, fuck it. Give the people what they want.

When: Thursday, Novembe 1st, 2018
Where: Foggy Bottom/GWU (Blue, Orange, Silver Line)
Hares: Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock, Maybe It’s Gaybelline, Cheech and Done, All Flash No Drive, Texas Hold Him, and You Sucked My Battledick
Virgins: Just Stefan, Just Sarang, Just Kelsie, Just Nejla, Just Victoria, Just Kiosha, Just Nate
Visitors: Drill In My Box, Dick On The Table

If you give a hare a beer, he’s going to ask for a glass of Twinkle Juice
When you give him the Twinkle Juice, he’ll probably ask you “Oh No Why?!”
When he’s finished, he’ll ask you for a napkin.
Then he’ll want to look in the mirror to make sure he doesn’t have any chalk on his face.

When he looks in the mirror, he might notice his pubes need a trim.
So he’ll probably ask for a pair of scissors.
When he’s finished giving himself a trim, he’ll want a broom to sweep it up.
He’ll start sweeping.
He might get carried away and sweep every room in the house,
But he sure as hell won’t sweep the trail!

When he’s done, he’ll probably be drunk af
You’ll have to fix up your couch for him with some blankets and a puke bucket.
He’ll crawl in, make himself comfortable, and dry heave a few times.
He’ll probably ask you to log into Porn Hub.
So you’ll play for him from one of your favorite videos, and he’ll ask to see some nuggets
When he watches those nuggets, he’ll get so excited he’ll burst.
He’ll feel invincible in the afterglow, which will remind that nothing can harm him.

So.. he’ll ask for a shot of Twinkle Juice
And chance are if he asks you for a glass of Twinkle Juice,
He’s going to want a beer to go with it.

See what you’ve done? No one is happy about having read this. Don’t ever make me write another spooky trash again.

Violations:

Turn the Meat Around had his panties in a bunch because someone else managed to find shorter shorts than him.

What’s a Boner ate his first marshmallow. Even so, it’s not the first time he’s has something white and sticky in his mouth. And honestly, it won’t be the last.

Lube Bottom Me literally painted his crown with curry. Hey boo, if you’re gonna look like a snack, you might as well smell like one, too.

Fish and Tits was accused of alcohol abuse, brought on by a fit of rage.

Just Emily brought candy but no drugs. Really, what’s the point?

Sally the Jizzhound betrayed his feminist roots by forgoing the taco costume.

Wait Wait Don’t Fuck Me dressed as the resident Mormon of Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood, prompting us to ask…

Won’t you blow my neighbor?

As we celebrated Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock’s 400th r*n, the opportunity for a very spooooky occasion presented itself – then promptly ghosted us like my last four Tinder dates.

So we all rode off on our broomsticks to Recessions. Where y’all know this mouse made some damn good choices.

On – I did it all for the cookie – On
Poon-apple Juice

When: Thursday October 18th, 2018. Pack away at 7:15!
Where: Huntington Metro Kiss and Ride 

World peace, or peace on Earth, is the concept of an ideal state of happiness, freedom and peace within and among all people and nations on earth. Different cultures, religions, philosophies and organizations have varying concepts on how such a state would cum about. We here at the hash believe the path to peace requires a BAC of at least .08. On October 18, we gathered in our pursuit of world peace… through beer.

The night began way out in Huntington. As the pack arrived and began to sign in, Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack and Baa Ram Him passed out patches. As a millenial, I really appreciate a good participation trophy, and as such took two.

Circle began with the introduction of our sacrificial la- I mean, virgins. Just Britt, Just Kerry, Just Katie, and Just Alex looked on in abject horror at the sight which was unfolding in front of their very eyes: Cum Dumpling attempting to find his own taint.

Our visitor, Phantom, introduced himself and no one paid attention.

The hares, Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack and General Tso’s Dicken, lured us into a false sense of security by assuring us that they had indeed found the key to world peace: beer!

Within the first minute of trail, General Tso’s Dicken broke the tip. I know she prefers them circumcised, but that generally isn’t considered a DIY procedure. After that rocky start, the pack was off, over the rivers and through the woods. Or at least I assume. I was on walker’s trail, which took us on a rousing tour of the suburban streets of Huntington. Luckily, we were able to scout out the houses that were most likely to hand out full size Snickers by listening to which ones Just Chad was busy bitching about. He claims that he could do better, but we all know those spider webs he shoots are just a metaphor.

The pack finally tricked their treats on up to beer check, where Uno Dos Tres Lipgloss was kind enough to grab me one of the most worldly beers we’ve had at the hash in ages: Bud Light Orange.

Angry and sober, I reached into the beer bin myself. Over-enthusiastically, I pulled out and realized..


I had been iced by
The Hares.

Sadder than a freshman without a bid on Homecumming (that one was a stretch, but believe me), we started off on the second half of trail, where we learned that, after an unfortunate homecumming incident of his own, Atari 6900 is no longer allowed to talk to teenage girls. You’ll be glad to hear, later that weekend, he compensated by attending a Halloween party populated solely by scantily clad women barely old enough to drink.

Just when I thought that the beer selection had killed the concept of world peace almost as badly as millennials killed the diamond industry, we were invited to join in celebrating the 500th run of Can’t Find Pussy In A Haystack with

Bags

Of

Fireball

If it burns that much going down, you should probably call your local clinic.

Thankfully, our brew crew, Quid Pro Blow and Agent Orgy were there to put out the fire with PBR for your noble scribe (and Uno Dos Tres Leches).

Ostensibly, we held a circle with virgins, domestic German beer, and a traditional Australian Hakka. The Fireball in me sang some karaoke, and we all forgot Uno Dos Tres Liftoff’s name again.

With noone to name and no sense of shame, the pack set off on the third leg of trail to Pilar’s Restaurant.

On – World Peace? Why not world whole? – On