When: March 12, 2026 Start: King St End: TJ Stones Hares: Ha-Cum-On My TaTas, Naughtyacumneatme , Just Mia
Virgins: Just Helena
It was a festive, questionably Irish affair as wankers gathered on King Street to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day the only way hashers know how: poorly dressed, aggressively hydrated, and with just enough green to avoid getting pinched—or arrested. The hares delivered a trail that was equal parts holiday spirit and logistical confusion, proving once again that no one actually knows what’s going on, but everyone is committed to pretending they do.
Between questionable shortcuts, creative interpretations of “walkers trail,” and a crowd fully leaning into the theme (and the alcohol), the night quickly devolved into the kind of chaos that would make Saint Patrick himself consider switching to water.
Violations
The RA, Bitches Give Stitches: For choosing violence with the weather today—because apparently rain builds character, or at least excuses.
Ha-Cum-On My Tatas: For asking me if I had success finding a sugardaddy in Monaco, and then calling it “fundraising”—a business model still under investigation.
Cum Dumpling: For his racist jacket—a bold fashion choice that no one asked for.
Infidellatio: For enabling Cum Dumpling, saying “it’s 18 years old so it’s legal”—morally questionable, legally… still questionable.
Just Mia and TaTas: For taking walkers on runners trail—because labels are apparently just suggestions.
General’s Farm Animal: For expecting Irish beer just because Brewmeister is Shamrock—that’s not how supply chains or reality work.
Just Ora: For getting in the spirit, by sitting and rubbing her butt in green flour—committed to the theme, if nothing else.
Vagina Is for Lawyers: For going on about being in a relationship with a guy named Claude, and how good he is at getting him to perform—finally, a partner who actually delivers.
Infidellatio (again): For pointing out how I’m doing the marine biology thing wrong—I should be a “biologist of Marines”. I dated a marine and did a lot of “biologisting,” but never made that connection—seems like a missed academic opportunity.
“Just here to rep Zoloft” guy: For being so happy about it—and Charm City’s Green Dress pre-lube—nothing says mental health advocacy like questionable decision-making.
LMRC (Latino MILF Reverse Cowgirl): For existing as a phrase that no one asked to hear but now cannot forget.
Everyone falling for AI: For trying to identify which bird looks like a human ballsack and proudly settling on the “Ballsack Bird” (Scrotum Aviana)—we’ve officially peaked and are declining as a species.
https://www.ewh3.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/EWH3_logo-No-Background.png00Scribehttps://www.ewh3.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/EWH3_logo-No-Background.pngScribe2026-03-13 15:13:322026-05-04 15:14:05EWH3 Trash #1509: SAINT PATRICK’S DAY TRAIL
When: February 19, 2026 Start: NoMa End: Rhode Island Ave / Dew Drop Inn Hares: Just Tommy and OH Hey Not Gay
It was a dark, damp, and lonely affair at EWH3 as a pathetic handful of wankers braved the drizzle to pay homage to Huaynaputina—the volcano that, back in 1600, decided she’d been pent up long enough and finally screamed, “That’s it, I’m blowing!”
Just like that legendary blast, this trail featured a long buildup, a massive release, and a hot, steamy finish—though our “explosive” history lesson was repeatedly interrupted by angry muggles whining about flour and peace protesters we had to dodge like the plague. With no van for relief and a total lack of fresh meat to sacrifice (no virgins or visitors in sight), we were left shivering in the rain, proving that when you hold it in for 400 years, you don’t get a polite puff—you get a messy, wet run that leaves everyone gasping—and questioning their life choices.
Violations
Just Tommy: For inciting a muggle named Karen to post his trail laying on the DC subreddit. Congrats, Tommy—for pissing off the neighbors, you’re officially a real hare now.
Just Patrick: For looking like a Cum Burglar body double—same energy, but with less budget and more regret.
These are the Tits You’re Looking for: For seeing Bipolar Bear emerge, calling him the wrong name (“Oh hey”) to welcome him late to trail, but then immediately pivoting to money enforcer and demanding his hash—priorities: unclear, but aggressive.
Tumey McBoatFace (the “Sober GM”): For going to buy alcohol at beer check—a bold and confusing leadership strategy.
Deepthroat Corndog, Tumey, and all of mismanagement: Who talked with Just Melony. Looks like we found our new recruitment strategy: hanging outside the liquor store to recruit trail treasure—finally, outreach that matches our standards.
Just Tommy: For using his baby voice to tell the pack where to look for trail while sweeping—nothing says authority like sounding like a toddler.
Shamrock’s hubby: For not wanting his wife to drive alone to the event. But has Tony Panda met Tony Panda? Can I get a stunt panda, aka Panda Express—because clearly the real risk is Panda-related.
Tits: For talking about how much success she’s had in short-term positions.
Ready Player None: For blowing his cognitive load all over a card game—tragically, not the first time he’s finished too early.
Infidellatio (Speaking of small loads): For asking someone to get her “small bag” out of the bag vehicle and then presenting a backpack bigger than herself—a logistical lie of impressive scale.
The Tity Committee, Ha-Cum-On My Tatas & Tits: For both giving so much to the hash that they were planning to drive 4+ hours in the morning to PartyGras, and both hadn’t done laundry or packed yet, and Tits still needed to write a lesson plan for her substitute—truly thriving under pressure.
The Penis Gallery (Cuntry Fried, Oh Hey Not Gay, Eat Pray Dump, and Just Patrick): Cuntry Fried approached me saying he had a violation, but then got distracted. He did indeed, though—I overheard him telling a very interested bro audience about his “Cheeto toes” experience… of being fed Cheetos from some lady’s sexy toes—proving once again you really can’t keep hashers away from orange food.
When: February 5, 2026 Start: Foggy Bottom / Washington Circle End: Foggy Bottom / Recessions Hares: Vagetarian, Please Step Away from the Whore, Mongo, Bitches Give Stitches, Vagina is for Lawyers, No Strings Attached
After taking a week off for “rigorous” drinking practice, a pack of shivering wankers gathered on the ice-covered streets of Washington Circle for the O’LimpDicks Trialz—the only Olympic qualifier where the primary performance enhancer is cheap lager and poor judgment.
We welcomed the Fellowship of the Cockring from Boston to witness this frozen spectacle of speed, stamina, and not eating absolute shit on ice, all for a shot at a “really good” prize and a coveted spot in the Full Moon Games. In the end, it was a night of poorly judged athletic greatness that proved that while glory is forever, frostbite is just a minor side effect of hashing immortality—and dignity was the first casualty.
Violations
Fellowship of the Cockring from New England, where they make the ice cream he was eating at start (in 6.9 degree weather) and all who ate it—despite knowing better and still choosing more of his creamy regret.
Vagina Is for Lawyers: For not knowing where the trail was, which way to send wankers on out from the start, and for leading way ahead of the walkers with the confidence of a mediocre white man.
Dwarfus Interruptus: Who asked for a fast round of violations to shorten circle, but then immediately showed a picture comparing his and his twins bare bottoms—efficient, but emotionally scarring.
The Hares (all 6.9 of them): Though the hares chose a completely exposed beer check, walkers walked right past it and the FRB loop—because nothing says ‘Trialz’ like missing the only incentive to continue. Also the hares, for: wrong start location, no chalk talk, not being at the start, but having time for cigars. As the visitor asked, “Why are there so many hares and they didn’t even mark anything?”
Immoral Support: For saying, “I want to violate the ducks.” No reason given—just low-key wanted to be a duck fucker.
Deepthroat Corn Dog: Who doesn’t know how to use her tongue and swallow shots—she lost a Jell-O shot to the ground at shot/beer check, in what can only be described as the saddest form of alcohol abuse.
Naughtya CumNEatMe and Immoral Support: For emerging on the walkers trail, where Bipolar Bear exclaimed, “I’m so glad she found somebody to always be lost with.”
Mrs. Nuttersworth (again): For how excited she was for nutty protein balls at the end—arguably the most enthusiasm shown all night.
Vagetarian: Saw me raw-dogging a White Claw and gave me this glove to stay protected—because nothing says safety like a single mystery glove.
From the “safety” section: Corn Dog, Naughtya, Cuntry Fried and Infidellatio whose munchy asses commended Ms. Nuttersworth for “smelling good like cookies on trail” and also for trying to literally eat Ms. Nuttersworth.
Regretfully yours, Lickthyologist
On-On.
https://www.ewh3.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/EWH3_logo-No-Background.png00Scribehttps://www.ewh3.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/01/EWH3_logo-No-Background.pngScribe2026-02-06 14:59:242026-05-04 15:00:34EWH3 Trash #1504: THE O’LIMPDICKS ‘26 TRIALZ TRAIL
EWH3 Trash #1509: SAINT PATRICK’S DAY TRAIL
When: March 12, 2026
Start: King St
End: TJ Stones
Hares: Ha-Cum-On My TaTas, Naughtyacumneatme , Just Mia
Virgins: Just Helena
It was a festive, questionably Irish affair as wankers gathered on King Street to celebrate Saint Patrick’s Day the only way hashers know how: poorly dressed, aggressively hydrated, and with just enough green to avoid getting pinched—or arrested. The hares delivered a trail that was equal parts holiday spirit and logistical confusion, proving once again that no one actually knows what’s going on, but everyone is committed to pretending they do.
Between questionable shortcuts, creative interpretations of “walkers trail,” and a crowd fully leaning into the theme (and the alcohol), the night quickly devolved into the kind of chaos that would make Saint Patrick himself consider switching to water.
Violations
The RA, Bitches Give Stitches: For choosing violence with the weather today—because apparently rain builds character, or at least excuses.
Ha-Cum-On My Tatas: For asking me if I had success finding a sugardaddy in Monaco, and then calling it “fundraising”—a business model still under investigation.
Cum Dumpling: For his racist jacket—a bold fashion choice that no one asked for.
Infidellatio: For enabling Cum Dumpling, saying “it’s 18 years old so it’s legal”—morally questionable, legally… still questionable.
Just Mia and TaTas: For taking walkers on runners trail—because labels are apparently just suggestions.
General’s Farm Animal: For expecting Irish beer just because Brewmeister is Shamrock—that’s not how supply chains or reality work.
Just Ora: For getting in the spirit, by sitting and rubbing her butt in green flour—committed to the theme, if nothing else.
Vagina Is for Lawyers: For going on about being in a relationship with a guy named Claude, and how good he is at getting him to perform—finally, a partner who actually delivers.
Infidellatio (again): For pointing out how I’m doing the marine biology thing wrong—I should be a “biologist of Marines”. I dated a marine and did a lot of “biologisting,” but never made that connection—seems like a missed academic opportunity.
“Just here to rep Zoloft” guy: For being so happy about it—and Charm City’s Green Dress pre-lube—nothing says mental health advocacy like questionable decision-making.
LMRC (Latino MILF Reverse Cowgirl): For existing as a phrase that no one asked to hear but now cannot forget.
Everyone falling for AI: For trying to identify which bird looks like a human ballsack and proudly settling on the “Ballsack Bird” (Scrotum Aviana)—we’ve officially peaked and are declining as a species.
Check Out Our Hash Flash Photos Here!!!
On-On,
Lickthyologist
EWH3 Trash #1506: HUAYNAPUTINA’S REVENGE TRAIL
When: February 19, 2026
Start: NoMa
End: Rhode Island Ave / Dew Drop Inn
Hares: Just Tommy and OH Hey Not Gay
It was a dark, damp, and lonely affair at EWH3 as a pathetic handful of wankers braved the drizzle to pay homage to Huaynaputina—the volcano that, back in 1600, decided she’d been pent up long enough and finally screamed, “That’s it, I’m blowing!”
Just like that legendary blast, this trail featured a long buildup, a massive release, and a hot, steamy finish—though our “explosive” history lesson was repeatedly interrupted by angry muggles whining about flour and peace protesters we had to dodge like the plague. With no van for relief and a total lack of fresh meat to sacrifice (no virgins or visitors in sight), we were left shivering in the rain, proving that when you hold it in for 400 years, you don’t get a polite puff—you get a messy, wet run that leaves everyone gasping—and questioning their life choices.
Violations
Just Tommy: For inciting a muggle named Karen to post his trail laying on the DC subreddit. Congrats, Tommy—for pissing off the neighbors, you’re officially a real hare now.
Just Patrick: For looking like a Cum Burglar body double—same energy, but with less budget and more regret.
These are the Tits You’re Looking for: For seeing Bipolar Bear emerge, calling him the wrong name (“Oh hey”) to welcome him late to trail, but then immediately pivoting to money enforcer and demanding his hash—priorities: unclear, but aggressive.
Tumey McBoatFace (the “Sober GM”): For going to buy alcohol at beer check—a bold and confusing leadership strategy.
Deepthroat Corndog, Tumey, and all of mismanagement: Who talked with Just Melony. Looks like we found our new recruitment strategy: hanging outside the liquor store to recruit trail treasure—finally, outreach that matches our standards.
Just Tommy: For using his baby voice to tell the pack where to look for trail while sweeping—nothing says authority like sounding like a toddler.
Shamrock’s hubby: For not wanting his wife to drive alone to the event. But has Tony Panda met Tony Panda? Can I get a stunt panda, aka Panda Express—because clearly the real risk is Panda-related.
Tits: For talking about how much success she’s had in short-term positions.
Ready Player None: For blowing his cognitive load all over a card game—tragically, not the first time he’s finished too early.
Infidellatio (Speaking of small loads): For asking someone to get her “small bag” out of the bag vehicle and then presenting a backpack bigger than herself—a logistical lie of impressive scale.
The Tity Committee, Ha-Cum-On My Tatas & Tits: For both giving so much to the hash that they were planning to drive 4+ hours in the morning to PartyGras, and both hadn’t done laundry or packed yet, and Tits still needed to write a lesson plan for her substitute—truly thriving under pressure.
The Penis Gallery (Cuntry Fried, Oh Hey Not Gay, Eat Pray Dump, and Just Patrick): Cuntry Fried approached me saying he had a violation, but then got distracted. He did indeed, though—I overheard him telling a very interested bro audience about his “Cheeto toes” experience… of being fed Cheetos from some lady’s sexy toes—proving once again you really can’t keep hashers away from orange food.
Check Out Our Hash Flash Photos Here!!!
On-On,
Lickthyologist
EWH3 Trash #1504: THE O’LIMPDICKS ‘26 TRIALZ TRAIL
When: February 5, 2026
Start: Foggy Bottom / Washington Circle
End: Foggy Bottom / Recessions
Hares: Vagetarian, Please Step Away from the Whore, Mongo, Bitches Give Stitches, Vagina is for Lawyers, No Strings Attached
After taking a week off for “rigorous” drinking practice, a pack of shivering wankers gathered on the ice-covered streets of Washington Circle for the O’LimpDicks Trialz—the only Olympic qualifier where the primary performance enhancer is cheap lager and poor judgment.
We welcomed the Fellowship of the Cockring from Boston to witness this frozen spectacle of speed, stamina, and not eating absolute shit on ice, all for a shot at a “really good” prize and a coveted spot in the Full Moon Games. In the end, it was a night of poorly judged athletic greatness that proved that while glory is forever, frostbite is just a minor side effect of hashing immortality—and dignity was the first casualty.
Violations
Fellowship of the Cockring from New England, where they make the ice cream he was eating at start (in 6.9 degree weather) and all who ate it—despite knowing better and still choosing more of his creamy regret.
Vagina Is for Lawyers: For not knowing where the trail was, which way to send wankers on out from the start, and for leading way ahead of the walkers with the confidence of a mediocre white man.
Dwarfus Interruptus: Who asked for a fast round of violations to shorten circle, but then immediately showed a picture comparing his and his twins bare bottoms—efficient, but emotionally scarring.
The Hares (all 6.9 of them):
Though the hares chose a completely exposed beer check, walkers walked right past it and the FRB loop—because nothing says ‘Trialz’ like missing the only incentive to continue. Also the hares, for: wrong start location, no chalk talk, not being at the start, but having time for cigars. As the visitor asked, “Why are there so many hares and they didn’t even mark anything?”
Immoral Support: For saying, “I want to violate the ducks.” No reason given—just low-key wanted to be a duck fucker.
Deepthroat Corn Dog: Who doesn’t know how to use her tongue and swallow shots—she lost a Jell-O shot to the ground at shot/beer check, in what can only be described as the saddest form of alcohol abuse.
Naughtya CumNEatMe and Immoral Support: For emerging on the walkers trail, where Bipolar Bear exclaimed, “I’m so glad she found somebody to always be lost with.”
Mrs. Nuttersworth (again): For how excited she was for nutty protein balls at the end—arguably the most enthusiasm shown all night.
Vagetarian: Saw me raw-dogging a White Claw and gave me this glove to stay protected—because nothing says safety like a single mystery glove.
From the “safety” section: Corn Dog, Naughtya, Cuntry Fried and Infidellatio whose munchy asses commended Ms. Nuttersworth for “smelling good like cookies on trail” and also for trying to literally eat Ms. Nuttersworth.
Regretfully yours,
Lickthyologist
On-On.