The pack circled up on the parking deck above The Continental, and off we went. Down the stairs, up onto that fugly concrete walkway over a park and into the first of many, many checks. We ran through swanky apartment complexes, not-so-swanky apartment complexes, ghetto apartment complexes, and up and down lots of stairs. There were tons of checks, which I like–the pack that runs together doesn’t get lost, injured, or killed alone. On a particularly snowy, muddy stretch, we hit the first shot check. I don’t know what it was–which is often the case at the hash–but it got me warm. The pack then headed into Clarendon and Courthouse, before heading back to Rosslyn for beer check, in an alley behind a rather sketchy hotel. Stay classy, EWH3!
The second half of trail was a lot shorter than the first, but it did have the highest, steepest, slipperiest hill on trail. Fortunately, there was a light at the end of the tunnel, oops, I mean a shot check at the top of the hill. I don’t know what it was, but it was fruity, much like all the rest of EWH3. It was even more slippery going down. I do love me some sledding, but i do like it better when I have a sled. Or a stolen McDonald’s tray. Not long after we got down the hill, we crossed over the freeway and ended up back where we started from, on top of The Continental.
Six Fags got two new tattoos on his calves–each one is a foot with the word “ON” on it. We really should’ve saved the “get a life” song for him.
Gaystation is going to Tijuana, so he got a mule charm to entice the donkeys.
6 Pigs in a Blanket said, very loudly on the Metro, “In my mind, I’m very raceist.” Oops. All the non-hasher passengers who gave her dirty looks must not have heard that silent “e.”
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Cock reached new heights of gayness by buying Jizzmo a Snuggie. Sadly, none of this is a euphemism.
Edgar Allan Ho refused a drink before the hash because she’d just had a protein shake. She then pointed out that the easiest way to get in is through the rear.
St. Pauli Girl told Cum and Knock on my Back Door how to duct tape his junk. I hope those boys have set up a safety word.
Cum Dumpling and Eat Your Vegetables were engaging in nerdiness on trail: They were discussing physics. Why can’t they just go have sex on trail like everyone else does?
When I was asking for violations, Just Tobias didn’t have any, but he did proudly proclaim, “I have sweet and salty nut!”
Obeastiologist complained about his wedding ring interfering with his swimming, but we all know his swimmers work really well.
Violations from the Crowd:
Monday, Sticky Monday was driving around picking up homeless people and taking them to shelters as an act of charity in the cold weather, except the guy he picked up wasn’t a homeless man–it was Brokeback Mama.
Just Melody gave Six Fags his “ON-ON” tattoos.
Assflac complained about the trail, despite the fact that he was autohashing.
Sphincter Shy always comes up with violations, but they’re never funny.
Neither are Mannipple Lickter’s.
Edgar Allan Ho and Big Dig were hopping around like penguins at beer check.
It was too cold and windy for a naming, so we finished the beer, headed to the Continental, and tried to get Jumbo Slice, because due to the lack of good specials, we were all too sober to have any realistic shot at getting laid.
Hares: Red Vag of Courage, Gaystation, Sphincter Shy, Six Fags
Brew Crew: Snap Crackle Poop, Please Step Away from the Whores
Virgin: Just Jordan
Visitor: Korean Booty Snatcher (Transplant, Seoul H3)
In case you’ve been living under a rock, DC got hit by a Snowpocalypse. Snowmageddon, SnOMGasm, Snobama, whatever. Even mail delivery was suspended. But come rain, snow, sleet, hail, floods, or anything else, the hash still goes on. Suck it, post office. In honor of the snow, I wrote a little hash song. Sing it to the tune of “Jingle Bells.”
Hashing through the snow,
while the government’s closed all day,
over the hills you go,
humping all the way.
Drink it down,
drink it down,
drink it down down down…
And now back to the actual trail. Plan B was buried in snow, so we improvised: the pack left their bags in the home of a couple of the hares, our Oreho stocked his truck with snacks and cases of beer, and off we went. You might think that due to the weather, trail would be a short, easy little jaunt followed by a long night at the bar, but the hares had a different idea. We ran across the Capitol, to the Mall, and across the Mall, burrowing our way through 3 miles of chest-deep snowdrifts. OK, waist-deep on most people, but still. We would’ve iced the hares, but they pretty much iced themselves while laying the damn trail. Finally, the pack came back towards Eastern Market and hit the beer check, in an alley not far from the start.
The second half of trail was mercifully short loop. The pack circled a few blocks and after maybe a half mile, ended up in the alley behind the building where we started and circled up. Virgin down-downs went the way they usually do, but when our new transplant, Korean Booty Snatcher, got called in as a visitor, he didn’t know any songs or jokes and was too modest to show any body parts, so Cyrano de Private Snowball hid behind Korean Booty Snatcher and sang a song for him.
Cock-a-Doodle-do-Me whined earlier about getting a lot of little pricks all over her face, even though that’s how she wakes up every morning.
Just Ryan had the worst shotgun FAIL I’ve ever seen. Weak sauce.
Korean Booty Snatcher ditched his car to join the hash when he saw the pack running, which is a commendation, not a violation.
Mannipple Lickter, during the worst snowfall DC has ever seen, managed to get a sunburn.
Gaystation packed snow around his junk in manner of an igloo. He later put his hands down his pants. Kid must really love shrinkage.
Poke an Eye Out said she’s lonely but turned down Rear Protein Injection’s offer of fresh vegetables. She did, however, keep asking Cocky, “Do you want me?”
Cocky said that MTV made an announcement that it will no longer be playing music videos at all, which means that Cocky still watches MTV.
Saskatchewsnatch got confused and thought this was not the “Blame Canada” hash but the “BE Canada” hash.
Wax on, Whacks Off abandoned the pack at Remington’s. He was later heard saying, “If I could find a snake, I’d eat it.”
Obeastiologist confused Tits for Tots with Spit ‘N’ Spin. The pregnancy must be getting to his brain and making him confused.
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Cock said he wanted to find out what it’s like to be fucked in the ass, as if he didn’t know already.
Violations from the Crowd:
Tits for Tots took a cab to the start and was still late.
Someone thought he saw Michael J Fox at the hash, but it turns out it was just Six Fags.
Cocky was disappointed that the blizzard didn’t kill more people.
Sphincter Shy swept trail with his ass.
Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Cock didn’t take advantage when a harriette presented right in front of him.
Then it was time for a very regular occasion, a NAMING!
Just Ryan is from Albany, NY, and went to GW, where his nickname was “Sleazy-E,” because he’d hump any dog that moved. He now works in government relations at GW. Just Ryan’s favorite sexual position is doggy style, and his favorite Disney movie is “The Lion King.” The first time he had sex, he spent three months convinced that he’d gotten the girl pregnant. He’s since gotten over that trauma, hence the nickname. Just Ryan once came on a girl’s face in an alley before she even started to give him a blow job. On another occasion, a girl peed in his bed and he didn’t realize it for two months. He once hooked up with a girl named Shannon, and is now dating her roommate, who is also named Shannon. He has size 13 feet and both Shannons were disappointed to learn that the urban legend about that isn’t true. Just Ryan had his dick hanging out while riding the Metro and didn’t notice. He has worked for both Clintons and knows Marion Berry. Bitch set him up! Just Ryan also said he’s had AIDS twice, but got over it the first time.
Naming suggestions were:
Money Well Spent
Pink Line to Nowhere
I Can See Your Zazu
Not So SmarTrip
Bitch Got Me Off
Henceforth and forevermore, throughout the world of hashing (except Great Falls–fuck them!), Just Ryan will be known as Magic Johnson.
Some hardy souls drank the rest of the hash beer, while anyone with any sense made their way to the bar, where it was warm, and tried to get laid. After all, it’s cold out there!
Hares: Cock-a-Doodle-do-Me, Twinkle Twinkle Little Cock, Fire in the Hole, Snatch to the Future
Brew Crew: Incredible Edible Schmegg, Just Barney
Virgin: Just Andrew, Emily and Rob
Visitors: There was one but my fingers were too numb to write his name legibly.
Analversaries: 17 hashes–Six Fags, Cutting Class, Cock in Fresh Dough, Pinnochi-ho, Nobody Puts Labia in the Corner, I’m Lick James, Bitch!
The pack met up in front of Union Station, confusing the tourists. No one came out in circle as a hare representative, but luckily, Rear Protein Injection knew which way to send the pack. Somehow it didn’t occur to the FRBS that the first check would take the pack through the parking structure attached to the station, even though we have a check going into that parking garage almost every trail we run that starts at Union Station. Either way, we eventually wended our way through parked cars and buses, only to cross H Street at one of its busiest points and dodge moving cars and buses. We all made it out safely, but it was not all downhill from there–it’s hard to follow a trail that’s laid in invisible flour! Nonetheless, we managed to make it to beer check, in a parking lot somewhere.
On the second half of trail, we could actually see the flour, which was a huge improvement over the first half because it meant we could keep moving through the ball-shrinking, nipple-sharpening cold. I think there was a playground in there somewhere, but beer and cold make my memory fuzzy. Apparently, there was a water main break that made the hares have to re-route trail, but we all somehow got to the on-in, in a grassy area near Eastern Market, where we circled up.
Just Melanie gave us this round of “What was she talking about?” when she said, “I’ll do both at once.”
Slumcock Anywhere almost didn’t come because it “was blowing too hard.” Doesn’t that usually work the opposite way?
Just Barney said his balls were acting like tonsils, but he didn’t say whose tonsils.
Duck Job, as one of the original founders of EWH3, should know better than to wear a raceist shirt to the hash.
Buttfuck Norris proved he deserves his hash name by meeting and giving his phone number to a stripper–a male stripper.
Eat Your Vegetables complained that Spike TV’s Manswers insulted his intelligence and was in poor taste. Given that he was watching Spike TV’s Manswers for advice on life, can he really talk about matters of intelligence and taste?
I’m Lick James, Bitch! sank a 3-point shot into the garbage can at the on-in. Wrong sport!!
Snatch to the Future was so ashamed of the trail that she denied being involved with it during opening circle.
The hares whined about the water main break that forced them to re-route trail. I guess they didn’t want to get anyone wet.
Violations from the Crowd:
Cocky sent all the flour to Haiti.
I’m Lick James, Bitch! and Buttfuck Norris were holding hands on trail, which not only is much cheesier than having sex on trail but also completes the “men being affectionate with I’m Lick James, Bitch!” trifecta that we’ve had going the last three times I’ve scribed.
St. Pauli Girl grew a beard because he wants to be just like Chicken Fucker.
Just Andrew and Just Rob had one complete outfit between them.
RPI harmonized during “Whip it out at the Ballgame,” because he wants to be just like Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Cock.
Can’t Find Pussy on a Haystack gave Roll Over, Bitch! his Caps tickets for Friday night on the condition that he not take A Salt My Ass on a date to the game.
R.O,B! gave Haystack reason to worry that he might take A Salt My Ass on a date.
Is everybody happy? You bet your ass we are! Especially because we skipped naming someone because it was too damn cold to pour beer over anyone, unless we want to get our asses sued when they die of hypothermia or lose extremities due to frostbite. The pack went to the Trusty’s, drank more beer, played Jenga, and tried to get laid.