Sunday, November 17,
1996Today
was a quiet day at the Hogtown 9th
anniversary, what with people packing and
leaving and all. There was that ugly incident
of Mr. Jackson appearing this morning with a
bandage on his lip, obviously having been set
upon by a tribe of outraged bimbos with
vengeance on their minds (as Machiavelli
said, revenge is a dish best served cold,
with a small caesar salad and an order of
garlic bread.)
It looked like the jig
was up when a squad car pulled up in front of
the hotel, but it was only Hogtown's own
Piglet, his Glock at the ready, coming to see
about Sweet to Eat's car, which had been
broken into.
Then it was off to the
traditional fat boy's hash, a ten-minute walk
down to the lake where a keg of beer was
waiting. Only this time, just as we are
getting to where the van with the keg is,
another cop car pulls up. The officer starts
asking Red Snapper what's going on, takes a
look at the keg and says "that looks
like apple juice to me" and drives away.
And that was about it.
Back to the hotel for their usual great
brunch (bacon and eggs, home fries, pancakes,
fruit and rolls) and down downs. A few
die-hards (your ZiPpYs, your Floppys, your
Nabobs and Hyenas) are staying overnight, but
the main thing is: a lot of people came, they
had a good time, their cheques cleared, and
they went the hell home.
Yo
Mamma Don't Wear No Drawers
By Rambo, cHARLOTSville H3 GM
For those of you who
did not attend but who want to get a flavor
for the weekend beyond simply "yeah! I'm
still drunk! It was a great weekend!"
Read on.
Shampoo fed the net
updates on an almost hourly basis, so that
those of us who logged on to our computers
one final time Thursday night before heading
out to Hogtown on Friday morning got an
update of who had arrived (ZiPpY, of course,
was first to stake out his turf in the
"camp"...), how much beer was being
consumed and what homeless women were eating
hashers' buffalo wings leftovers.
No schedule of events
of any kind was sent out in advance, so, cum
Friday, it was virtually impossible to know
exactly when ANYTHING was happening. One had
to ask several people, each in some stage of
enebriation, take the most plausible sounding
of the answers received and "run"
with it. So it was with the opening event,
the Friday night tacky dress hash.. At seven
thirty, (after adjusting our wigs and
falsies) we were "off" by bus to
the heart of downtown Hog.
Cornballer (Waukeshau
H3) led us in a spirited, if off-key Father
Abraham. The wind was beginning to bite and
hashers from more southerly climes began to
witness the shriveling of their scrota and
the eraser-ing of their nipples. Photos
taken, songs sung, warmups completed, we were
on out, along a well-marked trail that took
us through all the major population
concentratons of Hog. Subway stations, hockey
rinks, shopping and restaurant districts,
finally coming to rest in a strip club. What
has already been written about this club was
accurate so I will only add that (a) no one
paid any attention to Hyena up on stage, (b)
all the men, and most of the women (even if
they'd never admit it) watched attentively as
Cornballer mounted the stage to strut her
stuff, only to have their hopes of catching a
first-hand view of queef quim abruptly dashed
as she was led off stage by the bouncer. (c)
the 400 pound men paying good beer money to
have lithe, lissome young bimbettes gyrate
their snatches in their (the men's) faces
were almost surreal in their juxtaposition
with 120 hashers --- male and female --- in
their tacky dresses.
We returned to the hash
hotel by bus, changed, and returned to the
bar. We bought food. We ate and drank and
listened to piped in music. People began to
cruise. There was some serious stuff being
strutted and open prowling was the order of
the evening. Couplings began to develop and
the all-to-familiar hash ritual of "room
shifting" began in earnest, as roomates
kicked each other out, and moved their stuff
to be in the room of their new-found
hash-hunk or hash-harlot.
Saturday --- t-shirt
distribution. Excellent t-shirt that you will
see proudly sported by your friends who were
at the Hog this weekend. Name and address
correction on the "master list".
More mis and dis information. Busses loaded
for the flagship event by 1:30. The location
was most excellent --- an area with
ice-encrusted streams (that were fully
exploited), sheer cliffs, deer trails, wild
bush and steep ridgelines. Trail was a good
length for a flagship event --- adequate
suffering without undue exaggeration in
either duration or difficulty. Symptomatic of
the lack of directions provided to those in
attendance, the three busses were waiting at
what many reasonably assumed was the On In,
but which proved to be only the second beer
stop. A group got back on one of the busses
to drink its beer in comfort, and
subsequently found itself pulling out of the
parking lot without warnng, leaving he rest
of the pack behind. This group (ZiPpY, who
had parked himself on said bus from the
outset, as official "never leaver of the
camp", Hyena, Side O' Bacon, Rat Shit,
Rambo, Gunwale Humper, She Mussel Bitch (I
think...) et caetera..) was unthinkably
denied the chance to suffer more of Bird
Brian and Shadow's trail abuse, as it was
chauffeured to the REAL On In.
Everyone else finally
caught up, off we went back to the hotel
where we ate a huge buffet dinner, which was
followed by mindless milling due to the lack
of guidance as to when ceremonies, skits,
music, etc... would commence. At some point
they came and went without much attention
being paid. Some people disappeared, others
staked out corners of the bar, yet others
removed their clothes early in order to make
clear their views on the direction they
wished the night to take. Mullet led off,
followed by Studfinder, Groper (Gopher??),
Tweedle Me, Puhleeeze Baby, Horn-e, Gunwale
Humper and the toga team consisting of
Monsterbator, Cornballer, She Mussel Bitch,
Pearl Necklace (who discarded her toga
quickly, having been provided a bedspread
rather than a sheet --- the former proving
too restrictive for her lascivious,
libidinous slow dances with Mr. Jackson) and
others...
A hot new quartet
(Tweedle Me, Rambo, Gunwale Humper and
Studfinder) "Topped With Mustard"
performed an original song that will no doubt
become the Hogtown hash anthem. Sung to the
tune of Down-town by Petula Clark, Hog-town!
became an instant sing-along hit. This was
followed by Prodigy's soliloquy. I can say no
more about this as it was inaudible, but I
will vouch that it was delivered with passion
and panache.
There were some magic
moments where the banks of two side-by-side
wide screen televisions were each projecting
porn flicks on the left-hand television and a
Maple Leaf hockey game on the right. It all
seemed so appropriate. So.... Hog.
Later in the evening,
after the band was de-pants-ed and had given
up on its sorry-ass country rock shlock music
(Cling & Seal's comment that the piped in
music during the interlude was better for
dancing to than the live music was right
on...) some people formed a Thai food raiding
party, others repaired to he hashpitality
suite. Still others bonked A significant
minority Crashed and Burned.
Sunday morning called
for an early departure, so my narrative ends
here. Someone who stayed later (Floppy?) will
have to fill in the final chapter.
My overall assessment
was "pretty good". The hotel held
our reservations (not like the Lodge at the
Colorado InviHASHional in September!). The
food -- when provided---was plentiful and of
high quality. The busses were standing by
with their heaters on when we needed them.
The gymnastic hyperactive stripper on Friday
night was most excellent. Friday and Saturday
trails were both expertly laid through primo
terrain. The t-shirt was well done. The
constant follow-up of the organizers, coming
by and personally asking us how things were
going, and if we needed anything (both Rose
Eh and Bird Brian did this on several
occasions, while Shampoo , Sex Toy and
Licktrician also contributed
"goodwill") was appreciated. The
assemblage of great hashers ( PLAYERS???) was
awsome. Short of an IAH I don't know when
there have been so many well-known hashers
from so many different hashes simultaneously
assembled: Mullet, Ian, Hyena, Rambo, Floppy,
ZiPpY, Shadow, Kazoo, Beaver Balls, Nazi
Nudist Toe Slut, Pearl Necklace, Rat Shit,
MicroPrick, Scorecard, Canine, Mother
Inferior, Sex & Ate, Monster, Cornballer,
Its Too Long, She Mussel Bitch, Horn-e,
Ciderman, Studfinder, Bar Hag, Tweedle Me,
Sell-A-Butt, Dudley J. No-Swell, Mr. Jackson,
hell -- I could go on and on... But I won't.
Why
Me?
By It's Too Long, Chicago H3
The story that you are
about to read actually happened...
My nine hour voyage to
Toronto began at 730 CDT in the windy city. I
Kissed the ferrets goodbye and was off to
horn-e's cat hair and dust infested cave. The
first 6 hours were truly pointless (even at
80+ mph) we crossd into Sarnia ONT at port
Huron MI and this is where things hit the
fan...
I was asked the
standard questions , only to be told exactly
what I did not want to hear PULL OVER BY THE
CANOPY AND WAIT FOR FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS
translation: YBF
I was told to make a
right turn , but forfear of cutting off about
5 lanes of traffic, I went straight, then
right . Three customs officials CAME OVER A
WALL and told me to do otherwise!!! I parked
next to a van w/ a dog inside . They turned
the car inside out( I mean everything!!!).
She then asked about the interior panels on
my car...
A husky blonde
approached w/ a leash. We moved back and
poochie , ablack lab went to work. For 20
(twenty) minutes the car was hers,...
THE DOG WALKED TO THE
ENGINE BAY, STOOD ON ITS HIND LEGS AND LOOKED
INSIDE, THEN JUMPED ONTO THE ENGINE !!!! ( a
2.2 Liter turbo 5 speed ).
I nearly wet my fucking
pants for by this time we were approaching
the 45 minute mark. The dog " took a
liking "to my sleeping bag, and began to
chew on it, and threw it up into the air THEY
DIDN'T FIND SHIT !!!!!!.but they were nice
enough to show me the dog drool on my
sleeping bag. Now may I PLEASE take a piss,
yes you may...
I'll let someone else
describe the hash to you, for my voyage home
was much more interesting....
We left Toronto at 130
EDT . Due to my stir-fried shit state of
mind, and 55 year old navigator reading a map
w/ out his reading glasses, while going
through London ONT we missed the turn for
Sarnia and ended up in Windsor. Canadians
will agree, this is a LARGE geographic
fuck-up. Just to make ting s interesting- the
engine warning light wa blinking...
The pearl white tiles
of the Windsor tunnel were a pleasant
suprise, or so we thought...
At the booth there was
a petite attractive back woman to greet me. I
thought that I had reached the promised land
, but this was not to be the case. She asked
my occupatipon (commodities trader) she did
not thoroughly understand what that is and
snapped at me . Horn-e could not hear her at
all and she was getting quite pissed Hmmmm
wonder whats next?????
I parked and got out to
be greeted by a 5' 3" 90 lb woman w/ a
stainless steel smith and wesson 9mm strapped
to her side ."go inside" she
snapped. Once again, WE WERE TURNED INSIDE
OUT. They found horn-e's bran-new t-shirts,
for which we almost had to pay duty on even
though they're from the states.
YOU SHOULD HAVE
DECLARED THIS !! she cried while removing her
latex gloves. My hash photo album was also a
problem ( pictures of nice ash drinking
rumplemintze off her husband's dick as rambo
poured it on did not score points!!!!) This
helps to explain why THEY CHECKED MY ID AGAIN
AT THE COMPUTER. Then we were asked the
question that all traveling hashers dread:
"There are lots of
references to hash in your car, do you have
any hash in the car???"
Fortunately , the
american dope dogs were on break. After 25
minutes of bullshit we were released. We
arrived home safely. I thank Hogtown H3 for a
fantastic weekend !!!
