I've always said, if you want me to write trash, piss me off. Well, I got pissed off at this miserable excuse for trail. It turns out, the hares were planning to kill us, or at least some of us, a sort of a culling of the herd, so to speak. They failed, thank Gispert, since we've run out of our Died on Trail patches, and you know we all do this for the patches. But more about the death plan later.
So there we were (no shit, tell us about it....), extra pretty in our new red dresses, hoping to catch the eye of some random perv who might be into hairy men in dresses. As we meandered our way through WSU's campus, we knew we were convincing many high school seniors who were taking campus tours that we were their kind of people and oh boy, they want to go to school here; either that, or maybe it was time for them to start looking into Liberty University.
First beer stop was by the baseball stadium. This was our first clue that something was amiss. Why would the beer crew need two beer wagons, unknown amounts of garden tools, and multiple rough-looking henchmen? We were so naive.
Trail was pleasant enough through the rest of campus and then on north into a lovely neighborhood of curious people who weren't used to odd-looking people walking by, casing their houses for future break-ins. Turns out we were slowly being lulled into hash stupors. We finally found the second refreshment stop at the School of Oral Health, and there was much rejoicing because there was a port-a-potty waiting for us.
On the next leg of trail, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber was spotted in his vehicle making a get-away from this shit-show. He must have forgotten his red dress and was on his way home to fetch it. Either that or he set a record for being excessively late or excessively lost on trail.
Next up was a jello shot stop, then major limping and whining to the third beer stop. The cruel aspect to this was that the stop was located within the cemetery, which was surrounded by an 8 foot tall chain link fence, and we had to continue to go another half-mile out of our way to reach the BN. And all the while, the sadistic beer crew/grave diggers were jeering us and crowing over their access to the refreshments at the stop.
This was when the pack finally realized the purpose of this trail: Death. Why else would they lure us to the cemetery? Why did they need two “beer wagons” full of potential digging tools and 15 creepy grave diggers? Why else would they try to stupify us with excessive beverages? The Safety Monitor was even tempting us with with quaaludes before trail. Well, it didn't work. We athletes knew we were within a mile of the on-in. We continued on trail, stopping for a final shot stop at Kirby's, where the luxurious bathrooms were a much-appreciated plus. The kamikaze shots were a surprise bonus.
The pack made it back to the on-in. We participated in the circle, with the obligatory lauding of the hares and their shitty trail. Major awards went to clASS, for slipping and falling for absolutely no reason; to White Claw, for continuously putting English words together without making any sense, and not taking a breath for 20 minutes whilst doing it; and finally to Tina, for Best Pissing on Trail (on BTK's vehicle's rear tire). We missed the opportunity to point out the major flaw of trail: we should have been given trash bags to pick up trash, this being Earth Day and all. Mis-man has to be at fault for our missing this accusation by numbing our brains with beverages.
After circle we stuffed our bellies full of baked potatoes, chili, cornbread and beverages, thus resulting in our forgetting to call 911 to report the attempted mass murders. On on!

We were all prepared for this to be yet another elaborate Sir Dip practical joke, since it was on April Fools Day. Some speculated we’d show up and there would be no trail (ha, ha, real funny, Dip…), but the joke was on us. Sir Dip had a doozy of a trail prepared for us.
First of all, I don’t understand what’s so special about r*nning 1,500 trails with Tornado Alley H3 (he claims he’s r*n many more than that if you count with other kennels). All it is is r*nning around to excess and then drinking beer. Or is it r*nning around and then drinking beer to excess? I can never remember. Sheesh, any ancient person can do that, (and he is ancient).
The pack gathered at the Andover Community Center, a grease-spot in the middle of some Kansas cow pastures. It wasn’t an InterAm turnout, but a respectable (but not respectful) pack of disreputable wankers showed up, many from far-off, exotic kennels.
We were given our trail swag at the start of trail. It was brightly-colored tie-dyed cranium gear (made by True Trail Haberdashery ), which Sir Dip graciously autographed for each of us. I hear that those who were late rego-ing and missed out on the swag are now scouring eBay for one. Someone said they’re going for upwards of $500.
The beginning of trail started with a whichy-way, which turned into false trails, hidden marks, and eventually an intersection. We knew then that we were in serious trouble. Trail went downhill from there, both literally and metaphorically-speaking.
The pack faced five miles or so of weeds, brambles, barbed wire, poor markings, martinis, and actually not-crappy beer on this trail. There were a few evidences of an international flour shortage on the trail; either that, or Dip’s idea of a straight line needs to be addressed.
We had three beer stops, a shot stop, and a martini stop. The odd thing we noticed was that at the beer stops, the beer bitch looked a lot like Sir Dip. We hadn’t realized he had an ugly twin sister who drove the beer wagon, and looked eerily like Sir Dip. We then realized that he had pre-laid trail and Sir Dip was the beer bitch. Whew, thank Gispert the family gene pool didn’t go in that direction.
One of the pack brought her own flour to help mark trail. I guess she just didn’t have trust in Dip’s marking ability. Sadly, we didn’t find this out until the next day, otherwise we would have gladly called her into circle to celebrate her co-having efforts.
As the pack limped back to the on-in, we noticed bright red faces (sunscreen, people) and verrry slow gaits. We were about to call in Search and Rescue because the DFLs were so effing behind the rest of the pack. The best part is that no one died on trail.
At the on-in, we were greeted with more beer and pizza, and there was much rejoicing…..and then we……celebrated Sir Dip for his 1,500 trails with an engraved silver vessel, and his very own dead bug.
Congratulations, Sir Dip, and may the next 1,500 trails be as much fun! On on!

​Hash Trash #2137
Lordy….this was a SHIT SHOW. Let’s break it down:
MRI hared (?) and hosted this reason to stay in bed all afternoon and not do trail. However, hounds miraculously attended including such TAH3 luminaries like (look up attendance….I just tell stories) and (yeah, them too.)
Spoon theory, man. Does anyone want to explain or?
As soon as a small breeze hit, Puff went to water trail and the hounds followed suit. Not the pissing, but moving forward. It was evident immediately that MRI was making a noble effort to save flour and using little because it’s Passover…we ain’t got time to make bread. So everyone was often lost.
The hounds eventually found trail and were excited by a crime scene in the distance across a rocky creek. Punky and somehow the Boomer Hashers thought to go investigate, slowly crawling over deadly rocks, while the Gen Xers and Millennials watched from lazy safety.
And spoons.
Trail disappeared and the hounds wandered the streets for months or possibly minutes seeking respite. PeeQuad found a can full of a mystery mush and asked for guesses on the contents. To everyone’s surprise when she opened the can it was something gross and creamy or one of those jumpy snakes….in either case, whoa.
MaDAMN NBA slowly stalked a panicked stranger. As he sat in his SUV, NBA ran swiftly to his vehicle and pounded his window. Demanding answers to questions no one heard asked. Just a total meltdown. I think she punched a cat. So cool to watch, y‘all.
Maybe spoons?
Everyone got lost again and complained. Then somehow Punky finds the way. Punky is not aware of whistles being a thing so he just waves a lot. It has the neighbors on edge. And the hounds.
[There’s a chunk here I just assume I was disassociating]
And that’s why Tina actually owns that particular KFC.
There were some deadbugs, some songs, down downs, and this potential for a P4/Hobo war of aggression.
But who really was that person in the green car watching us at circle?
I’ll never tell
XOXO
Gossip Fist

Hare: Dip
Hounds: Puff, Balls, NBA, nnPeter

First - shitty trail
Second - hare sucked

Now that Dip is in Cabo on his 47th vacation so far this year, it is safe to tell you what a crappy trail this was.  Let’s just call it our Trail of Tears.

Actually, don’t tell Dip I said this (I will deny it). This was really a surprisingly nice trail, going through virgin (titter, titter) terrain. Yes, there was plenty of p.i. but there were moments when I questioned if we were really in Kansas. There was one stretch where it felt like the Ozarks. 

We had a steep climb with a precipitous drop-off, then followed by lush p.i. and a small creek.  There was gobs of shiggy and was uncharacteristically Kansas-like.  

Puff and nnPeter chose to take the two eagles, and ended up wimping out on a check and walked back to the start. They missed out on an amazing tract of land. The sad part is that knowing how greedy and soulless developers are, this section is undoubtedly doomed to be an upscale housing development before long.  (Eat the rich.)

Just don’t tell Dip that I said the trail was worthwhile. I would hate for him to think he did something right. 

​On on.

Trail #1677  The Trail of Doom
Hares:  nnMel and nnBilly
Hounds:  CIA, BW, NBA, Dip

This is a long-overdue trash, mainly because the crappiness of this trail left me befuddled, speechless, and more or less in a state of coma.  Picture me, if you will, after the hash, huddled on my couch, whimpering, staring dully off into space, mouth slack with drool dripping down the corners of my mouth....wait, that's how I normally look after a hash. Anyway, back to the crappy trail....
With the certainty of heavy thunderstorms and the high possibility of a 'nader, most caring, considerate and sentient hares would say, nope, we care about the hounds' safety, we love our hounds, and only want what's best for their well-being.  But, NO!  Not these hares!  These hares guilt-tripped the hounds by sending pix beforehand of the tiny sliver of sky that showed a smidgen of sun, called us pussies (that's actually a compliment, btw), and insisted that their trail was amazing and we would be wimps if we didn't show up. 

So, let's talk about the hares' real purpose in hash-shaming us into showing up.  They seemed to want to be named.  So, due the the absolutely shittiness and life-threatening nature of this trail, it is now my life goal to bestow upon them the most obnoxious hash names ever.  This is my rallying cry, half-minds.  Join me in my quest.  This must be done.

Post script:  I am especially motivated to cum up with horrid names for them.  Those wankers cost me $22.  I refuse to take any responsibility for this.  The responsibility belongs to nnBilly and nnMel.  I returned a library book two days after that shitty trail, and the library made me pay for the book because it was wet.  This was due to my throwing my soaking wet backpack on the passenger seat of my car, not remembering the damn book was there, thus soaking it and ruining it.  Now, now, you might say that I could have done one or two things differently to avoid this.  I say, NO.  It was totally these two wankers' fault.  You will not convince me otherwise.

A nice mid-week hash hared by TAH3's own, Sir Dip, which means there were too many intersections. The hash started and ended at Jersey's Bar and Grill but took the hounds near the mecca of necta...the beer distributor. Sorry, hashers...no beer for you. Lots of interesting things were found and one lesson learned...do not eat gravy found on trail. Circle was an exciting time with a round of dead bugs. My advice to Puff; If you show up to a hash, just bring your raincoat because you are getting doused in beer. Dip has a spreadsheet and he isn't afraid to use it. It was a special occasion as Bdub tied the knot with his 100th hash. Get a life, get a life, get a life, life, life. TAH3 also completed a naming of a former noname. Welcome to a questionable life, BOB FM!

ONON

Hare- “Sir” Dip

Hounds-

AnyThingGoes

ButtHole

CIA

NBA

nnBre

nnRobin (BOB FM BentOverButtFuckMachine)

Puff

Tina

TAH3 was blessed to have an out of towner co-hare with one of it's own. It was proof that, no matter where you're from, you lay a shitty trail. The location of this hash was the Sedgwick County Swamp, formerly known as SG County Park. The ground was moist with recent, heavy rains and the tears of unsuspecting bystanders. It was a disappointingly shiggy-free trail but had exquisite flour markings. Having the Beer-Near halfway up the side of a large hill, almost discouraged the hounds from partaking. Circle was completed on a solid, dry slab of concrete. It didn't stay dry for long as a series of dead bugs, flying dead bugs, and a towering dead bug quickly saturated the ground with golden nectar that was not quite on target. Anything to clear Dip's spreadsheet. It is worth mentioning here that TAH3 respects the law and only 3.2% beer was consumed during this hash. ONON

Hares- LittleRedDipShit & Josting4Tampons (Dallas)

Hounds:

ButtHer

Sir Dip

Hobo

NBA

Pquad

Tina

Wet PF

5/21/2015, #1373

Hares
NBA, Tina, WetPussyFlassher

Hounds
> AnythingGoes
> BoatHousePussy
> ButtHoleWhisper
> CIA
> Dip
> DipShit
> nnElanor
> nnJessie
> Pinga
> Puff
> TomSuckIt

The inaugural hash under new mismanagement couldn't have started any better, the end however... Not so much. TAH3 celebrated the end of the school year the only way we know how, by drinking of the nectar and hashing through old Town dressed as naughty school girls. As usual Puff was late, but made it for chalk talk. Fortunately for him it was late, which was a prelude to how the three hares laid trail. I'm recommending three new renames... Sleepy, Dopey, and Doc. These three are responsible for educating our youth for gods sake. There was a beer near at Rain. For $2, they served you turpentine in a martini glass. I hope everyone remembered to hold their pinkies out. The highlight of the evening was Sir Dip's life-like breasts that gave this writer mixed feelings about himself. Butthole Whisperer completed his first circle as newly erected RA and to celebrate, he decided to have it last for three hours. At least I think it ended... It may still be going on. On-On

Hares:  Dipstick and BP
Hounds:  Puff, PQuad, PPL, Poopy, PBR, Sinnabar, Tina, NBA, ADD, Shit, Princess Peckerhontas, PCP, Stumpy, Anything Goes, Butthole Whisperer, ButtHerFinger, Cuddle Puncher, Hummer, Black Snake Chicken Chugger, Halliday In My Pussy, Which Way Is In?, nnCollin, Snatchajawea, Amanta Feel and Fuck, nnryan, VH1,CIA, Cotton Pickin' Fucker, nnSavannah, nnIsis, nnRachel

One would think that participating in more than 1,000 hashes might merit one some respect.  One would then be wrong.  But it does merit one helleva hash event and party.  Gathering in the covered pavilion area of Pawnee Prairie Park, the pack was ready for a fabulous trail.  Man, were they disappointed.  The hares took off to the north of the park through the expanse of tall grass.  So far, so good.  Unfortunately, that's where the trail took a tragic turn for the worse.  Tragic in the sense that we were led through man- and woman-eating poison ivy, which was apparently biogenetically engineered to reach out and voraciously attack the body parts of the naive and trusting wankers.  It was determined that this was the main reason for the hares choosing this particular route, since the park paths would have protected us from the dreaded ivy.  After trail forced us to wade through the creek at several locations, slip and slide in the mud, and curse the diabolical hares, the pack eventually made it to the beer near.  After refreshing ourselves with libations, trail took us back to the south through the woods, where we somehow managed to stumble back to the on-in.  

Circle went on forever, with the pack feeling they had to be hospitable to the visitors and feign kindness and respect to "He Who Needs To Get A Life".  But when all was said and done, everyone was exhausted, tipsy and in desperate need of showers.  And all was right with the world.  On on.