Hare: Cuddle Puncher
Hounds: Amanta, Anything Goes, Boathouse Pussy, Gooey Spinjob, Hummer Gay'mes, NBA, Puff, Trashy, nnDanial, nnDenise, nnKen, nnMatt, nnMatthew, nnRobin, nnSamantha, nnTambra
Cuddle Puncher picked one of the most scenic parts of DooDah to set trail through. We met at the Tropics "Lounge" on north Broadway, where the employees and patrons seemed to be highly entertained by our antics. (At least we weren't accused of being satanic as we were at Casey's a couple of weeks ago.) In addition to the magnificent scenery of the area , we were also treated to the pungent aromas of dead cow carcasses from the rendering plants. (Our hasher friends who are Cargill employees say that that smell is the smell of money, but I'm thinking that money is not worth it at that cost.)
Starting off, Cuddle thought he'd take us on a roundabout tour of the residential area behind the Tropics, complete with a loose pitbull, which was not nearly as scary as a kamikaze kid on a bicycle who tried to play chicken with us on the street.
We finally found trail leading across Broadway to the railroad tracks. Small note: We are proud to point out that, due to a worldwide flour shortage, Cuddle conserved on his use of flour plops. He is just that conservation-minded. The downside was that it took extensive searching of chigger-infested shiggy before we found trail hidden by the tracks across the damn street. Once we found the very few marks leading to the abandoned grain elevators, we were delighted to discover the beer near stashed on top of a boxcar. Our joy was soon diminished (unlike our sweat) once we discovered that carnivorous flying insects found us irresistible. So our thirst-quenching respite was short-lived since we pretty much all like to keep our blood inside our bodies. Trail took off to the north where we found an intersection on 29th Street. I will not mention the true trail that was falsely marked by a no-name who will not be identified, leading toward a YBF, taking the FRBs on a wild goose chase. The DFLs were quietly chuckling and pleased that we weren't stupid enough to be racists like the FRBs.
Trail took us back to the Tropics. It was a relatively short trail, but this was a positive thing since it was such hideously hot and humid weather. Back at the Tropics, we circled up on the smokers' patio, which I'm sure endeared us to that population. Despite the fact that Dipstick has abandoned the pack so he and LSD can lie around on the beaches of Panama as well as drain the world supply of beer, the kennel carried on. Cuddle Puncher stepped in and conducted the RA duties, after NBA screwed up the beginning accusations. Our substitute RA managed to carry on Dip's tradition of falsely accusing innocent hashers of heinous offenses and we were able to enjoy several deadbugs. Puff, of course, ditched the circle early, knowing that deadbugs were in his future. Songs were sung, accusations were flung, beverages were consumed, and there was much rejoicing. On on!
Hare: Little Red Dipshit
Hounds: Audrey the Drug Dealer, Boathouse Pussy, Cockasian, Ate Something Shocking, No Blow Angel, In My Wiener, Phi Pee Licker, Power Bottom Redding, Stumpy Whisker Biscuit, Tina Eat the Piss, nnLana, nnMatthew, nnSamantha
The Wichita Crawl for Cancer was a success! By drinking pitchers of beer, we did our part to end cancer for one and all. Team TAH3 had a great showing and in the words of one hasher, "we won with strobe glasses. Fuck the Lincolns".
Trail started at Little Red Dipshit's housing commune with a totally unnecessary (but appreciated) pregame organized by our fearful leader. We took off at the starting bell and followed the faint white chalk marks to the Brickyard, where we were treated to a totally unnecessary (but appreciated) extra pitcher. From there, we followed a barely discernible trail to some other place where we received another totally unnecessary (but appreciated) extra pitcher of beer. We then followed the pale trail to Revolution then another place. Finally, we reached our last bar, Club Liquid, where nnLana treated us to a totally unnecessary (but appreciated) extra pitcher that most of the team didn't have the courage to sample. Those of us martyrs who took that one for the team should be commended for our heroic actions of that terrible day.
On After was at Old Chicago, where Tina showed us all how to properly slap a fanny pack and three different orders of the same pizza filled our slushy hasher bellies. It was a good day to kill cancer. Next year is only twelve months away.
Hare: Hummer Gay'mes
Hounds: Amanta, Anything Goes, Beastie, Cuddle Puncher, Dip, Gooey, NBA, PPL, Poopy the Slayer, Puff, Tina, nnJocelyn, nnTambra
The pack gathered at Merle's, and the hare took off toward the west down an alley. She zig-zagged the trail back and forth across McLean, eventually leading the pack across the river to the Sim Park/Cowtown area. The FRBs located the beer near in some vicious thorny shiggy, with the DFLs dragging in behind. Trail then took us by the golf course and the north side of Botanica. We then followed the straight lines back to the on-in at Merle's.
We gathered on the patio, we hydrated and then ordered food. We circled, and Dip awarded Puff his obligatory deadbug. The usual accusations were made with the celebrations of down downs. Then it was time for the questioning and naming of nnJocelyn. NnJocelyn provided us with plenty of stories, but the one that inspired us involved 1950s versions of Chevrolets. So for now and forevermore, (or until she does something even more memorable) nnJocelyn will be known in the hashing world as Chev Ho Laid, or you may call her Chevy. On on!
Trail #1219 Phi Pee Licker's 30th Barfday Hash
Hares: Gooey Spinjob and Tina Eat the Piss
Hounds: Anything Goes, Cuddle Puncher, Deb's Dipstick, No Blow Angel, Phi Pee Licker, Power Bottom Redding, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, Turd Bird, nnMylinda, nnMelissa, nnColt, nnMike, nnMatthew, nnSamantha
The unsuspecting pack gathered at Cessna Park, Woodlawn and Mt. Vernon Ave., with not a clue of the horrors that were awaiting us. It was advertised as a shiggy level of 3.5. Nay, say I, nay! It would have been a 5, if not for the lack of alligators (although there was a large and healthy, undoubtedly vicious, snapping turtle) on trail.
The hares set off and laid trail to the east out of the park and along, and then across, Gypsum Creek. Once over the creek, trail led through major wilderness shiggy, but it was only a taste of what was to cum. We were provided with a delightful Play Time experience, which I'm sure all of us took advantage of (insert sarcastic tone). Trail then took us across Harry and over to Cottonwood Park, which could also be named Poison Ivy Park. We followed trail down the muddy paths and found what we thought was the only beer near (since chalk talk did not tell us how many beer nears there would be). There were, of course, not enough beverages for the number of hounds in the pack, but, knowing these hares, we did not expect them to be able to count. True trail then led through a major poison ivy path, to a slimy creek with the only way across being trapeze-walking across some fallen trees. NBA was the only idiot who actually did this; the rest of the pack (as well as the hares) used their half-minds and found a way around this enjoyable part of trail. Once on the other side, we found a turkey/eagle split. This time, there were no idiots who chose to take the eagle, and the pack followed the concrete path to Lincoln St. Here a CF occurred, because Turd Bird, the racist that he is, was way ahead (who said....?) and was waving his arms at the pack, since he inconsiderately neglected to bring a whistle. We half-minds interpreted the spastic arm-waving to mean "go back, bad trail", when in in fact he meant, "trail is this way". We finally found trail, which led us in a typical fashion to the west, and then, what appeared to be a straight line down Woodlawn. Here, again, at Boston Park, another CF occurred. The pack innocently followed trail to Harry, where we found an upside down marking with an arrow pointing in the direction from whence we came, with the words, "BEER NEAR, ASSHOLES", meaning, we later founded out, that we missed a beer near which was evidently not marked, but which we were supposed to mentally divine. We scratched our craniums, wondering what this crazy mark was, knowing it wasn't included in chalk talk. We said, "oh well", and continued catty-corner across Harry, following the scant marks that were provided. The FRBs finally located trail tucked away on the back side of some businesses. Here we found trail leading to the west and across another slimy creek where the hares left us some 'shrooms to enjoy. We found trail heading south, with yet another creek crossing, forcing us to balance on a slippery rocky dam. Once across, we discovered that we were within eyesight of the on-in, and we breathed a collective sigh of relief, knowing that hydration was awaiting us.
Circle commenced, and it was soon apparent that Dip was on a dead bug mission. He zeroed in on PPL, who stupidly turned 30 this day. PP probably thought we'd sing the hashy birthday song, and we'd be done. No. She got to experience the only backward towering deadbug in Tornado Alley's memory, with the added delight of being able to look up Turd Bird's kilt. At least it wasn't a backward towering FLYING deadbug. I hope she appreciates this fact.
Next order of business was the naming of nnMylinda. After she regaled us with many delightful stories, which seemed to center on a certain body part, the pack finally came up with P.U.T.A. or Professor. If you care to know the full name, well, you should have been in attendance. On on!
Trail # 1218
Hounds: Amanta Feel N' Fuck, Anything Goes, Boathouse Pussy, Cuddle Puncher, Cumbag Shitpants, Gooey Spinjob, Hummer Gay'mes, No Blow Angel, Poopy the Fruit Dick Slayer, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber, Tina Eat the Piss, Turd Bird, nnMylinda, nnKen, nnMelissa, nnMike, nnColt, nnScott, nnTambra, nnRobin, nnMatthew, nnCollin,
Starting from the very kind and tolerant Casey's Bar and Grill at S. Oliver and 31st S., the hare led the unsuspecting pack on a delightful trail through and all over the charming subdivision of Planeview. Trail started out winding around in a nondescript area by McConnell Air Force Base, which lulled the hounds into a false sense of security. After we went through some scenic apartment complexes, we found trail which led us past the Boulevard of Abandoned Couches. We thought surely the hare would have stashed the beer-near by the couches so that we could sip our beverages in comfort, but no, once again, he did not give a thought for our well-being. Instead, he laid the screwiest true trail mark a bit down the way, going under the road through a sewage drain. At the other side of the tunnel, the hare left a message on the wall telling the pack where to find trail, but "Sssshhhh, don't tell anyone". For some reason, Dip forgot that the pack works as a team trying to catch the hare, and does not typically team up with the hare. So there was a HUGE arrow on the road showing the pack the direction the trail led. We eventually found trail at the most dangerous intersection in Wichita, and carefully crossed at our peril. We followed trail up and over the soapbox derby track, and found the hare waiting for the pack with the beer near in his car. TIna made the observation that this location might have actually been one of the crucial scenes in the famous horror film "Darkness" which was filmed in Wichita. http://vimeo.com/10149869 The majority of the pack, about 20 hashers, most of them no names drank beer and wondered why the hare didn't have the RC planes flying in the distance drop off beers to the thirsty hounds. The pack rolled the last two Natty Lights down the "only hill in Wichita" and let the DFLs fight the Latino family-who were legitimately exercising- over the coveted Golden Nectar.
Trail cut through a park and took us across a couple of little muddy creeks. Once we were over the second one, we found ourselves in the heart of scenic Planeview. We passed an amazing amount of trash, abandoned broken scooters, discarded high chairs, beater cars with windows broken out, two pit-bull puppies that looked like they belonged on a Sarah McLachlan commercial, ethnic men sitting outside drinking beer and leering at the harriettes as they ventured down the street. Oh and a possible rotting...something. Trail took the pack through a field of shiggy, and then straight up a vertical incline up to 31st Street. This then led us back to the on-in at Casey's where we all breathed a sigh of relief that we made it back alive and with our virtues intact.
Circle was conducted largely by Dipstick who had a difficult time remembering how the process went since he has been gone for most of the summer. Our visiting hasher Turd Bird regaled us with stories of nipple loss in TAH3. Nn*Matthew, a virgin, was instructed in the art of drinking in a circle, and was informed of how to get out of drinking. Apparently afterward, he decided to take Amanta up on her suggestion that he expose his Little Matt*, much to the delight of Amanta. Many songs were sung at a loud volume, with no regard for the sensitivities of the other patrons who just wanted to eat their ham sandwich in peace while watching major league baseball. We were very thankful that we weren't asked to leave. Some of the no names discussed where they fall on the Kinsey scale expecting members of TAH3 to be shocked, but the hashers continued to chew on buffalo wing gristle and sip lukewarm PBR wondering what the hell was up with Dip's true trail mark and why he didn't drink for it.
It was announced that Pee Pee Licker's Old Woman Birthday party will be Saturday night, 9ish, at the Alibi Room and all are invited. Also, Tina and Gooey will be haring a hash Saturday, noon, from Cessna Park. Circle was closed with Swing Low and there was much rejoicing. On On!
*Sorry nnCollin for any embarrassment that our mistake may have caused.
Hares: Tina Eat the Piss and Cumbag Shitpants
Hounds: Amanta, NBA, Puff, PBR, PPL, BP, Turd Bird, nnRobin, nnScott, nnMylinda, nnKen, nnMike, nnColt, nnMelissa
The following trash is brought to you by the word 'evidently'. Thanks to No Blow Angel for the generous donation.
The 1217th running of the Tornado Alley Hash House Harriers started from Headshots Bar & Grill, the new video game hangout located among the ashes of the Backstage bar. Evidently, the new owner was not put off by all the knifings that took place in his future parking lot. However, he is put off by hashers circling up on the premises. Evidently, his father is a named hasher and the kennel learned that blood isn't thicker than beer.
After a thorough chalk talk, the hounds took off and found an intersection that had already been marked. We looked around for our phantom hasher and lo, Puff the Magic Ass Grabber appeared out of thin air. Evidently, Puff traveled in time from ONIN to mark trail for all the nonames. Despite his best efforts, all but the four DFLs missed the Beersicle Near and had to retrace their steps to enjoy a can of Miller Slush Life, the Snow Cone of Beers.
After the Beer Near, trail was marked by several teaspoons of flour to the world's smallest true trail marking. Evidently, Cumbag and Tina have been taking trail marking lessons from Cuddle Puncher. From true trail the A team led B and C directly to ONIN at Larry Bud's. As all of your trash writers shortcut together, there is no record of what the rest of trail must have been. It is as though the second half of trail never occurred.
ONIN was a lively affair during which our visiting hasher, Turd Bird from San Diego, sang songs from the sunshine state. Evidently, their Hymnal is updated with hash versions of pop songs from the turn of the last century. We sang and drank plenty of beer in a display of friendship and community. Then we laughed at NBA.