Hash #68—affectionately known as 69-1, started for many as a r*cist event at the Tipp Hill Shamrock Run.  More than a dozen hashers lined up for the four mile course.  Fortunately Slip and her posse set up a Beer Near and served mimosas and beer in the first mile and just after the halfway mark. And once the r*ce was over the pre-lube began.

Coleman’s was pretty much a shit show—crowded and expensive, so the trail start was moved Upper Decker’s sister’s house. A good sized group showed up and formed a crowded circle in the driveway and Slip gave out some of the leftover awards from the Fat Boy hash and then the hares gave chalk talk was typically incoherent and confusing.  And the hares let it be known that it wasn’t necessarily a short trail.

As the hash took off, they recruited a nice young man who would be the day’s lone virgin.  As a serious r*acist who placed in the top 30 of the Shamrock Run, he was looking for more training.  What he found was so much more.

The half-minds stopped briefly and admired the Stone Throwers statue and Slip generously serviced one of the bronze gentlemen. There was a bunch of running, and bitching about running, and running and bitching.  And finally the crew arrived at the top of a hill for the first Beer Near.

Once satisfied with beer the hash went searching for trail—which of course went down an embankment.  The half-minds slipped, slid, and skidded down the mud and snow and had a rousing game of Frogger on West Genesee Street.  And then came to a grinding halt.  No trail to be found.  With a helpful hint from a hare the crew was on their way and soon stumbled upon the second Beer Near at the residence of Upper Decker’s brother.

Only harriettes were allowed inside for the facilities, and that may have been a mistake when Just Michelle, Pink Taco, and Fakey found a bowl of oranges.  So much fun with citrus—until they were caught by the roommate who walked in and asked, “What are you doing?”  He was advised to peel his fruit before eating it.

Outside various half-minds had found crutches in the garage and were using them for support—some of these wankers had been drinking for some time and maybe actually needed them! A rousing version of “Chicago” was sung and DrySpell proved he was aiming to be a Songmeister with his witty verses.  Deflower declared that a lady came in for crutches, but he wasn’t giving them back.  And then the song wrapped up, crutches were put away, and the hash was On-out!

More running to a failed playground check—hashers were tired of all of this running— and made quick work back to the start. Everyone circled up and our Virgin was introduced.  Just Mike, who then announced he was also Mitch.  A fake name? Who would even do that??? And when Slip asked for a song he began to sing “Waterfalls” by TLC. Seriously.  No one had any idea why, but it was amusing and memorable.

Other down-downs were doled out and there wasn’t a dry lip around.  And then the hash went in peace, hoping for a piece at the Blarney Stone. Instead they found more beer and plenty of food.  The On-after gets blurry—there was exchanging of shirts with partial nudity, a human pyramid, lots of popcorn thrown, a bloody nose, and someone got kicked out.  Another successful night.

Respectfully submitted,

Came with a Fake Name