Rehash #173: The 3rd Anal MAD Ho! Ho? Who you calling a Ho?

On-On the twelfth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a bunch of Creepy Santas
On-On the eleventh day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me some really Sketchy Elves
On-On the tenth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave a Reindeer on a Boob
On-On the ninth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me some really Ugly Sweaters
On-On the eighth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me absolutely No Virgins
On-On the seventh day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me an R69
On-On the sixth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a waterfront Picture Check
On-On the fifth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a completely missed J-Check
On-On the fourth day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a special Beer Shot Stop
On-On the third day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a couple of Beer Nears
On-On the second day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me more than five miles of Snowless Trail
On-On the first day of Hashmas, the MAD Ho gave to me a Hunter in a Tree Stand

Respectfully submitted,
Came with a Fake Name

Rehash #172: A Golden Fleshball Wedding

Golden Snowball and Fleshlight were united in unholy hashimony during a 1:69 HST outdoor ceremony at Green Lakes State Park at SOH4 Trail 172. The double-handcuff ceremony was officiated by the dishonorable Pastorbator.

The bride was presented by her totally jacked mother, Chunks & Dunks, and  distrustful father of the bride, Snidely Whipass. The groom was awkwardly presented by his creepy father, Bushy Cholera. The judgmental-no-mo-fo-is-good-enough-for-my-baby mother, Tri Anything, wore running clothes, while the trampy stepmother, Loonies and Toonies, donned a slutty red dress with a plunging neckline.

Guests “enjoyed” a selection of Genny Cream as the ceremony began. The bride and groom switched hash necklaces and wore matching outfits causing most guests to be unsure of who was who—though the bride did wear a leopard hat and a tasteless veil.

The bride was attended by hare Slip and Swallow and always-a bridesmaid-never-a-bride Came with a Fake Name, who both wore lovely long gowns, and that lying Utica Chub, who wore a short dress even though she said she was going to wear a poufy dress too. She was also supposed to be piano player, but didn’t do that either. Six From Behind served as Flour Girl. The groom was attended by hare F*uckWOD, the bride’s meathead brother— who would totally kicked the ass of anyone who messes with his sistah, Self Cock Block, and handcuff bearer Honey Boo Boo. The couple was attended by Matron of Honor and Best Man, Anal-lyze This, in a recycled bridesmaid dress, and Dry Spell[cl1] , in hoe-down plaid.

The couple exchanged traditional hash vows in the parking lot while their guests looked on, distracted by the antics of birthday boy Puddle Humper and that couple that couldn’t stop having sex, Pink Taco and Vagiantalia. The bride’s bitchy sorority sisters, Upper Decker Wrecker and Just Stephen, passed all kinds of judgment on the bride’s attire, the other guest, and pretty much every aspect of the wedding. Drunk Aunt Table It interjected many colorful comments to liven up the affair, while Uncle WOD Receiver groped all of the female guests. The jaded married couple, Cock Possible and Dr. Cum on My Thumb, couldn’t stop arguing and their bratty, unsupervised toddler, No Child From Behind pissed everyone off with her unruly behavior.

A reception followed on the trails of Green Lakes State Park. Guests were treated to numerous checks, with YBF’s and R’s up and down hills. At the shot stop, Jackoff, that annoying old college friend, made one of his many incoherent and rambling toasts to the couple. Newlyweds Just Justin and Chickpea on My Face had plenty of advice, while wedding crashers Just Jeremy and Charles In Charge said— as they downed the free champagne, that it was the best wedding they’d crashed, this week anyway.

The reception was quite festive. A group photo was taken in front of the picturesque Round Lake, both a butt-free and butt-filled versions. Much shiggy was enjoyed and TOFU was not lost on trail, much to the relief of all guests. The bride and groom performed the garter removal ceremony at the first Beer Near along with the traditional garter/bouquet toss. Merriment and celebration continued as guests were rolled in culvert tubes in lieu of dancing. At the second Beer Near, the bride and groom enjoyed wedding cake and glutard friendly peanut butter pie while Just Kirill made a really awkward toast. Despite being a jealous ex-boyfriend, Same Job Different Orifice did not snap. Among other guests who enjoyed the affair: Rectal Retriever came as a clone of the bride, which confused the half-mind guests. Tweedle You made Deflower City keep all of his clothes on, but with that snazzy plaid jacket, it may have been better if he was naked. Snow Me a Blowman was seen crashing in his finest formal wear while Kickstand wore his hashiest kilt. Kneegina came as Professor Plum—wrong hash theme, and Cocktimus Prime donned all-black funeral attire—wrong occasion. There was also a rare appearance by long-time-no-cummer Calvin Christ.

There was a final photo on the beach at the Playground Check and then On-in where the hares were revered for a fine celebration and guests were recognized for their contributions. Wedding songs included “S-H-I-T-T-Y,” “If Your Girl Friends Tastes Like Shit,” and other wedding favorites. The hash went in peace, to get a piece and the On-after was enjoyed at Stingers Pub.

Respectfully submitted,
Came with a Fake Name

Rehash #169: Trail 169 on Friday the 13th

Gather round, all you children, and sit close by me, as I tell the story of the sordid affairs of the Friday the 13th 169th SOH4 Hash, that took place this 13th of November, 2015.

Imagine you find yourself in the middle of a dark parking lot on a chilly November Friday night with 60 other idiots decked out in running clothes and weird accessories. A mustachioed man named Kicky hands you a pair of bright orange gloves in return for $10 hash cash. You thank him and step backward into the horde. Everyone is chattering about an anniversary of some sort. People and dogs keep arriving, as if called by some supernatural force. A man in a Michael Myers mask eyes you up and down. You shiver. “It’s from the cold,” you tell yourself. “It’s just from the cold.” But deep down, there’s something discomforting you.

Two dogs begin to brawl. Then, the crowd forms a circle and begins a strange ritual called “chalk talk”. A man called Table It, who appears to be in charge, requires four “virgins” to do unconscionable things in the middle of this ritual, while Kicky drops piles of a white substance on the ground. The crowd becomes restless and chants loudly “no matter what happens, it’s my own fucking fault” before taking off into the woods like ghouls. You follow, ripping through through the brambles and thorns as you struggle to keep up. No matter how strange the group is you are with, you’re sure it’s better than being alone. As you scamper over a hill, you realize with horror that you’re in a massive graveyard, eerily illuminated by only the night’s moon. The pause in the midst of the chaos is peculiar and before you decide what to make of it, your companions are frantic once more, soon clamoring on about some “beer near” or something you don’t understand. Finally there, they stop, and you rest cautiously before taking off once again.

Up ahead on the ground is a mark you don’t recognize. A circle jerk, says a nearby deviant. You watch as the group splits in two, attacking the area ahead as if a two-headed devil dog. Around they ran, possessed by the spirit of the beer near, until the two heads appeared to crash into each other. Chaos erupted at the center! Men and women took to running around and around and around, screeching and howling with sinister laughter. A man called Bushy and one called Chickpea wrestled wildly. With no one to take control, this circle jerk appeared to be unstoppable. It is maddening and you want to scream! And then, just as quickly as it started, men and women dispersed, returning to a more normal running style. You try to shrug this bizarre activity off, but you know you are forever changed.

As you move forward with the others, the graveyard tells its stories, daring you to move among its stones without regard. Then, all gather around to hear a certain pair of Just Mikes tell their stories. These strange, perverted tales about cats and mothers cause hooting and howling from your companions. It appears they are delighted, for a reason you cannot fathom. A man in a pickup truck eyes the horde, and you are conflicted between being relieved to feeling distress. The group senses impeding danger and moves quickly to its next stop location, on to another so-called “beer near” as you follow limply behind. “Charles in Charge,” you hear whispered among the others. You will soon find out that one of these Just Mikes doesn’t make it out of the evening alive. He was replaced by this Charles in Charge, much to the delight of the pack.

The tumultuous evening appears to be ending, as you come to recognize the parking lot you started from. Relief waves over you, only to be replaced with sadness. “There isn’t enough beer,” you hear all around you. “Please, share some beer with others. We only have a little left.” This twist in events leaves you queasy, and you wonder how it can be that so many people have such free time on Friday evenings to traverse through forests and cemeteries, all for this drink they call “beer”.

You plan to come back the following week and try it again.

Respectfully submitted,
Slip and Swallow

Rehash #162: Jammie Jam (aka Putting Mondays to Bed)

Once upon a time, a bunch of half-minds showed up at Stones Marina in order to run around in their pajamas. It took a few of them a couple of tries to find the place but once they did, shit really hit the fan. It took three hares; Wet Nurse, Tri Anything, and Chick Pee on mu Face, to coral them all. Following circle, the kennel was unleashed to find trail. Everyone was in high spirits upon quick discovery of the first beer near. However, hash crash was to be had when WOD Receiver and Selfy failed to clear a ditch.

After, fortifying with orange food, the kennel ran on to a clothing exchange near a cleverly placed playground. TOFU became a classy gentleman, sporting the fluffiest of pink night shirts. Though it was still an hour till dusk, two moons; Captain and Tweedle were observed. Moral improved and newly fancy, the trail was quickly recovered. The kennel hit a little snag when the shot stop lead to a small camper trailer. Though they searched and searched the hounds could not locate the elusive shots, until the hares showed up and set them straight. Tweedle and Captain continued silliness involving a broom.

The trail ended spectacularly with a twilight swim/ kayak regatta. Chunks did not drown in the course of taking the slightly drier way out.
After slogging through the shiggy, everyone was warmed and dried with a spectacular fire. Rectal passed out toe tags and the kennel retired to Fisher Bay for food and FOOTBALL!
The end.

Respectfully Submitted,
6 From Behind

Rehash for the Third Anal SOH4 Red Dress Run

(Note this is being provided unedited so as to preserve the fullness of spirit of the Tweedle who wrote it.)

I figure that leaky mind of a tweedle, twerked out on twerking and being lost in the urban jungle whilst soliciting locals with naught but 1. a barely b-cup 2. Table it and Tri Anything, I must have SOME unique perspective to lend. This Tweedle humbly submits a re-hash in the hopes of providing another piece of the cold pizza puzzle which constitutes The Real Story. #willTheRealKickyDadyPleaseStandUp

It all began, as every cross-dressing jaunt should, with a man, a dress, and his awesome grandmother. Down the catwalk of the Westcott neighborhood struts Just Michael, clad in a tastefully cut jib, (to be fair, his salvo just-peeking above the knee “come-hither” dress). We zoom to the Penny, after much ado about how pretty we all look as well as a great deal about Judd Apatow (but that is neither here, there, nor on-on-on-on trail [And this is BEFORE beer goggles]).

Arriving in style, we find the pub transformed, and it’s occupants transfigured by naught else but panache, glitz, glamour, and very scant smell of the smokey aftermath of waxed masculinity. Like any excellent racist event, there is swag at the sign-in where Goldie and UC hold court to sign muscle-bound-beauties in, from Vagiant in his moo moo and kilted patterns, to Just Vaginas (known erroneously to the hash at large as “Dr. Cock Or Two”) slim-fit svelte dress.

After make up, lipstick, Ke$ha-worthy sparkles, and nail polish, provided and applied by Six From Behind and co., we surveyed the beautiful bounty of baskets shamelessly promoted by Buschy Cholera, with encouragements such as “Give me money or I’ll speak to your children.” The glorious menagerie of raffle baskets (TY and HT to FakeyAndCo!!) included an International basket, with snacks and cascades of nifty global giftees, an adultworld basket with various wonders for the pleasure of the winner (unless you’re UC, in which case the sex toys go back in the closet next to the other white elephant gifts). Then it’s time to….DRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRUM RRRRRRRRRROOOLLLLLL:

Circle up!!!! After we were gawped at by passers-by, and our photos taken by sidewalk-confined muggles, our gaggle-troupe-harrier-folk went around circle for intros. A few out-of-towners showed from the Hudson Valley, Ithaca, and Flour City [others??? I was busy making bank for Clear Path Help 😛 Help a leaky Tweedle Me brain out] [Mars-Interstellar-Hash]

Ok this is getting extraordinarily long. #drinkItDownDown SO: Abstract/Summary/Short Version: Running. Drinking. The trail was a 6-ish miler…Everyone looked beautiful. No one got hurt. All the Roses were Red, Weddings were Quainter, You should not photo-bomb, unless you’re a Wanka…;) hehe

[oops, ok, /end short version]…because of that 3-hour-detour indulged by Tri Anything, all the nudity Table-it could muster, and me, poor Tweedle You, listlessly parkouring everywhere that lent itself to my highly-focused ramblings!!!

Exhibit A: Not moments away from the MOST and circle, we photo bomb a wedding (the first, yet not the last, on trail). (n=wankas^269)


Buschy gets punished for porting tech on trail. There is not enough basmati amongst our handful of half-minds, so the Choleric Buschman must mobilize what’s left of his dandruff to fashion an absorbent heap in a vain effort to revive the bitter and broken remains of what was once his GameBoy color.* (Sorry for pushing you in the font of funk, buschy).

THE FOUNTAIN and cleverly cut and re-sealed and infused vodka pops cum next! Fleshy and I plug it up at Table-It’s suggestion. Playing in the fountain and re-enacting the moisture levels of nearly every layman when encountering a half mind.

Then…..there was flour. There were, apparently, stripper poles too. Which this Tweedle missed because she was either helping the less fortunate or the opiates have finally boggled the lobe that controls memory/risk-aversion BECAUSE: Once upon a sidewalk by J Ryans, I sprinted past in gleeful array of red frippery, sparkly boa a-bouncin and what do I spy with my little eye but an intriguing flash of red and the bark of raucous, yet mildly British, laughter. I skid to stop, as if a Tweedle-Road Runner #notdialup and what to my wondering eyes and thirsty gullet should appear but a modiCUM encircling Tri Anything in her Red Finery and 2 British gentry with BEER!! Watching their Sunday “futball,” they were “best enemies” who Just Bobbie had stopped in to have a pint with! I careened through her circle of admiring riff raff where they promptly offered to buy me a 90 min, IF I’d support Liverpool (“No! Manchesta’, ya bloomin’ iddjiit!! Man U!!”). (Arsenal fan, dyed in the UK-lamb wool, right here #wotWot?) Table it, makes a extravagant and noblesse appearance, flaunting his earning thus far in florally fans of ca$h from his bosom. 2 veterans donate a $20. #awwYEAH

Then the three lost and drunk RDR-ers get involved in engagement photos, and ANOTHER wedding, markedly less pleased to see us, this time around. Table it solicits everyone he come across, and makes a good impression and $30, shamelessly approaching anyone and explaining our cause, collecting money, maybe sporting a little public nudity, and running away.

We 3 are thoroughly lost, it is raining, and down by the Irish fest, then by Destiny mall, where we follow a pipeline and lose dolla dolla bills y’all.
Tri anything asks a dude: “Have you seen any red dresses run by here?” who is shocked and scared of us, and he says, resolutely: “No.”
I ask: “Have you seen anyone in a red dress run by here?”
He answers, again, resolutely: “NO.”
Table says: “Were there peiople running by in red dresses?”
The dude says: :Oh, yeah, they ran by, that way.”

We find the group! We sketch a naughty chalk outline of Snidley with an appendage. I offered to do the same to TOFU, but he declines and gives me a Craft beer mag about PUMPKIN BEER (YOU ROCK TOF!!) after downing some well-earned Duke.

We careen/crawl to the warehouse, where there is much wobble baby wobble baby wobble baby wobbling, beer floating and Captain finds himself once again in a grocery-esque cart.

Figure A: “Wobbling. And floating ‘midst beer and impromptu testosterone cross fit #ceilingRings (n=69)


There’s a playground check. And Clear Path for Veterans looks like it’s money bags will be well-lined. !!

We chuck a football around–after a raging warehouse dance party–then ON IN! ON IN ON IN!! Thenwarm beer and cold pizza and raffling and mismanagement did a BANG UP job of keeping people in line. Circle!

Just Cristianna is named–finalmente!!– Many names are tossed around: Spankakopita, hot Sauce, Sriacha Crotcha, Vats Tracks of Land. Many questions were posed:Where do you work? Whose calves would you lick, given the chance? If you had to f*ck a turtle, what would his name be? (HT/ST the unfailingly tasteful and oft-in-pursuit of the homeless Hot Busch for the final inquiry). Hair was spiked with flour and packed into ears and named: “The Trojan Whorse.” (note: the TOFU instantiated modification of nomenclature. I have it on good authority that the latin (genus and species of said trojan horse) is hot sauce. (the reader is asked: Question not a Tweedle’s etymology or her choice in men/women/cutedogs).

Later, Turtle dick sets an impromptu and arduous trail of cheetos at 9:30pm out the back door of the Penny through the front door again. hehe.

Until the next cross dressery, wankas!
xoxoxox Tweedle Me OUT!


Bible, The.

HashHiker’s Guide to the Galaxy Spermaslide, CoCo. FU, TO. 1986. copyright. Web. Available from: Accessed: everydayDuh

*buschy: it is will deep regret that you were tackled by a loose canon. The armory square cannons are often mistaken, much like the Fogo Caldera and Jackoff’s bowels, still active and largely explosive. I sincerely hope your gameboy color survived.

Rehash #152: A Britney Bitch Birthday Bash

TRAIL 152: It’s a Britney Bitch Birthday Bash!
Hared by UC, Camel, and Britney Spears in spirit.

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
I think they did it again
They made you believe the hares were your friends
Oh baby
It might seem like a run
But it doesn’t mean that they’re serious
‘Cause to lose all your senses
That is just so typically hashing
Oh baby, baby

Oops, they did it again
They played with your half-mind, you got lost on the trail
Oh baby, baby
Oops, you think it’s just a run
That they set with flour
But they’re not that innocent

You see the problem is this
You’re dreaming away
Wishing that true trail really exists
You cry, looking for flour
Can’t you see they’re fooling in in so many ways
But to lose all your senses
That is just so typically hashing
Oh baby, oh

Oops, they did it again
They played with your half-mind, you got lost on the trail
Oh baby, baby
Oops, you think it’s just a run
That they set with flour
But they’re not that innocent

Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah

“Hashers, before you finish, there’s a Beer Near I want you to have”
“Oh, it’s shitty, but wait a minute, isn’t this?”
“Yeah, yes it is”
“But I thought the old hares drank all the beer at the last hash?”
“Well hashers, we went down and got more for you”
“Aww, you shouldn’t have”

Oops, they did it again, to your half-mind
Got lost on the trail, oh baby
Oops, you think that they set true trail
They’re not that innocent

Oops, they did it again
They played with your half-mind, you got lost on the trail
Oh baby, baby
Oops, you think it’s just a run
That they set with flour
But they’re not that innocent

Oops, they did it again
They played with your half-mind, you got lost on the trail
Oh baby, baby
Oops, you think it’s just a run
That they set with flour
But they’re not that innocent.

Respectfully submitted,
Came with a Fake Name

Rehash #147: Red, White and Blue Thy Neighbor

Sung to the tune of “America the Beautiful”

RWB Love thy brother… Sexually

O beautiful well floured trail
For nice cold beer on ice
For shiggy hilly majesty
Above the town of fabius

Oh highland park
Oh highland park
Some wankers peed on trail
But all was good in brotherhood
With down-downs and some ale

O hashers from a different house
With brand new jokes and songs
A virgin too from ausi land
We’re glad he came along

The hares made jello shots
There’s orange food and white food too
We like both lots and lots

Wet nurse and f *
WOD were our hares
And late to set the beer
But Tofu started just on time
And made it in the clear

Dry Spell and Bushy
Shuffled their tushes
And were quite lead a stray
False trails and true
Were plentifully strune
To trap FRBs all the way

Kind regards,

Rehash #146: MAD Hatter’s Tea Party

Cazenovia is my hometown and god is it better with beer! First off, Cock or two passed the shovel on to glory something or other for racist behavior. Slip banged a horse sculpture because the sperm sample we drank wasn’t enough. Just Pokémon did a mud slip and slide and serenaded us with his theme song. Fakey had an amazing tea party where the FRBs celebrated an unbirthday with the DFLs while the rest of us attempted to slingshot a foreign hasher back to where she came from. A dog was properly named with overwhelming agreement “it’s a cat.” We did a study on DEET spray vs. non-DEET/hippy spray to see which is better and lets just say now I have a HUGE rash. For the on after we went to a dungeon basement in the Lincklaen House. Oh, and Pastor left circle to pee with a flamingo.

Great times!

just morgan