Richmond Hash House Harriers Trail #684 – South Side – November 6, 2006

Wow. What can I say…I am in awe of the creativity, effort and just plain old nose to the grindstone work that our hares put into this week’s trail. It was obvious from the beginning that the trail had been meticulously planned and that our hares, It’s Twue It’s Twue and guest from Lynchburg, Clean Clam, must have studied satellite photos and scouted for days leading up to trail. REMINDER: When you are forced to auto-hare because you had to stop to eat chicken and ice cream please remember to set marks closer than a mile apart. Oomph I’m not even going to start on you yet.

I’m sitting in my apartment and hour before trail wondering if I have time to punch the pope when I get this phone call from a Hawaiian area code.

Gammy: Hello?
Unknown Caller: Hey, where does trail start?
Gammy: Who is this? How did you get my number?
Unknown: I’m coming from Fort Eustis
Gammy: Oh, ok, on the south side. Gives directions
Unknown: I’m either drunk or stoned and can’t understand what you are saying. I also am not sure that I graduated high school or can read.
Gammy: That’s ok, just come to my house.
Unknown: Drools

So I invite some unknown miscreant to my home. I hide most of my valuables and all of my booze (which wasn’t that much due to Saturday night). The phone rings again while I am indulging myself in myself.

Gammy: Hello?
Unknown: Hey, I’m on Boulevard Street.
Gammy: Who is this? How did you get my number?
Unknown: There is a stadium or something.
Gammy: Ok just follow the stone horses to my house
Unknown: YAY! I like horsies.

So I talk this drunken Neanderthal onto my block and hop in his sweet sweet Volvo 240DL (not that I can criticize anyone that has a car). When I say sweet what I really mean is piece of shit filled with more shit like sweaty kilts, menses stained panties, used condoms, Carolina Trash Flags, semen soaked bibs and spilled flavo-lube. “Hi I’m Sextion Ate and I’m a drunk stoned idiot.” We scrounged a quarter out from between his hairy ass cheeks and made for the $29.99 Shoe Warehouse on Westmoreland were we could pick up some sweet new…ummm help me here…K-Swiss? Yes I’m out of touch with the kids. The hell with kids. Nothing but sex trophies anyway.

People start trickling in wearing their most ghetto outfits. Jerry’s Kid had this sweet hat that looked really warm and a medallion that said “Bitch Hammer” or some such nonsense. I’m sensitive to furry hats as I have no insulation on my dome. Twue had some sort of velvet crap on. Manwhich took the best costume award with some serious bling and a gold tooth. Honestly, if anyone was going to get shot it was him. I almost shot him. In fact, I might still shoot him. Hokie also dressed the part but I’m not sure it was a costume. Phantom had a horn, which he was blowing like Joseph “Wingy” Manone.

We had 2 virgins; both of whom were more than worthy of working out with my pocket Hercules. Unfortunately Fish Sticks already branded one and 71-1 (despite my most diligent cock blocking) married the other on the spot. You see, I don’t really try to French the women that 71-1 is talking to I just try to keep him from Frenching. It’s a little game we play. No one really wins. Sort of like global thermonuclear war. He’s David Lightman and I’m Dr. Stephen Falken if you get my drift. We are both trying to get with Jennifer Katherine Mack played by Ally Sheedy. I still have a thing for her and will pleasure her if she can solve Falken’s Maze.

Trail went as usual with me running a half-mile then walking while Phantom, Whack, Comatoes, and all of those other runners run. Whatever, I was still ahead of Gus Gus Duck. Humperdink (new name later), Open Whore Policy, Jerry’s Kid, Manwhich and myself are strolling through suburban Richmond sharing a rousing discourse on humanist ideals in the age of Kantian enlightenment and their relation to Wittgenstein’s The Death of Language as it relates to super-string theory and Manifest Destiny. As we are walking past beautifully manicured lawns there is this trashcan that was just talking shit to me.

Seriously, the can was literally talking shit to me, everyone heard it. Saying things about my mother that I won’t repeat here because they would cause your heads to explode. That is, if anyone actually reads my hung-over ramblings. Assholes. Anyway, I bet Open Whore $1 that she won’t knock it over (which is more than she makes in a week on the corner after her pimp tax). She says no…she drives a hard bargain. “Ok $2.” Again, no. “Ok, this is my final offer. $2 and a cigarette.” Without warning, like a horse with big cans out of the gate, she form tackles the thing literally spreading leaves all over the lawn. I was like, “AWESOME!” Then Jerry’s Kid was like, “CHEESE IT!” Jk, Manwhich and Humperdink (new name later) took off like they were stealing plasma screens from a Circuit City in the New Orleans. Being the follower and not the leader I bolt too. OWP just giggles and walks away.

So the four of us who run off like complete pussies get about a block away and see OWP being assaulted by the neighbor. Fortunately, instead of calling the police she simply asks, “Is there a marathon today I didn’t know about?” OWP says, “Yeah bitch, a home invasion marathon,” and proceeds to kick her ass, rob her house, steal her children and sell them on the black market for a tidy profit, all in 2 minutes.

Then we got lost. So after a stimulating (yes, sexually) conversation about Humperdink (new name later) getting his ass kicked by some women playing soccer we back track to the beer check. Our hares did something right. There were forties of Iron City, Schlitz, OE and plenty of PBR for all until I took the last one. I contemplated squatting in the mini-storage complex where we stopped but it was still under construction and it wouldn’t be good for my rheumatism. Humperdink gets questioned, I do my Benny Hill shtick, and Comatoes gets up on her soap box. Apparently you can order portable soap boxes through the haberdashers.

Seriously though, listen to her. She’s smart so you should do what she says without question (I’ve got bruises to prove it). VOTE NO ON #1!!! Most of you will read this after the election anyway. Don’t worry Comatoes, I rigged it.

Ok, now then. Jk, Grilled Chicken and myself shortcut via pickup truck. I sit in the back and freeze like Brendon Frasier in Encino Man. We argue about who was FRB…Jk gets it because he is a poor negotiator and actually ran at one point.

Hashers trickle in and Gus Gus starts circle because It’s Twue is getting a hummer from a hooker inside of $29.99 Shoe Warehouse. Apparently it is also $29.99 Shoe Whorehouse (heh heh heh….laugh bitches!). Twue comes back and the fun is over. But then Jk steps into the circle to do his thing. Our virgins get their temp names, 92-Year-Old Fish Sticks and Big Kong (it is whatever I remember). I’d like to commend Big Kong for showing up solo and both virgins for being hot. Actually, tell your parents I said thank you. Keep in mind that even though I have low standards you far exceeded them. Just kidding…PLEASE COME BACK!

Humperdink finally gets named. During the beer stop he gave us plenty of material so the questions didn’t go too long. To make a long story short we said goodbye to Humperdink and hello to Puke Puke Gis Gis Oh What a Relief it Is. Listen Richmond, I could hardly remember this name and it doesn’t work as PPGGOWARII. Do you ever think about me when you give these people their names? So…maybe Puke Puke or Gis Gis or Puke Gis but I really can’t do more than three syllables. Also, I voted for Ridem’ Cowhurl but really wanted Jeep Strangler.

Circle ends and we head out to Babe’s for the on-after. Nothing really happened here worth noting. You guys suck. I think the novelty of the lesbian bar is starting to wear off but there was that cool springy flamingo thing…so at least I had that going for me.

Titanic Memorial Full Moon Hash House Harriers Trail #58 – Carytown – November 6, 2006

The exodus from Babe’s begins and we headed over to the parking deck behind the Byrd. What a magical place. Sometimes I just go over there to take a piss in homage of the hash. We circle up and someone says words. I think it was Oomph There it Is. Oh, TMHHH, don’t expect to get acknowledged again. Don’t you have your own word bitch?

We then walk to Easy Street and have beers. Ok, that was cool.

Pokyman was there. He seemed nice.

This is where I start to get pissed and Oomph needs to take some leadership. Apparently, without my knowledge I have been designated official full moon hash bar expert. Rather, I have the authority to tell people where not to go but I can’t tell them where they should go. For some reason you wankers listen. As most of you know I have a standing boycott against both 3 Monkeys and Starlight. This is my personal preference and is intended to avoid preppy-ass, card-carrying Richmond 500 members. Also, I don’t do coke off of my hand in the bathroom. I will sniff baking powder or fun dip of some juicy bags though. Actually, I’ll sniff just about anything off the right chest…but I had a drug test today (which I passed…that’s right I hit the cup). So when I suggest Bamboo I am met with nothing be negativity. I’ve got your negativity right here Chachi! I don’t know what that means.

So Oomph gives me shit at circle about ruining his shitty trail…I was already drunk so I didn’t care. IN YOUR FACE OOMPH!!! IN YOUR FACE MOON!!!

Down downs went as expected. I miss Oomph’s days as Richmond GM and his no tolerance down downs, arrogance, and cheese grater like demeanor. The ova were eggy and the Guinness was flowing like warm PBR except better tasting, cold and darker.

When we were just about out of beer Oomph gave the opportunity to opt in to some down downs to finish it. Twue and Grilled Chicken on a Bun immediately jumped in. While I hesitated I eventually took the last one. Our eyes met, (which was really awkward at first but then I relaxed and just let it happen) and just like when Captain Nemo, Hercules, and Indiana Jones met for the first time we had an idea.

THE GRID OF DESTINY!

Twue and I lock wrists. Chicken gets into position. Twue and I are spinning like Lawrence Demmy and Jean Westwood. Chicken then uses my extended legs like a jump rope (I was so hoping to clip him while he was in the air). It was beautiful. Sort of like this but I wasn’t wearing a skirt…next time ladies.

The Grid of Destiny was as beautiful as sex in a Jeep with a girl who is vomiting out of the window (mmmm…kegels). It is love on that level, which reminds us why we are on this earth. Thanks Puke Puke, you have taught us all a valuable lesson.

~ Gammy McProlapse (Cattaglottis this trail: 0)