Run #443 FHACed-Up
All the signs were auspicious when the Drunkards of the North, the Gypsies, joined the Drunkards of the South, the FHAC-U, for a night of revelry. Fast friendships were quickly formed; Mountain Dyke and Rug Burns took turns pulling down each other’s shorts, while it only took one look for Deflowered to decide that Erection Denied would make an appropriate object of lifetime pity. The Grim Rimmer and Ugly Fuckling reminisced fondly about the anal-insertion games they’d learned as children.
Our longtime facilitators Tongueless and Fits In somehow absent (allegedly due to illness and work, although we know once they're alone these Hashers make Handjob for Humanity and Scabass Faggot look like monks), stand-ins seized control of the evening. Bigfoot collected Hash cash and belched once in the faces of those who paid up and twice for those who didn’t; Suckin’ Up Spouse went wild with a rubber stamp, purpling D’Anglin Anglin’s pecker; and IR Stupid stood around looking, um, vacant, having devoted his remaining neuron to laying trail. Somehow the enormous crowd was whipped into order and virgin Just Dave was brought up to do justice to the Sacred Missal. Alas, the Lonely Librarian remained less than satisfied, so the will of the pack propelled Ram Pam forward to show the hapless virgin what true religion sounds like.
Onto trail shot the pack. As it wound onto the I-280 shoulder, FRBs Broken Trojan and LCB were heard whining that the cars whooshing by made it hard to concentration on their r*nning, at least until Scarlett O’Hairy and Beats Me pushed them in front of an 18-wheeler, upon whose front grille they set a record pace to Daly City. The trail circled and jerked, circled and jerked, and jerked again until even Crutch Cargo and Dick Chick were moaning in anticipation and release, eventually descending into a vast, muddy and increasingly dark canyon reminiscent of that time Mr. Poopy Pants mooned the Circle. (Wait, that happens every Hash. But each time it seems so fresh!)
Wandering lost in the gloom, Kazoo and Three Ball Jay confessed their secret unrequited passion for one another, and could only be separated when Badger confused them for hedgehogs rooting in the bushes and had to be pulled off by Drill Me. Feared lost on trail, Open Wide was rescued when Likes to Lick ran back into the woods to find her telling Wanker’s Island and Just Allison how she had survived by cannibalizing virgins Just Kim and Just Mark. Little remained but the stains on their shorts.
As quickly as the pack staggered in it was shuttled off to the home of IRS, who served firstcomers martinis and latecomers beer and charcoal-hard hamburgers. The party was soon in full swing. Virgin Slim and Naked Hasher had a contest to see who could wolf down the biggest sausage, but with large sausages in short supply no winner could be declared. Nutless Sac embarked on a quest to consume the pack’s entire liquor supply and came perilously close to succeeding. Several Hashers headed straight for the hot tub, until Fucking Pesto Chicken complained that all the swimsuits in the tub were leaking highly reactive soap particles into his beer. Next Time and Quack Off quickly convinced him that soapy beer made for longer erections, after which Pesto vanished alone into a bedroom and was not seen again.
After watching Pied Piper climb naked out of the hot tub, Chibi Maruko turned to Anthill and asked why the warm water hadn’t made it any bigger. Their progeny Zoomer, meanwhile, was tugging away at his new toy until Samuel Adams barked to make it known he doesn’t appreciate being fondled that way, at least unless No Hands or Meat Pie are involved. The still-unnamed Just Jason perked up at the thought of a doggy four-way, then was crushed when Sammy wouldn’t have him either.
The Circle was convened and the Sacred Bucket deployed for down-downs. The Hares were punished for assuming wrongly that this crowd of drunks had any desire at all to r*n. Just John told his heart-rending story of being stranded for a week in Newfoundland in a town where there were only 101 bars on a single street; Agony and Glad He Ate Her allowed that they would gladly have traded places with him. The respective Hashes traded gifts: Spouse received an automatic finger-hand that Rhoids of London swore would be put to good use, while Enter the Gerbil received a dancing, singing namesake and a habit-trail tube, declaring himself happy until the singing gerbil decided to leave with an unknown Hasher instead.
The party decamped to a nearby Irish pub where Apple Pie Ho -- otherwise known as Mr. Welcome -- and Semen Monster attempted to rub one another’s clothes off through simple friction. Much singing ensued when Xena the Warrior Princess and Bangs Anything wafted in on a cloud of alcoholic vapors. The merriment was only enhanced later in the evening as Xena demonstrated to several of Millbrae’s finest his innate ability to drive while intoxicated, to fashion illegal nunchucks out of household items and to withstand pepper spray -- not to mention his skill at staggering blindly away, handcuffed, while shouting “I’m not resisting arrest! I’m not resisting arrest!” Bailed out a mere 12 hours later by Johnny Cockring, Xena was immediately ready to hash again, a sterling role model for those of us sober enough to require such things. On on.