Through The Drinking Glass: LVH3 January 3rd Saturday. Hash # 247. Phishy Cop A Feel & Pourgasm.

    The particular events of the first LVH3 3rd Saturday hash of the new year are a bit fuzzy. But I have adopted the philosophy of, “hash harder, not smarter.” So headlong we plunge.

See, your intrepid scribe here was not to be daunted by a weeklong head cold. Hell no. There are medicines for that. And I had been experimenting with various combinations over the week. This would lead to the decision not to drink much on trail. Which would be good. So the first order of business was to stop at the beer distributor for a case of beer and cider (glutards are a thing). I am full of these kinds of decisions. Try to keep up.

Shangy’s bills itself as “the beer authority.” Compared to most stores this is the Taj Mahal of beer, nestled in the quaint borough of 12,000 known as Emmaus (pronounced EE-MAY-US. Unless you are really local dutchy, then it is just EEE-MAUS). So it was no surprise to see the hares rushing in as I was loading the car. That and start of trail was less than a mile away.

I raced off, confident that I could not be late as Phishy Cop-a-feel and Pourgasm were behind me. What I wasn’t confident in was that they wouldn’t stop at anymore bars on the way. Good thing I stopped for beer.

I found my way to the parking lot off Alpine street. It was dead end road that stopped at some sort of park connected to a trail I had no previous knowledge of on the South Mountain.

I was greeted by one of our two new R.A.s, Ya Lion Cunt. He was busy trying to recruit a muggle runner who happened to be there. The Muggle did join us but bailed halfway through trail.

The next part I intentionally did not hint at. There have been rumors and I had refused to believe them until I saw it with my own eyes. This is fairy tale shit here, folks. But no shit, Reading has a kennel.

These creatures of myth came rolling in. With Fantastical Tolkienesque names like: Any Crack’ll Do, Sascrotch, Little Big Dick, Vera Wangless, Bones, In U End O, Foot Fairy, Dances With Whores, and the current Leader of their merry band, Fudgepacker.. Once I was over my initial shock a worry crept over me: This is January… And there are quite a few fair weather hashers… There was more of them than us so far… Visitors could easily become invaders. This has been attempted in the past. Assuming my drug addled brain hadn’t made these fantastic creatures up.

This was not to be however. It is a well known fact that LVH3 would be late to its own funeral. If it even bothered to show up at all. Soon the kennel came trickling in. And when I say “trickling” I am of course referring to “the clap.” Don’t trust any of these fuckers.

Scratch-n-Stiff impressed me by breaking out a pound of glitter which caused an unawares cooler filling Pourgasm to recoil as if it were a can of mace. Complete with threats of violence.

It immediately became apparent that the visiting hashers like to pre-lube. I was happy to share my case of the Lord until the hares were done playing beer bitch. Camel Toe Ya Ho also was feeling generous enough to share a bottle of some sort of german corn liquor he had secreted away in the trunk of his car. I cant say much for palatability, but it certainly seemed like it would be great for stripping old furniture or hardwood flooring.

In all this confusion Phishy gets a phone call. It seems the hares have been reported to the authorities by concerned neighbors as “suspicious” as they were planting supplies on trail. Luckily the cops know all about us. The concern is that said supplies could be stolen. We had to brace ourselves for this potential storm. We could weather this. I’m pretty sure… Maybe… I need my blankie 🙁

When we could wait no more circle began on the now glittery basketball court. There was chalk talk with minimal excitement and just a little more glitter. There were only two virgins that I recall,  a Just Danielle (though I’m not sure she was a virgin) and a Just Tiff (whose father made her cum and couldn’t even remember his name).

Ghett-Ho Inferno showed up late (shocking) proclaiming that she was the newly elected Hash Flash but didn’t have a camera. We would spend the next week debating what kind of camera she could not destroy.

Aaaaaaand PACK OUT!

By now the meds and booze were beginning to work well together. I followed the Pack into the woods. The Reading kennel likes to run. I stuck around a few of them. I was surprised to see Red Cock Down near me on this first leg. Either he had picked up his game or mi e was faultering. I also believe I saw a white rabbit that tried to lead me down a hole in the ground. But there was no flour. So screw that dude.

Deeper into the woods we went. Heading south, straight towards the mountain. Sure enough, a few checks in, we were climbing the hills. Zig-zagging and skirting boulders. Seemingly straight up.

Luckily there was a shot check at the top of this mountain where we met Just Jim. I’m not supposed to use last names here, but it rhymes with “mean.” As shot checks go, it was hit and run, off we went. Leaving Scratch-N-Stiff to push Cause For Blindness up the hills.

Trail took a decided left, opening into a powerline. Now, were are either stupid or the hares didn’t think it was necessary to mark an intersection. Either is equally believable. Pack went scrambling in all directions. Finally finding enough flour downhill to warrant an “ON-ON!”

Down that powerline we went. Nearly breaking ankles on rocks and mud slicks. Then, when all seemed lost, we stumbled upon a Beer Near!

A lot of complaints can and have been lodged against these particular hares. Personally I like their trails. Even the ones that rival half-marathons in length and Cambodia in shiggy. If there was one complaint this day it was only the time it took to pack up. The earlier hills had driven a large wedge in the pack. But I digress.

On-On down the fucking hill! Some of us played soccer. Where the ball came from I have no idea. Just like the shovel. Apparently Sascrotch does not know the difference between polo and soccer.

Next thing I know The trail twists and we are following route 309 and loop into a tunnel under the highway. I vaguely recall scribbling “free cuddles” in chalk above the darkened corridor. Glory Hole was busy taking pictures as I ventured into the abyss. Barely enough room to stand. Only a pinpoint of light far ahead. Silhouettes of a few half-minds far ahead as the water sloshed underfoot.

This opened into a creek. I hopped the rocks in a futile attempt to keep from getting more wet (Gimme a break, I was sick!) There I waited until more half-minds appeared at the other end.

I laid a pack arrow with sticks and glitter. I was losing ground to the people ahead of me. More hills. Back along the highway. The meds were hitting hard now and delirium was no longer a question. I recorded a short video to gather my thoughts. The results are entertaining.

I passed boulders the size of dinosaurs and nearly got swallowed up by sinkholes that could eat a good mid-sized car. If you could get one up there. Those who brought small dogs along probably already lost them to the pterodactyls. And I had the feeling that I was going to die out here in this wilderness. Then I noticed a residential neighborhood through the trees about a hundred yards away.

Before long Any Crack’ll Do and one of our kennel came rushing towards me. Spouting curses and a pox upon the houses of those responsible for the Back Check 15. Just as I was approaching the 15th mark back. I should have played the lotto. Wait, I did. Fuck you, Powerball!

Another Pack arrow dowsed with glitter and we were at another shot check. I have no clue what the castle like ruins once were but we were in it, drinking some kind of punch out of a plastic gallon jug. Just like kings.

Pack continued out and down through the woods. I recall water but not getting wet. Perhaps Jesus carried me. At this point I’m no longer sure. Then shiggy. Lots of shiggy , in the form of sticker bushes. Somewhere in there we opened into a field across which was a Beer Near. And we were joined by a whole slew of shortcutting bastards and latecummers. It is all starting to get mixed up.

More shiggy. It was just like prison escape. Finally we broke through to the railroad tracks. Home free! Like hell we were. Another LVH3 tradition: lots of railroad tracks.

Like transients we followed the tracks west, searching for flour. Somehow I was FRB again. High as a kite. Only to find another shot check under a highway overpass. This time some sort of tea. Why was Sascrotch still carrying that shovel?

Back down the tracks we went. Suddenly Flour led right into a parking lot where we discovered a True Trail quickly followed by a Beer Near right outside The Brass Rail.

This was once a dumpy sort of place. Now remodeled and all fancy pants. It quickly devolved into that scene in The Blues Brothers where they go to the Chez Paul to recruit Mr. Fabulous. Yeah, that was us. We left before they could throw us out. At least I did.

It didn’t take rocket appliances or an orienteering merit badge to figure out how to shortcut from here. But finding flour is half the battle. The other half involves alcohol.

By now there were dragons flying overhead and hobbits trying not to get mowed the fuck over in this type-A clash of kennels. We dashed along a dirtbike trail. All windy and whichy ways. Rolling hills full of slick mud. Probably would have been more fun on a bike.

Twisting around trees , the thought occurred to met to just cut straight across, but the shiggy would have equalized the distance saved.

There we were, Any Crack’ll Do, Ya Lion Cunt and myself. Going at it like… like a bunch of racist bastards. That’s what.

The sun was setting. At this point I was running mainly because I had no idea how far this labyrinth was going to take us. It was past time to get to the Goblin King. And get that fucker some down-downs!

And then I took a wrong turn. Sonovabitch. But it was okay. I had to pee anyway.

When I found my way back on trail I was right at the parking lot where we started. Some beer was drank, others trickled in, the shortcutting bastards appeared over the hill, our fearless leaders called circle.

It was like a beacon. Suddenly Cause For Blindness comes trucking out of the woods. We all turned from circle to see her… Running! What a trooper.

From here I don’t know who earned what. The R.A.’s were having trouble keeping any semblance of order. Pack was growing more restless as sunlight faded and temperatures dropped. Ghett-Ho Inferno, Illegal Discharge, and Snorts-N-Squirts had all huddled under a blanket as a sort of makeshift fort.

Accusations were fairly run of the mill. Lots of shitty beer so people just get accused of breathing air and the such. Cause used her one and only accusation to accuse herself as someone else. Crouching behind an unsuspecting Just and using her best ventriloquist voice: “I’m Just Danielle and I accuse Cause For Blindness for not shortcutting when she should have!”

No one was fooled and she was brought into circle to drink and then graced us with another demonstration of her namesake. In case we never witnessed it before. And if you haven’t, you don’t hash enough.

All control was lost with the daylight. Any minute now it would be all Lord of the flies all up in here. The R.A.’s had to think fast before these animals began to eat each other (and not in the good way). The only way to to salvage this mess was to pull the plug. And quick. A TRIPLE speed Swing Low helped sew it all together. And not a moment too soon.

Now get the fuck out.


Posted in Hash Trash.