SH3 Run #465 – Saturday, November 22, 2003

       Farewell to the Concorde

Hare:  Pedophilic Pussy Petter  (P3)

Let’s see here:  It was big…it was fast…it flew…its not flying anymore.   OK, got it – lets drink.

Well, no.  We’re in Boeing-land and I guess we’ll have to play along with this celebration of the end of a European endeavor and laugh about how Toulouse has absolutely NO chance of getting the 7E7…dammit!   So, with sub zero temperatures and our hare’s instructions to dress the theme of “failed technology” (did I hear Boytano’s HardOn say Whiskey Tango Foxtrot?), Where’s and Sweeter Peter did their part by showing us exactly why polar SHORTS never quite caught on.

Oddly dressed as a Metro Transit bus driver, P3 led us from W. Lake Washington parking lot #69 along a path marked by tiny flags of ‘Old’ Europe (…because they are soooo little and we are soooo big –  getting this now?) to the comfort of the coldest possible spot in the Puget Sound at that exact moment in time.  Chalk talk consisted of “brrr, brrr, brrr, beer” and after the live hare departed, the new JGMs BOT and AssMa quickly made their 1st command decision:  lesgedafugoutahere!  My half-frozen ass is here to tell you:  its going to be a kinder, gentler mismanagement. 

Back up to the 69, Religious Advisor FC stunned us all, not by his imparted knowledge of aircraft operation, but by his surprise admission that prior to his hiring at Boeing, he too was a senior federal acquisitions manager and privately wears glasses far too large for his head (Head?  Who said ‘head’?).  Unrepentant, he turned his attention to beer-blessing Just Laura (our virgin du jour) and sent the pack off.

TwatNot, looking very picturesque (or should we say picture-less Seňor Hash Flash!) in his new “back from the future-wear” showed the way up the stairclimbs of Leschi to all the able-bodied, which apparently does not include Rafiki, who decided that writhing on the ground calling for help was the easiest way to true trail.  In the local tongue, however, Leschi actually means “only fool go up that freakin hill” and its true.  Nonetheless, the trot down the hill was time well spent as 2 Bit Oar gave a mini-lesson in California politics.  Evidently Gary Coleman would have won the recall but the voting levers were all too high off the ground.   Sure, you don’t have to believe her but you can’t turn your back on just how many short people we let into this country.

I think it started back near the lake and it went on and on the rest of the hash.  After a wily backtrack that had all confused, the pack howled its way along the waters edge.  Wait a minute…I wasn’t howling.  Anahymen wasn’t howling.  Quick Drip wasn’t howling.  Actually…the PACK wasn’t howling at all – it was TwatNot.  And it wasn’t quite a howl -more of a wail.  Some would say a whine.  In his defense, I’ll tell you why:  Twat had actually scouted this same exact run and was going to call it the “Farewell to the Mom and Pop Coffee Shop” hash but the Boeing faction won out.  I’m sure that he’ll have other opportunities in the future.

The scene at the first beer check was one of, lets say, “harmony”.  You want to know how the bimbos prefernce of Yoga versus Pilates™:  Slippery Fingers – Pilates™; Rafiki – Pilates™; Magot – Pilates™.  (Magot, we gotta talk).  OK – how ‘bout a more stirring topic- You want to know who the pack thought would win the Apple Cup:  BBM – Whatever;  Lady 2 Fingers – Whatever;  Nympho Brat – Whatever.  Finally, Dickless Armstrong took us away from this indifference and led the way up yet another stroller-friendly staircase. We were off again.

At this point most hashers figured out what Lechi really meant except for Piss Boy who ran true trail up and down the hills – responding “Maybe” to calls of “RU” -hoping the pack would do the same.  Cosmo had some extra perception on where to shortcut.  BBM flatly accused him of cheating but the charge was dropped when it turned out that he didn’t work for Boeing, the securities industry OR the California Election committee.  Night fell and we found our next beer check – at the Police Boat dock (thankfully sans Police Boat).    After a tasty PBR, more howling, and Magot / Boytano’s HardOn’s rock-n-roll dock ride, it was time to end this mess.

Back at the finish, Bitch-N-Ho (who wants to be –Hoe but I get a kick out of pissing her off) and BagO Porn, who shortcut 7/8th of trail, were busy drinking all the beer with Safe Sex and Iron Lady who shortcut 8/8ths of trail. Slippery Fingers was quietly subdued so the JGMs could do their thing.  We reported to P3 that we thought that his trail was shitty and charges/tales followed:

Virgin:  Just Laura

Backsliders:  Quick Drip (soon to be a big backslider), Just Michelle, and Bag O Porn

Birthday:  Safe Sex [SPECIAL COMMENT:  Since the BOT spanks were prematurely ended at 38; I believe that the handbook allows for any bimbo to issue said remaining spanks at random until this birthday account is reconciled –-- fire away!!!]

Too intoxicated to remember the other erected Mismanagement after 464:  BnH

Too intoxicated to remember to retrieve all the sacred vessels after 464:  BnH

Stating “this would never happen in a WISH run”:  Rafiki

Wearing a live Canadian Freak Flag (maple leaf) while hashing:  Boytano’s HardOn

For getting her tongue stuck in a zipper and not naming who’s zipper:  Rafiki

Use of the French language within the continental United States:  P3

Hash Shit – for aforementioned “howling”:  TwatNot

---then…there was a short intermission for our now common visit by the law enforcement establishment.   Cosmo sprang into action and met the vehicle at a safe distance.  Little did he know that Piss Boy was close behind.  I’m not saying that what I heard was 100% accurate but I could swear that what he said was:  “thanks for coming again guys – the SH3 thinks I’m real cool now.  I was even able to get rid of the hash shit today.  You still on for barbeque at my house tomorrow?”  Sorry, Cosmo.  I was quiet up to now but when people started talking about naming you Hash Ambassador, it was just too much burden to carry around. 

After the announcement that the hare had no idea how to get to the On, On, On - hats were off, pots were on the ground and we swang low.  We did find our way to Madrona Ale House where we looked like a group of rabid alumni cheering the Apple Cup.  Which team? …. Whatever.

Disclaimer:  I can’t vouch for the accuracy of anything in this trash apart from the hare being a half-mind, which is very true.

On, on…Piss Boy