Wednesday, September 30, 2009

Hash Trash #2.69

After waking up this morning and seeing snow on the top of Mt. Rose, I take back all my bitching and whining on Sunday about the sun and the heat. OK, not all my bitching and whining since we established that the ability to expertly bitch and whine is one of the great traits of us Jews.

Speaking of Jews, our hares for this hash were Jerk Off the Jew and Poopatrooper. Through the typical confusion related with the hash, our start time was noon. Sister Focker and I showed up at the Keystone Canyon trailhead as instructed about 12:15 (what? That’s noon in hash time.) and found Goes Down Easy, Excess, Lycktonite, Dungeons & Dildos, and Officer Dangle Your Cock in My Face (HA! None of this shortening your name crap anymore!) were all ready to go. Missing were the hares who were still out pre-laying trail (wankers).

Once the hares returned and went through the chalk talk, the pack was off. Up, up, up, up, and more up. Rather than r*nning the trail with the pack, the hares decided to be extremely lazy and simply drive to the beer stop. After too damn many intersections and WAY too much elevation gain in the heat, most of the pack made it to the beer stop. Dungeons & Dildos had decided she didn’t want to puke on trail, so she abandoned trail in favor of an air conditioned car. The view of Reno and Sparks from the beer stop was beautiful but there wasn’t an inch of shade to be found.
A short time and a few beers later the pack was off again. This time, down, down, down and finally to the finish (which was a B and nowhere near the A. Thanks again Jerk Off.). The first few hashers in – Excess, Dangle and GDE – and the hares set up camp on the shady side of a rock pile. Finally! Relief from the sun! The rest of the pack was soon to follow. Everyone was huddled together in the little shady spot rejuvenating themselves with beer and Doritos. Yum! D&D reunited with the pack at the finish and Jerk Off picked up a pissed off Gaylord Focker after a string of bad directions and poor communication (again, typical for the hash).

Excess and I (Call Girl) led the circle and did our best to ensure everyone was humiliated in one way or another. We drank more beer, sang some songs, and called out the hares as often as possible for yet another shitty trail. Since ice doesn’t last long on a hot day in Reno, the hares were put on the rocks instead. Fair punishment methinks! Circle closed with the traditional singing of Swing Low and a majority of the pack was force to walk another mile back to the parking lot. In the heat. Uphill. Effing ridiculous. For the on-after everyone headed to Archie’s for food and water. Yes, water. There was beer too…don’t get all up in arms here.

And that was that. Started at noon and everyone left Archie’s around 6. Quite the full day of hashing I must say. Our next hash date hasn’t been selected yet but will likely be mid-week to try something new. If you’re interested in haring or have a date that works best for you, contact me or Poopatrooper. Please volunteer to hare. Please. Pretty please. With cherries on top.

On on,

Call Girl


  1. Is there an e-mail address to reach you at?

  2. You can reach me at callgirlh3 at gmail dot com. Trying to figure out how to add contact information to the blog. Any guidance would be much appreciated!

  3. great trash! fricken' ridiculous hash, but now that it is 3 days later & my memory only lasts 1 day, I can say it was all great fun!

    On On!

  4. hey! you're jewish? oye vey!

  5. Bad Ass Tongue Tricks (BATT)October 1, 2009 at 9:55 AM

    Ahhh, hashing in the Nevada desert heat....ain't it grand?!?! LOVE the idea of putting the hares on the rocks instead of ice! Miss you guys, keep up the good work at keeping the hash alive! Come visit me in Vegas!!


  6. No bitching from you on the deserty part, then CG - anything less than 40 years and you're golden!

  7. These are my favorite comments from the trail:

    "What the F*%$ was that!?!"
    "Those hills around Reno are for looking at, not for climbing!"
    "The way the hills are, you're looking up at the one you're on and thinking, "Oh, good, I'll be at the top soon." Then you get to the top of that one and see one three times bigger than the one you just climbed."

    The best was when Sister Focker spotted me and my Poopa at the end, flipped us both off, then repeatedly jabbed the offending fingers at us in machine-gun fashion!

    On-on, J.O.t.J