Boston Hash House Harriers

What: YBF hash

Where: Hong Kong, Fanual hall

Who:

Hares: Blubber Fucker, Senior Cocksucker, Swedish Eagle

Pack:

Um…let me try

Sketchy Ho, Goat Throat, Schindler’s Fist, Jolly Green Vigania, Spank Me May I have my Mother, Jello Wrecked ‘em, Stop that reich now, transplant/visitor from Spain, Little Thunder Clap, another guy from DC, a guy from Huston, Easy as 1,2,3, Easy to please, Shart of Darkness, Bum fucking vagabond, Krusty the motherfucking meat miser, bloody slip inside, beat by a girl, vagaterian, pop cum ear I’m infected, willy wonka and the back door factory, twat my mom, wikipedophilia, the butler hit it, luv a lamp, udder whore, 3 virgins, a handful of justs, necropheliac jack, maybe others.

Start:

At the bar, the hash pretty much took over 90% of the space. There were some muggles who were hiding in the corner, and one who jumped back when I walked out of the bathroom. Fear my kilt. A few hashers were warming up the wind pipes on the microphone, and others were moistening their throats with cold beer. The hares having left as I arrived, we moved out of the bar to one of the most out of the way circle locations that was never interrupted by cars, horses, or confused cabbies. Most of that sentence is a lie.

Trail Y:

There were a set of very well laid marks – easy to follow and find, winding up past Fanuael hall to that weird restaurant with blue lights. However, this was a check back, to somewhere. There were two marks heading into Quincy market, and that’s about it. There was a song check in the middle of the green way, though how trail got there is beyond me. There were two YBFs scouted into the north end, and nothing else. There was a beer check at the end long wharf (past the Marriott), but I’m not convinced there were any marks leading towards it.

Beer check C:

There was cold beer, so it had that going for it, and a good amount of very confused muggles – mostly old couple tourists who were trying to figure out what those young American kidz were doing. Goat stripped to his underwear and ran around the beer check, which would not be note worthy except that he proceeded to jump in the water, and was followed by a virgin. Who and why, we will never know. Thinking that swimming hashers was a good sign to get going, we left.

Trail B:

Coming at us up the other side of long worf were two girls in running clothes asking if we were the hash, and saying that Blubber sent them. I’m pretty sure we scared them off because I never saw them again. I never saw most of pack again either, since there was one strangely visible mark next to a check pointing down towards the aquarium while pack ran off back across the greenway. Following the mark, there was another turning me at the end of the aquarium to a song check, that I probably should have waited longer for, but heard people ahead of me who cut off that little jaunt around the whales. Trail, or well, the harbor walk continued, there were not enough marks to really call it trail, until eventually we found a true trail, shocker, pointing us under the harbor hotel where there was not a song check. There was a mark pointing at a bit of an angle, which I somehow a missed, along with a check, and skipped to the road bridge, not the foot bridge, to cross the channel. Seeing a stray mark pointing under the bridge by the barking crab, I came upon a YBF from I think the wrong angle, and ran no-no trail back to a Beer Near an a true trail, pointing the way I just came. Assuming that the hares intended the BN to be a check, Jack, Falmon and I ran around the court house to find the hares waiting for use with beer and snarky remarks.

Beer check B:

Had a beautiful view, I’ll give the hares that. Apparently, though, blowing whistles to alert the pack to where the beer is is not the best idea near a court house. Eventually pack found the beer and we discussed how this was basically a poorly marked Cajun trail (only checks are on), instead of a horribly marked normal trail. The hares left, we followed.

Trail F:

Surprisingly, trail got better as it went on. There was a WN about 50 yards from the beer check, a true trail and a check across a parking lot. The YBF was shortish and predictable, as trail wound through the seaport back to the other bridge near south station. Check, trail crossed sides of the street, and the river, then a song check “Them, Them, fuck them” with harlot falses (one in each direction), though true trail, I believe was straight, and eventually left.  I did scout out to Biddy Early’s (we weren’t there, FYI), but found true trail a block away and caught up to pack, and the hares, at a shot check in a parking garage. It turned into a walking shot check, since no one really wanted to stop.

I got a text alert on my phone just then, and the hares must have too, saying that the Major’s 2 hour ban on marking sidewalks in the city of Boston – the real reason for the lack easily visible marks – had been lifted. The hares, I’m guessing, felt bad about that, so they laid an entire trails worth of marks to the ON-IN, my favourite, Hub Pub.

ON-IN:

Had air conditioning and beer, and no falses, which, really is all anyone can ask for. There were even some platters of appetizer-like-food-products! Seeing that people were milling about aimlessly, as hashers are known to do without direction or beer, the RAs assembled and tried to lead us in circle.

CIRCLE:

The circle would have been better if the ceiling was not within arms reach of half of pack, but the RAs did a great job in keeping us focused on what was important. Firstly, the hares. They sucked, and they knew it. Whatever. Secondly, FRBs/FBIs/DFLs, who either tried too hard, or didn’t try enough. Then we called in visitors, of whom there were more than a few. They also sucked, however one from Hoston song a version of Ironman that was awesome but no one remembered. At this point in circle, there were 3 people who had no idea what was going on, the virgins! We called them into circle, and after trying to devirginized them for about 5 minutes, I think we gave up, threw some beer on them and called them justs. Speaking of justs, there was a just on trail (see “a handful of justs” at the top), who is no longer a just as I write this. That’s right, A NAMING. Just Britiany was called into circle, and I told a story about what happened on the Revere beach. Not the crackwhore almost drowning, or the real whore in the Porsche, but this beautiful harriet who skipped out of circle and into the surf with a hasher who had a boner. Of the three heads in the surf, two were level for a few minutes, then one kind of pulled back and the other stood up. That might or might not be the worst description of a blowjob ever, but, I’m sticking with it. A few names were thrown out “Ebs and blows”, “blows with the tide”, “beach blanket blow job”, but none stuck. Then another story came how later that same night, she was making out with another hasher on the beach, and “Little Sperm-aid” was nominated, chanted, and, after having more beer poured on her than in her, Just Britney is no more, and will forever be known in the hash as Little Sperm-aid.

I think that’s it.

On – thank G the mayor lifted the chalk ban – on

-Wikipedophilia

Announcements:

PooF, this weekend, in vermount. It’s awesome. www.poofh3.com for details.

9/13: Seacost RDR/pub crawl.

9/20: Ball buster trust me

10/11: AGM

11/8: Space Unicorns Moons of Saturn

12/13: Antibuffet

4/18: Marathon

What: 14^th Anal Burlington H3 Invihash

Where: Brewster River Campground, Jeffersonville VT

Who (important people, RAs, hares, cooks, etc): Harlot Globe Fondler, Cock Bottle, Rainbow F*cking Bright, Ginger Binger, Rusco Pee Cum Stain, Hot Tube Crime Machine, Serial Lubist.

Who else: Check the Rego list.

Friday-

The half minded fools began arriving at some point in time, and by the time YHS (your humble scribe) showed up, the camp was about half full, but still could take more. Registration, if that’s what you call it, was Rainbow yelling and throwing things at you with CB looking confused and Harlot demand people bring her more alcohol.

Sites chosen by experience or preference, and the tents went up and the beer was drunk. There was a gaggle of hashers (and some clothes) around WHOREROCK in the river, and Necro led a group of really stupid hashers on a boulder scramble up to something that he called a waterfall, but was really just a death-defying trek up the river to a bridge.

Rumors and smells of something resembling dinner – time for the meat stick – wafted up stream and we returned to see that the party had started in earnest. Shortly after dinner circle was called, and we did introductions and I think that was about it.

The important part of circle was that apparently Harlot had put out a broadcast call for dick picks a few months early, and had been receiving them on her phone, and had trolled craigslist for them. The pictures had been blown up and printed out on a cardboard back drop. This was a game. There would be prizes. The hariettes (or male hashers if they wanted to guess) were tasked with identifying which dicks were hashers and which dicks were from Craigslist. After a good amount of laughter and inspection, votes were collected. Results would be announced later.

From there the night descended into “First Night Shinanangins” in which the hashers, recently freed from their societal constraints, devolve into pure animalistic debauchery. There was drinking, there was dancing, and a general good time was had by almost all. One car full of hashers, though, hit a YBF not 5 miles from camp and were delayed 2 hours while they waited for their flat tire to be fixed. Eventually it was, though the Vermont locals, known for their liberal hospitality, repeatedly turned down offers for blow jobs in exchange for assistance. It wasn’t just the locals who displayed this stunning lack of judgment, even cars full of hashers sped past, declining the blow jobs and pleasant company.

People continued to arrive late into the night and the games continued. As Friday edged towards Saturday, a call for stripy cup went out. The response was so overwhelming that not one, not two, but three picnic tables had to be assembled in order to allow all the participants who wanted to to play. The games were epic, even though one team was reduced to nakedness after 3 rounds while the clothed, and warm – does it ever get warm in Vermont? – hashers mocked us from across the table. As frostbite began to take its toll on the naked team, members started to drop out but, fear not honored reader, there were plenty more hashers willing and ready to strip and take their place.

As normally happens following drinking and getting naked the assembled hashers were overcome with a Pavlovian urge to run, or at least pretend to, so UGH was called[1]. The hares of the UGH, Harlot and Mangania my Vagania (whom someone told me has a Raptor-based name as well?), decided to lay trail in cans of PBR, this made following trail very hard, because the FRBs would pick up the cans and drink them, so the entire trail basically become a slow moving beer check. Why all trails are not like this, I do not know. Eventually, trail looped back through the campsites to the fire and we had circled, RA’d by Krusty since 2^nd was too busy preparing for his morning bike ride, or something. I really don’t remember what happened at the UGH circle – everyone was naked, maybe UGH virgins and UGH analveries were called in? Sure, I’ll go with that. Eventually, and because it was freezing unless you were in the front rank of bodies of the fire, we swang low and circle ended. Since YHS did not want to fall victim to Friday Night Over-Rage, he retired after circle. Apparently the party went on until at least 3, though there were no new Pornstars.

As the sun rose over the camp, naked hashers stumbled around finding their clothes and their tents and curled up into semi-living balls of humanity until the coffee, and, more importantly, beer, began to flow freely again.

The breakfast was reheated egg-based food mixes (same stuff we had at NURD), with beer and there was allegedly a bottle of cava somewhere for mimosas. Hashers slowly filled their mouths with food before adjoining to WHOREROCK in the river. Due to its lack of shade most hashers left WHOREROCK, and ventured into the cold mountain stream, allowing many of the harrietts to see the effects of cold water on male genitalia happen live. While well versed in the expansion of said parts, none of them had ever seen the opposite.

Chalk talk featured re-introductions, and an over view of Burlington marks. There were no notable marks at on the trail other than “circle in a box” which was found, but never explained. Having seen the beer car (with the kegs and taps) drive away, the options for the “0.0 never leave camp trail” were extremely limited, so pack, begrudgingly followed the marks across WHOREROCK and until the woods.

The first section of trail featured running, or mainly walking, through forest in a mainly up hill direction. The hares, being fucking Vermount hippies, did not want to pollute the environment so they tried to only use very small marks of flower in very strange places. They were also very fund of check backs. Very fund. However, eventually we crested a hill and, through a field, saw beer car parked on the other side of a fence. Shiggy to the left, shiggy to right, beer to the front; ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to hash and drink.

BC #1:

Was next to a very nice white picket fence that was very flimsy and make of plastic; there was switch back and PBR, water and non-orange food. Pack quickly filled up vessels then ran into the shade on the other side of the road to rest and drink. This was a quiet dirt road, back in the neither regions of Vermont that was more heavily trafficked than Beacon Street. Multiple games of drink cup were started, then stopped, then eventually given up on because the traffic conditions were not optimal. A few minutes after the hares had left, Friar came stumbling through the field to the beer. DFL.

Trail started back along the road we came in on, past a few great fields to run through (though trail didn’t go through them), and to the “circle in box” check. Harlot informed that this is a “photo-op” or “View Check.” Whatever.  From there trail followed the – roadish thing into the woods and around a corner to a tit check. After being released by Famon, the first dozen or so FRBs went scouting off to the right, while I ran, reluctantly, downhill, knowing it would be a false. Luckily for me it wasn’t, but instead lead to a song check by a not-dirty-at-all-pond. Leaving the song check trail hit a turkey/eagle split, which I don’t think was much of a split. The only thing the eagles had was an extra check at the top of a tree-slide slope with two marks leading down then the rest bending off to join with the turkeys. However, the tree-slide slope was thoroughly scouted before the eagles turned back to rejoin the turkeys. Trail ran down a hill, then through some light mud and over a not-plugged-in electric fence, though Swedish said that it still hurts if it touched your balls. Thanks for scouting that out. Trail ran back up hill to the beer car which had moved maybe 500 yards down the same road. It might not have been the same road, but it was a dirt road and I don’t care.

BC #2:

Trail, as it was, also happened to go down the road for a ways. As we were running a car drove by and asked if we were hashers, Two Minute Ride replied yes, and was rewarded for his honestly with a beer. Running down the road and around the bend we approached a farm, whose cesspool Teabags did not fall into this time. Trail ran was beginning to feel a bit death marchy, when the FRBs came running back saying there was a check back. At this point pack had a choice; run left through the field towards the waterfall, or run right through the fields towards the woods. Knowing, in quotes, that trail would eventually go to the waterfall, we very thoroughly scouted the left side of the field, to no avail. Trail had gone to the right into the woods to a series of “equal opportunity checks” (ie tits followed by dicks, etc). However, it was on a looping trail that confused pack for a bit. I apparently zenned off about a mile loop by scouting trail down the power lines, finding a false and running no-no trail backwards to a check, then a BN.

BC #3: 

Knowing that we would at some point, hopefully soon, end up at the waterfall, pack left the BC in search of cascading aquatic glory. Trail was simple and turned back through the very heavily scouted field, down an embankment and through a quasi-swamp full of deceptive logs. There were any number of logs, one of which claimed YHS, which to the casual observer looked okay to run on, but which shattered when trod upon. The yelps that arose from pack showed that I was not the only one to fall victim to the rotting logs. Trail eventually came back out on another dirt road/path that was a series of switchbacks down to the water fall. The FRBs on that section of trail, YHS, Famon and Stuby, were not the first ones there as about half a dozen or so hashers had correctly guessed where we were going to end up and had zenned there from some other point on trail, skipping the 3^rd BC.

Waterfall Check:

There was a mixed crowd when we arrived, but a few minutes later the muggle families had fled and we pretty much had the area to ourselves. Some hashers ventured to scramble up the rocks to more secluded water falls private pools. Others climbed the first series of rocks and engaged in acrobatic “baggo” in which they’d call for it and attempt to grab it mid air. Some succeeded, some didn’t. Others found seats under the water fall and let the water pound on them in a blissful message, though most just hung out on the rocks, or in the water and drinking a cooler full of beer and a gallon of wine. When the wine was gone, the hares left, but the pack stayed until the beer was gone, the fireball was gone and the rum was at least started.

The trail back to camp was along, or in the river. Nothing of note happened, expect that pack passed a couple of nudists strolling along the trail. The sight of which provoked the exact same response from everyone; “Oh, hey, who’s that naked hasher coming back down trail?” “Oh, he’s not a hasher.” “Oh, what’s that shiney thing on his cock?” “Oh, it’s a cock ring.” “Okay.” Akward smile and wave and continue on. Eventaully trail came back to camp with a tit check right at CEP’s tent (he clearly wins the ‘best tent location prize).

Pre-circle:

Pack filed in slowly and broke off to take care of post-trail business; sex, shower, beer, whatever you wanted to do until Harlot got her shit together.

Circle:

Most people found chairs, or tables, or laps, or the ground around the fire, and even though there was a depressing lack of ice, circle started with the hares; Ginger Binger and Roscue P. Cum Stain, they went taint to taint and we sang to them that they should have used more flour and chalk. I’m sure they sang something to us, though, on writing this, I am realizing that we went the entire weekend without singing Yogi Bear! Next called into circle were the FRBs – Krusty and Oragasm, followed by a whole slew of DFLs. We tried to sing “are you lonesome tonight” but I’m quite sure that even though there were over 70 of us, Bleeps is the only one who actually knows the words to that song.  Next, the kennel area with the plurality of attendees was called in – Boston!! The representatives of the Tacos, Ball Buster, Beavers, Moon and Boston were all called in and we informed the rest of the attendees about the dangers of picking up whores in the Fenns[2]. The Tacos were then called back in since they were the most well represented of all the Boston hashes. Halve meine was called in and sang us a song about a rather disturbing 69 experince, then came the Happy CVNTS, who sang “Roll your leg over.” Next up were the internationals from Otawa who sang a great song about orgies that no one knew. Piggy then reminded them of that if they would only ditch the French, they could be the 51^st state.  Believe it or not, they do hash in NYC, and the NYC hashers were called into circle, and they sang a stirring rendition of some famous song about their city in 4 part harmony. Lastly, the host kennel was called in, and sang a song that was actually written by a Boston hasher – ET – for Mardigras two year ago, but, whatever, I’ll let that slide. They then sang an original song that no one knew the tune to, until it hit the refrain of “Um bop (changed to Umm Cock).” The Invishash virgins were then called in – no real virgins this time – followed, in succession by 2dn, 3^rd, 4^th, timers all the way up to the only dumb fuck who’s been to all 14 Invihashes – Stops to Pet the Pussy. Friar F*ck was close behind with 13, and One Drunk Walking and Sperm Burping Shorty both had been to 12. They need to get a life. Finally, the dick-board was brought out and the Honorable Mention and Grand Champion were announced. First, the Honorable Mention went the Udder Whore for her professional ability to identify both hash and non-hash cocks. She guessed right and identified that 5 hashers and 3 non-hashers on the board. This earned her sandals and a dick-shaped bar of soap. Then the Grand Prize was announced for correctly identifying the craigslist and hasher cocks AND correctly identifying ALL of the hasher cocks by owner; Fucked If I Know. She won the poster, two beer glasses and a free day pass to the nudist resort in Conventry. How did she win? Well, not to go with a cliché, but fucked if I know! In a post-circle interview with YHS, she said that it wasn’t by being able to directly identify them, but by correctly identifying the non-dick parts of the body, bed sheets and backgrounds, so, yeah, fucked if I know! We then stood up, put our vessels down, and swang low.

Post-Circle:

The vegetarians were fed first, and then there was an almost endless supply of pulled pork. In a surprisingly efficiently feeding line, people were handed plates of food as they waited and circled through to get side dishes and toppings. There were in fact left overs so for a while after everyone was fed the cooks were yelling out that there was still food. Most of the pack brought the chairs in around the fire and drink and stay warm and contemplate fire jumping. Surprisingly it was not Butler that hurled himself through the air, but THE 2^nd cumming. No one else followed. Games were played, the main one being slippy strippy cup. YHS did not participate, but it seemed to be some combination of a naked slip and slide and strippy cup. I was too busy staying warm by the fire. As the night went on and the time of high honor approached, cuntface started calling out random timed count downs to his ugh – 10 minutes, 6.9 minutes, 2 minutes, whatever. Then he did chalk talk.

Ugh #2:

Pack was mortified by this development – chalk talk on an UGH? There had been rumors of a “real trail” of a “few miles” so we payed attention. There were going to be checks – but you needed to on 5 to be on, then super checks which were on 5 if on a road, but on 7 if on trees. There were falses, which would either go back to a check, or a super false which goes back 3 checks. There would be a 160 awesome check which could not be left until all of the 160 awesome was consumed. Of these, only one was true, thankfully, the 160 awesome. However the 160 awesome which was “drinkable” on Friday night had been left to stew on cuntface’s car all day and was pretty much undrinkable. However, we are hashers, so we drank it. Well except for stops who drank it, then very quickly undrank it. That might have been a record drink to boot time. It was almost instanaious. For those who are curious and want to torture their home kennels, 160 awesome is 151, 4 loco and 5 hour energy. From the shot check trail went false into both bathrooms, the back to chalk talk for ONIN. Saturday night’s UGH circle was held around a strip cup table – as to not disturb the classy hashers by the fire – and RA’d by THE 2^nd cumming. The hares – CUNTFACES all – were called in, then general debauchery followed, though 2^nd showed a surprising ability to control the circle. You’d think he’d been an RA for years! Eventually circle came down to CUNTFACES v. non-CUNTFACES in a flip-cup war to determine who would do the closing down-down with the last of the 160. The teams were tickets (cunt face), shart (cunt face) and disco (cunt face), vs stops, ginger and jack. Due to questionable ethics on the part of the cuntfaces (who said YHS had to be unbiased), the cuntfaces won and jack was awarded the down-down. In true hasher fashion, and over much protesting, he did his duty to the RA, the circle and to G and killed the 160. We swang low.

…

And so ends the tale of Invihash 2014. I lied, I made stuff up, and I have no idea what happened Sunday, except that I got back to Boston in time to nap, watch GERMANY WIN, then go back to sleep until roughly 6am Monday morning.

On – scribing is the best cure for a hangover – On

-Wikipedophilia

 

Since there were no actual announcements made, here are some rumors I might have heard:

AUGUST 15,16,17 – GAP WEEKEND (www.413h3.com)

Sometime in September: Boston Ball Busters Hard Core Trust Me/Camp out in Maine. Talk to a B3H4 (eagle, blubber, coonass) if you’re interested.

Sometime in October: PooF campout further north in Maine. Talk to a PooFer (there were about 2 dozen of them at Invihash)

Sometime in November: Boston Pink Tacos Saddie Hawkins. If you have a taco, find a burrito to bring!

Sometime in December: ANTIBUFFET

Sometime next winter (late feb, early march): MARDI-GRAS!

April 18^th 2015 – VIVA LA REVOLUTION, BH3 M*rathon 2015.

May 2015: NURD

JULY 2015 – The 15^th AN*L INVIHASH!

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