DC RDR 2012

Sign in started at noon, but most of us were seriously hung over (or woke up in random places and had to get home) so I can’t imagine anyone actually got to McFadden’s more than an hour before trail. The train ride was ridiculously long, and resulted in Just Kathy having to continuously remind Spew Tube not to scare children. As the pack converged on Foggy Bottom, however, the ratio of hashers to muggles started to grow, and before long we were in a crowded sea of red dresses in the bar.

Since so many of us were at the DC RDR this past weekend, I thought I’d use this space to sort of recall and give shoutouts to the DCH4 pack members I saw. Ok, that’s a lie- I just want to make everyone else really jealous. Anyway, here’s a basic overview of what went down Saturday. The pack: Spew Tube, Just Kathy, Math Sucks Let’s Fuck!, Doc Strangelove, Daddy’s Dick, Cho-King Hazard, ZZ Bottom the 3rd, Cheese Jizz, Bavarian Bush, Incredible Edible Shmegg, Late Nite Drive Thru, Ass Spelunker, Shim Job, Survival of the Spittest, Just Helen, RU-469, Happy on His Knees, Blinded by the Spooge, Just Brian, Electric Muff Chuckler, Wreath Around and Skeeter on My Tweeter.

One or two beers were had, and probably the most useful giveaways we have ever received at a hash event were bestowed- oversized, personalized flasks! When the hares finally got their heads out of their asses, we all circled up in the square, causing the scene we had all been wanting to create from the very beginning. Hares went out, the drunken pack followed. It was a super scenic trail, taking us past the White House and random protestors. Some of us decided to “hash smarter, not harder” and took the walker’s trail to beer check… little did we know there was a third option to just cab to the bar.

Once at On In, we were all in our natural element. Survival of the Spittest and her kid sister Just Helen went to work showing up some harriers in a game of strippy cup. Shim Job started perusing the visiting Justs and picking off the drunkest among them. Incredible Edible Shmegg and Math Sucks Let's Fuck! were the first people in the bar to strip down to just red panties and then proceeded to tear up the dance floor. In the absence of her fellow DCH4 cougar sisters, Bavarian Bush had her pick of that entire young and yummy crew of EWH3 boys. The newest DCH4 romance was revealed when bar security busted down a locked closet door and inside was a pair of familiar (and very guilty-looking) faces, Wreath Around and Skeeter on my Tweeter. And Cho-King Hazard, despite being in a beautiful and classy ball gown, practiced slapping Blinded by the Spooge across the face in a do-over of what many of us witnessed at BAH3 GDR earlier this year.

Holy hell were we all surprised by beer check. Not some usual dive or sports bar, but one of those fancy-shmancy downtown clubs with security in suits and earpieces. Inside, the walls were mirrored, it was full of sofas, and there were enough stripper poles that we could have entertained ourselves for hours! Or at least ZZ Bottom the 3rd and Electric Muff Chuckler (EMC) could have entertained us for hours, those boys know how to work a pole!

After several beers and watching a few people fall on their heads while attempting the stripper pole (seriously, ask Late Nite Drive Thru for the real reason she had to take Ass Spelunker to the hospital), we were back to McFadden’s for private debauchery within stumble distance of the hash hotel.

Things of this nature went on for oh, maybe 5 hours, before the bar owner announced we all had to put clothes on and started allowing the muggles to infiltrate out party. We all sucked down the remaining free beer, grabbed the closest single hottie, and either stumbled across Pennsylvania Ave to the hotel or boarded Mursey Fuck’s party bus, which arrived just in time to serve us more beer on the 200 yard drive to the start of the evening’s pub crawl. Either way, we all got a piece and life was good (until we had to deal with our hangovers the next day).

On On!  Math Sucks, Let's Fuck!

RED DRESS RUN RECOVERY!!

Hares: WH/Hangover Hash combo

False Advertising,

This is almost unprintable as submitted.  My edits are below.

-ed.

It was a cold and drizzly morning, but about 40 functional alcoholics faithfuldragged themselves out of someone stranger’s bed to make a last desperate attempt to get some nookie instead of passing out in some stranger’s bedparticipate and continue with the booze-fest camaraderie of the night before. 

The trail was laid by the newly-christened Hanger Over hash.  They were dumbthoughtful enough to lay an actual trail, with running and everything.  About 10 or 15 hashers ran the trail while the rest were too hung over contented with a leisurely stroll through skanky alleys the city.

The pack looked way hotter last night  enthused as they first drank even more alcohol refreshments provided by White House to avoid the shakesdehydration. 

The hashers shared furtive, embarrassed glances stories about the night before and new-found one-night-stands friends exchanged fake contact information.

The On-On was held at Madhatter which was totally unprepared a perfect venue for this scary looking lively bunch.

At the On-On the hashers chatted about the asinine fun things they did on trail.

Mursey F*ck challenged False Advertising to knife fight for a Nats playoff ticket.  F/A declined since Mursey had the obvious advantage since he is Puerto Rican.

Uncle Bad Touch tried to convince the pack that letting a guy go down you does not mean you are gay.

Mega hash brownie points to Ass Spelunker for bringing the Costo-sized jar of Advil!!!

Sketchy Ho and Spunk in the Trunk complained that the one-mile trail was too long.

Math S*cks, Let’s F*ck tried to convince everyone that she wasn’t making up the story about having a foursome the night before.  (It’s okay. We believe YOU believe it.)

Pico De Gayo walked three miles in the rain with no shoes in an attempt to get laid…and failed.  Yup, he’s a Hasher.

A good time was had by all until the alcohol poisoning kicked in and the chain-reaction vomiting started.

On-On,

False Advertising