White House Trail #1587, October 12th, 2014
Hares: Captain Bangaroo, Scrumbag, Cum Brew Lay, District 69 andOsama Bin Hashing
Brew Crew: Sorest Rum and YOCO
Since we partnered with OTH4 this week, here's a recap of those who came first and last:
FRB: All the Way In
FBI: More Men
DFL: Bad Dog
Elmo's Fuck Buddy was violated for passing out in multiple places all weekend and not knowing how a pair of men's underwear got in her bag! (I guess you could say she's used to...sleeping around.)
Boxx Spring, Slimy Limey, Fire in the Hole and Wookin' Pa Nub were all cited for leaving Dwarfus Interruptus behind at the Metro. ("It's nothing personal," explained Slimy, "we thought you were your brother!")
All Flash No Drive was violated for wearing fairy wings and saying, "I'm wearing these to lure pedophiles away from children!"...right before Tony Panda was heard saying, "Riding a bike isn't hard - it's like hooking up with a fifth grader." ("It's not what you think!" he exclaimed. "I meant that you never forget how to hit on underage girls!")
S&M Man was cited for needing a police warrant to take drugs out of a patient's butthole! (Usually cops are more lenient about this sort of thing, but the officer on duty was pretty anal.)
3-Holer was violated for leaving RDR early to run with the men's hash (in hisdress), ran through an obvious back check onto train tracks, and almost got hit by a train...and that's not very safe! (Ironically, that was still less dangerous than anything in the movie "Trainspotting".)
Osama Bin Hashing was cited for wearing shorts so frayed they had to have belonged to Bad Dog! (I hadn't seen anything that ripped and torn since Vin Diesel couldn't make up his mind!)
On - good luck navigating the Red Line - on,
Ginger Snatch
Sunday, October 12, 2014
Red Dress Run Recovery
Hangover Trail #38
Hares: Saigon Sally, Camo Sutra, Fister Roboto, Friends don't let friends f*ck fat chicks (F5)
The morning after the Red Dress Run is generally a time of reflection on how one, in the mere course of 36 hours, could become dissolute, dissipated and depraved, yet still miss the goal of debauchery. But on a crisp fall sunny Sunday morning, more than one hundred souls shouldered that immense burden with the goal of desorbing enough of their recent excesses on a eagerly anticipated non-shiggified run, with the clear goal of having a bit of exercise followed by a quick reprise of the glory that beer and friends can bestow.
JustIn Beaver did her best in trying to capture the attention of the pack and lead them through the H4 oath and a rousing rendition of “Drink the Tequilla.”
We then began a happily dispirited shamble out of circle, interrupted by an unduly-spirited sprinter who solved the first check left up 13thStreet (more about him later). The pattern was then set for up a street, down an alley, up an alley, across a street, down a street, repeat, repeat, repeat. [This applies to the turkeys and "stupid" eagles, the Penguins were more of a wandering walk some blocks to an alley, go in for shots if there are any left, then repeat three times until the on in.]
The rhythm was happily interrupted with a clearly marked trail that ended up, bang, in a box alley a mere 10’ deep, but lo and behold, on the fire escape was a black trash bag filled with bottles of bubbly and cartons of orange juice for Mimosas. A shortage of paper cups was quickly resolved by the clever use of one’s mouth to mix (i.e., take a swallow of OJ, then a swallow of champagne, swhish, repeat).
The alley, street, alley pattern was resumed and the pack was now so spirited that it flashed by the Embassy of Kazakhstan without a pause. Then onto a parking garage with four spirited loops down to P2 to an interior stairwell, emerging into the sun and glaring bright lights of the paparazzi (in this case, Saigon Sally, doing his best impersonation of an Italian cameraman).
More alleys, streets, alleys, etc. to a teasing foray across 14th St. and into the alley behind Le Diplomate so that the tantalizing aroma of one of DC’s best special occasion brunch places could be sampled, free of charge, before pounding on. A momentary reprieve for tired feet was provided by the rubberized surface of the Cardozo Playground, but then back into weaving our way through streets and alleys. The tantalizing mark of “BN” encouraged the pack onward, down another alley past the Hospital for Horses and Dogs to a serious steel fence. Not a simple chain link fence but black industrial steel with pickets extending 8” above the 5’ high top brace. A truly formidable barrier to separate the strong and courageous from the, well... smarter. As was subsequently reported, the reward of going over that barrier three times, in three different spots, and under a 6’ high chain link fence, was a sip/swallow/glug of an excellent Bloody Mary concoction.
Those who survived proceeded apace to go under the walkway that connects the new DC Convention Center to the, well, Convention Center, which allows cars, and also people to continue west on L St. to 7th St., not at all far from the après site. But were we to be allowed to finish our journey yet? NO.
On through a Japanese Zen garden in the almost completed City Place megapolis. Then we proceeded past Samuel Gompers (an early hero of the labor movement) park and into the cool confines of the Verizon Center. Well, as it turns out, actually the delights of its parking garage with a burst of speed to, f***, the seeming thousands who had beat the FRBs to the finish line.
But, there was still beer in coolers, a chance to tell lies about how quick and daring and strong we were, and then the circle, to remind us that we're not. Speaking of which...
Care Bear was violated for bringing a piece of luggage to trail that wouldn't have fit on a plane (remember, folks, check your airport suitcases AT THE AIRPORT!)
District 69 was violated for not knowing where the joint WH4/OTH trail was later that day, which would usually have been okay, if she WASN'T A HARE!
Daddy's Dick was violated for being FRB by cheating (yes, yes, usually acceptable hash behavior) even though somehow in circle he knew that a three-minute start is exactly 180 seconds long. Let's hope he doesn't do everything prematurely *wink* for Do Lay Me's sake!
Tony Panda was violated for giving Shamrock Your Cockthe lame excuse that his arm was sore after pouring 666 jello shots, and Shamrock was violated for believing that was the real reason his arm was so tired!
Then the pack retreated to Fado for social drinking and a delicious brunch. See you in November!
Yours in the Hash,
Queen of the Jungle
F*cking Squid
Hares: Saigon Sally, Camo Sutra, Fister Roboto, Friends don't let friends f*ck fat chicks (F5)
The morning after the Red Dress Run is generally a time of reflection on how one, in the mere course of 36 hours, could become dissolute, dissipated and depraved, yet still miss the goal of debauchery. But on a crisp fall sunny Sunday morning, more than one hundred souls shouldered that immense burden with the goal of desorbing enough of their recent excesses on a eagerly anticipated non-shiggified run, with the clear goal of having a bit of exercise followed by a quick reprise of the glory that beer and friends can bestow.
JustIn Beaver did her best in trying to capture the attention of the pack and lead them through the H4 oath and a rousing rendition of “Drink the Tequilla.”
We then began a happily dispirited shamble out of circle, interrupted by an unduly-spirited sprinter who solved the first check left up 13thStreet (more about him later). The pattern was then set for up a street, down an alley, up an alley, across a street, down a street, repeat, repeat, repeat. [This applies to the turkeys and "stupid" eagles, the Penguins were more of a wandering walk some blocks to an alley, go in for shots if there are any left, then repeat three times until the on in.]
The rhythm was happily interrupted with a clearly marked trail that ended up, bang, in a box alley a mere 10’ deep, but lo and behold, on the fire escape was a black trash bag filled with bottles of bubbly and cartons of orange juice for Mimosas. A shortage of paper cups was quickly resolved by the clever use of one’s mouth to mix (i.e., take a swallow of OJ, then a swallow of champagne, swhish, repeat).
The alley, street, alley pattern was resumed and the pack was now so spirited that it flashed by the Embassy of Kazakhstan without a pause. Then onto a parking garage with four spirited loops down to P2 to an interior stairwell, emerging into the sun and glaring bright lights of the paparazzi (in this case, Saigon Sally, doing his best impersonation of an Italian cameraman).
More alleys, streets, alleys, etc. to a teasing foray across 14th St. and into the alley behind Le Diplomate so that the tantalizing aroma of one of DC’s best special occasion brunch places could be sampled, free of charge, before pounding on. A momentary reprieve for tired feet was provided by the rubberized surface of the Cardozo Playground, but then back into weaving our way through streets and alleys. The tantalizing mark of “BN” encouraged the pack onward, down another alley past the Hospital for Horses and Dogs to a serious steel fence. Not a simple chain link fence but black industrial steel with pickets extending 8” above the 5’ high top brace. A truly formidable barrier to separate the strong and courageous from the, well... smarter. As was subsequently reported, the reward of going over that barrier three times, in three different spots, and under a 6’ high chain link fence, was a sip/swallow/glug of an excellent Bloody Mary concoction.
Those who survived proceeded apace to go under the walkway that connects the new DC Convention Center to the, well, Convention Center, which allows cars, and also people to continue west on L St. to 7th St., not at all far from the après site. But were we to be allowed to finish our journey yet? NO.
On through a Japanese Zen garden in the almost completed City Place megapolis. Then we proceeded past Samuel Gompers (an early hero of the labor movement) park and into the cool confines of the Verizon Center. Well, as it turns out, actually the delights of its parking garage with a burst of speed to, f***, the seeming thousands who had beat the FRBs to the finish line.
But, there was still beer in coolers, a chance to tell lies about how quick and daring and strong we were, and then the circle, to remind us that we're not. Speaking of which...
Care Bear was violated for bringing a piece of luggage to trail that wouldn't have fit on a plane (remember, folks, check your airport suitcases AT THE AIRPORT!)
District 69 was violated for not knowing where the joint WH4/OTH trail was later that day, which would usually have been okay, if she WASN'T A HARE!
Daddy's Dick was violated for being FRB by cheating (yes, yes, usually acceptable hash behavior) even though somehow in circle he knew that a three-minute start is exactly 180 seconds long. Let's hope he doesn't do everything prematurely *wink* for Do Lay Me's sake!
Tony Panda was violated for giving Shamrock Your Cockthe lame excuse that his arm was sore after pouring 666 jello shots, and Shamrock was violated for believing that was the real reason his arm was so tired!
Then the pack retreated to Fado for social drinking and a delicious brunch. See you in November!
Yours in the Hash,
Queen of the Jungle
F*cking Squid
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