Kenosha Hash House Harriers

Hash Trash – 10 December 2011

Kenosha Kennel, Hash #25

Hare – Gerbil Stuffer

Jesus & Jimmy Hash

The wind howled through the shiggy with sharp biting teeth on this partly cloudy day as the hounds and hare assembled. December’s hashtemp was a chilly 24 degrees and the wind was right around 20 mph, but with gusts off the chart. Think that’s cold? The coldest hash ever was in 2003 with the South Pole H3 in Antarctica. They run the majority of their hashes underground in tunnels of ice that snake under the south pole itself. It was -95 F with a wind-chill at -157 F. That’s cold. I’m pretty sure their hare didn’t leave beer in a bag sitting somewhere outside.

We met in the parking lot to the west of the new YMCA building in Kenosha with some familiar faces, and a young virgin, ready to be sacrificed to the wild shiggy gods of the Kenosha County tundra.

As Gerbil Stuffer parked everyone’s favorite beer truck in a spot viewable by all, White Ass showed up early again – to the somewhat more muted shock and amazement of everyone. Sauced at Lowe’s joined us again after her bout with the semi-terminal 24-hour plague, which had kept her away the previous month. Just Erich was working and frantically texted me time and again complaining about waiting for his samples to finish, how he has to go to his parents house and let the dog out and about how he didn’t have a Hawaiian shirt. His final text stated that he finally finished work at 3:12pm, but we were well through our first beer stop and moving on on by then.

For some reason Just Karen and Just Dennis showed up again, even after the November hash, which may have been the roughest hash since I joined. They brought along a virgin, Just Joey, who was doing his best to hide his excitement as he leaned against the beer truck and texted, stifling a yawn. Poor kid, probably wasn’t able to sleep for days and days in anticipation of his first hash! Just Joey was 14 and less than a month away from the big 15.

While we were waiting for everyone to show up, Just Karen approached me to say she had forgotten her whistle. I went over to my car and dug another one out. Minutes after she received the new whistle she promptly smashed it to bits and came over by me again to get yet another one. “Hey, Just Dennis” she said to me, “I promptly smashed this whistle to bits” she said, showing me the splintered remains, “can I have another one?” Wow, did she just call me Just Dennis? Did she destroy or lose yet another whistle? That might come up again later…

It was time to get going, plus everyone was shivering, so Gerbil started explaining the trail markings to the Justs and our sacrificial virgin. He explained that on trail we’d fine a bag of cold beer which had everyone thinking “Yay, cold beer! Wait a second, it’s freezing out!” and also on the trail we’d find a thermos of hot coffee that he had “Irished up” with some Bailey’s and whiskey. Well, now that sounds just awesome.

With a rude song about bloomers and a handful of flour thrown into the air, Gerbil was off, and the 25th edition of the Kenosha H3 was officially on on!

After waiting 10 minutes we started after Gerbil, through the parking lot in a SE direction. S@L and I took the point with Just Karen and Just Joey hanging with us. White Ass and Just Dennis brought up the rear.

It was clear from the start that this wouldn’t be a classic “Gerbil Shiggy-us-to-death” trail. On we skittered over school property, down train tracks, back onto school property, all the way around the YMCA (sing it with me), more train tracks, then under an overpass where we found the first booze stop! 8 beers, just about as cold as beer can be without becoming beersicles. We stopped and indulged ourselves before heading out again.

We later found out that while Gerbil was setting trail and heading towards the train tracks when he suddenly spotted us! He ducked down right away and removed his hat, then made an arrow that kind of didn’t point anywhere. We tried to make sense of said arrow for about 15 minutes, including watching Sauced jog nearly halfway to Gerbils house down 60th Street. Eventually someone found a puff of flour and we headed on again. Interesting tactic. I’ll be sure to remember that one.

Speaking of trail checks (even if we weren’t), Sauced was a check buster. 9 times out of every 10 checks, she found the true trail on the first try. The rest of us chugged along behind in awe at this apparent innate sense.

We started a bit arc back east and ran behind and around a company called Christ Iron Works. Well, this WAS the Jesus and Jimmy hash after all. Gerbil was waiting for us as we made our way to the front of the building with the thermos bottle filled with deliciously hot coffee with some good booze added. Ahhh, the happy glow returns.

After posing for pictures in front of the large sign they have out front, we loaded up the vehicles and headed over to Gerbil’s garage for the circle festivities.

Gerbil had his heated garage decked out in a big way. Jimmy Buffet cranking on the boom box (the “Jimmy” part of the Jesus and Jimmy Hash), tasty chili simmering on a long table along with all the trimmings and delicious margaritas. Good time. Gerbil does know how to put on a good party. Plus, he made everyone a toe tag complete with their picture on it!

The Circle activities included, besides the usual debaucherous songs, the following penalties which were duly assessed:

Hare for a shitty trail – Gerbil Stuffer. Sentence? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

FRB – Sauced at Lowe’s. Sentence? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

FRB – Cumspiracy Theory. Sentence? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

LRB – White Ass. Sentence? Down Down from her wine cooler bottle!

LRB – Just Dennis. Sentence? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

Random grievous action. Just Karen. Sentence? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

Virgins – Just Joey. Sentence? Down Down from his water bottle!

Trail Treasure – None. I didn’t feel like carrying the railroad spike I found.

Then on to Accusations. Just Karen. Oh yes. I know I invited my dear sister to hash with us for SOME reason. J Let’s see, wanton destruction of hash property, willfully losing hash property, and most egregious of all, she addressed a named member as “Just”. Sentence? Death! OK, maybe that would be a little extreme. Instead she becomes the new “owner” of the Hash Shit. Just Karen took over ownership of the Hash Shit the way it is required by the kennel. On her knees as she slammed a beer from it!

Just Karen now needs to add a decoration of some sort to the hash shit and she must have it with her and run with it at every hash event. Be on the lookout fellow hashers, at the next hash in January. Just Karen is going to be looking for a way to get rid of that scepter of shame!

On On!

Cumspiracy Theory

Hash Trash Oct 8, 2011. Run #23.

And so the leery pack again assembles in the Petrifying Springs Park parking lot.  The blazing sun in the 80 degree day a sharp contrast to the 48 degree drizzle of a couple weeks past.  The only hope in our hearts is the fact that before we followed the aimless wandering of Just Dennis.  But today, today we fearfully trekked after the one, the only, Cumspiracy Theory.  In true Kenosha fashion, we were all assembled on time awaiting the wayward traveler, White Ass, a fitting representative of the Wankersha Hash, always running late. 

Once we were finally under way, with the two quadrupeds in tow, Fritz and Indie, we again felt that twinge of trepidation as we disappeared into the woods where we had the last time.  Ah, but glory met us as we traveled in a different direction, bounding through a woods now filled with strolling families.  More than once I believe my Hash Horn startled loose some fresh turd biscuits in the toddlers as we bound over a hill to startle an unsuspecting family quietly communing within the warm fall foliage.

Trail went well, except for the dead trail that had 4 on-ons and no on-back, until we were in turn startled by an exuberant young harriet with her shirt over her head yelling “Boob check, boob check”!  Well, so alarmed were Just Erich and I that we both stumbled to the ground in a spray of leaves and sweat.  We later learned that the alleged boob check was in fact a beer tit that would actually be beer tits.

With ample checks and false trails, White Ass kept steady pace with the pack of runners.  At one point we passed over a wedding that was transpiring in a quiet little bowl in the park.  I guess they didn’t count on a pack of hounds with whistle and bugle offering a sweet serenade to the special day.

After traversing family picnics and children’s playgrounds, we arrived at the end of the journey at the Witches Castle picnic area, a most awesome ending point that Just Josh had been guarding since Tuesday.   Cumspiracy Theory displayed his latest on-line acquisitions, a flashing ON ON mug and a similar cup.  The latter we used to deliver his inoculation to receive his dog tag.  Yours truly received a punishing down down for being the FRB, Sauced had her FBI down down, and White Ass took her DFL chug off her wine cooler.  Just Erich enjoyed his turn at the Sacred Vessel for the digger he took in the woods and Just Josh enjoyed his virgin down-down for sacrificing half of the month holding our On Home from the packs of picnickers.   In the midst of religion, Just Tim texterupted inquiring what the name of that squeaky cheese was that he had at the last run.  For this we called him on speaker, had him to a down-down and then join us in closing the circle with Swing Low where he entertained us with a new version, the Sling Blade, yep, mmm hmm.

FYI: The previous rendition is loosely, and mark the word loosely, based on true accounts.

ON OUT until the next run, November 13^th.

HASH TRASH SEP 19 RUN 22

From Just Todd:
It was the day after the Warrior Dash. Chiseled, hardy Adonis-like warriors were itching for another run. They quickly packed up their cars and left Wisconsin in search of some half-marathon or such, leaving a bunch of Kenosha Hash House Harriers in a rainy parking lot next to Petrifying Park.
Gerbil Stuffer pulled in, dragging three virgins: Just Tim from Florida, Just Todd from Seattle, and Just Dale from everywhere else in between. Just Dennis arrived with Just Doug, and Just Erich appeared out of the mist like a seven foot soggy ghost. Finally, someone with a name showed up. Sauced at Lowe’s skidded into the parking lot, fresh from a fine showing at the Warrior Dash not an hour before.
Just Dennis was today’s hare, and he began explaining the upcoming trail. Apparently, he had been haunting this stretch of shiggy all week, spraying flour haphazardly about in an attempt to get a trail established. He did not count on the eighteen inches of rain that deluged the area that morning erasing most of his week’s work, so he was going to ad-lib something for the hounds. Full of excuses, he regaled the group with a harrowing tale of getting lost, falling down and spilling flour several times, and having a bout with dandruff earlier in the week which might be mistaken for flour. Anyways, with a quick blessing from Gerbil, a wet wave and a hastily yelled “Don’t go too far west!”, he was off.
Fifteen minutes later, with a blast from Gerbil’s hunting horn, the hounds tore into the woods like Godzilla through downtown Tokyo. The trail immediately crossed a creek. Just Erich and Sauced expertly crossed one log, whilst Gerbil took a smaller, downstream pole. Just Todd plunged in knee deep and crossed as well. Just Tim, wearing a pair of flip flops, took up the rear with Just Dale.
The hounds were making short work of Just Dennis’s checks. With Gerbil’s horn alternating with Sauced’s whistle and Just Erich’s throaty “On On”, the crew was hot on the true trail. The trail emerged onto the road, followed the shoulder, then led across and back into the shiggy. This is where things got strange. At a check not far into the woods, Sauced took a trail, Just Todd took another, and Just Erich yet another direction. Just Erich shouted “On On!” and Just Todd followed, figuring Sauced and Gerbil would fall in behind. This reality just failed to materialize. Sauced vanished from the face of the earth. Gerbil bolted like an unguided missile into the shiggy away from the trail in a vain attempt to cut off the hare from another direction. Just Tim and Just Dale caught up, and the trail was picked up... Sort of.
The flour on the trail was getting faint. There was some here, maybe some there. Then the flour trail just gave out. Gerbil rejoined the group, admitting that he found no trail either. It was growing dark in the woods, so dark that Just Erich had to taste some white stuff four times to confirm that it was bird guano and not flour. The group backtracked to the last check. Alas, there was a glimmer of hope. A log across the creek was dotted the entire length with flour. Just Erich and Just Todd plunged into the frigid water, crossed the creek and tried to pick up trail. But the log is where the flour ended.
A conundrum formed across the group. Was the trail washed out by the rain? Was Just Dennis out of flour? Did we commit Hash Taboo and go too far west? And what of Sauced at Lowe’s? Was she eaten by rabid possums or hauled away by banjo-playing slackjaws?
There were too many unanswered questions and too few minutes of daylight left. Gerbil took a deep breath, pointed a bony finger at Just Erich, and ordered him to call Just Dennis. (This would ultimately earn Just Erich a penalty for Technology on Trail.) Just Dennis gave verbal guidance to the beer stop, where they were to meet up with the unsuccessful hounds.
The hounds emerged from the woods at the beer stop. Just Doug and Just Dennis were there, along with Sauced. She had actually found true trail and finished. But where was the truck? Did the hare and the flour mule actually forsake the truck and WALK back two miles to collect the hounds? After Just Dennis mislead the group with a week’s worth of invalid flour marks, abandoning them to die somewhere out in the wilderness, was he actually dooming them to walk back in pitch blackness to the on-in? It was unbelievable, but it was so.
Two hours and five miles later, the circle was called to order in Just Doug’s Mom’s backyard.
FRB, FBI, DFL, and any other applicable acronyms were all bestowed upon Sauced at Lowe’s, as she was the only hound to find true trail and make it in. Virgins Just Todd, Just Tim, Just Dale and Just Doug were given down downs. Just Erich was penalized for Technology on Trail. He protested and looked to the other hounds for validation in his protest. But this ain’t democracy, it’s Hash…. Down down it is. Just Dennis was penalized for shitty trail, and Just Doug for leaving the truck. There were other’s issued, but it was just too dark and wet and Blatz-sotted to remember them all.
One other business matter needed resolution. Just Dennis may have started the Hash, but it would be a man by another name who left Circle this night. Questions were hurled rapid fire at Just Dennis, and he answered as best he could. He was then asked to step away while his Hash name was deliberated. Nobody had the brain, the wherewithal or the intestinal fortitude to think of anything. In the end, Sauced at Lowe’s blurted “Cum-Spiracy Theory” in an anticlimactic fashion, and the deal was done. Gerbil Stuffer bestowed the moniker and Just Dennis would hash no more.
BTW, “Gerbil Stuffer” was interesting enough a name that it was asked what it meant. Some assumed that he worked at a taxidermist, preserving the smaller game animals. Others surmised that he was a chef at an exotic game restaurant, in charge of stuffing Cornish game-hogs with cornbread dressing. Nope, this wasn’t the case. I will not defile the world wide web with the explanation given. I like the internet just how it is: Clean, informative, a safe place where children can research their homework topics, and I’ll not muck it up with filth.
Until next time….. On-On!

Hash Trash – 21 August 2011

Kenosha Kennel, Hash #21

August, 2011’s hashweather™ is brought to you by the number 69. 69 is a fun number! For instance, if you were playing cribbage, you’d have a “fifteen-two” with a 6 and a 9. If you add the two together, you’d have Bart Starr’s number! When the numbers are close together, they resemble the Taoism symbol “yin yang”. See! 69 really is a fun number!

The weather was in the mid-70’s with some overcast plus a chance for sprinkles later.

Due to prior engagements and last minute emergencies for the bulk of the hounds, only Sauced at Lowe’s and Just Dennis showed up to meet our GM and today’s hare, Gerbil Stuffer. The evil grin on Gerbil’s face implied – nay – guaranteed a trail full of only the best homegrown shiggy available in the tri-state area.

The Marquis de Stuffer started out by climbing a large, steep hill, still grinning. 10 minutes later Lowe’s and I started out after him. One of the first things we noticed was we forgot to bring bug spray. I mean seriously, we needed bug spray. I can’t remember how many times Lowe’s and I had to grab a leg or arm of the other to pull them back from the swarm of mosquitoes that was hauling him or her bodily away. It wasn’t so bad when we were out in the weird 10-foot Martian grasses, but when we got into the trees? Wow. My arms are full of bumps.

Working in true tag-team fashion, Sauced and I ran down every check, alternating leader and follower by who found the true trail. Speaking of checks, Gerbil de Sade must have found a bunch of them in the bargain bin at the dollar store. There were probably a thousand of them. I would never in a million years exaggerate or express myself with hyperbole.

We skirted a river area that alternated between swift, deep waters and putrid, festering swamp. The Gerbinator chose to run the trail through some thick, black tar that would make La Brea jealous. Sauced spryly skittered across some fallen trees over the area, seemingly turning cartwheels as she did so, and I chose to walk “across” the stuff. Well, my plan was to walk across it. My first step went in to the knee and my forward momentum kept me moving. Imagine the thickest salsa you’ve ever had and then mix it with dirty 10w30 oil. Up to each knee. I’m lucky I kept my shoes.

We ran through a dark wooded area, flailing with both arms at the flying hordes of biting insects, then out into the sun and onto a beer stop! Unfortunately the bugs came along so as we tried to enjoy our frosty beverage, the bugs enjoyed one that was more iron-based.

Around the bend we went, through some more heavy shiggilated tree cover and into the thick grass. Tall thick grass. Over our heads, tall thick grass. It was actually kind of neat to look at. When you weren’t thinking about the live creatures like lions and cougars that were probably stalking through the underbrush. We even saw bigfoot. Sauced wanted to mess with him but I talked her out of it with the promise of more beer if we could just get through this.

We punched through the last of the heavy tree covered shiggy and into a field with only three foot grasses. Looking a ½ mile ahead we saw what looked like a parking lot with a lots of cars in it. Neither of us recognized the area but figured it was the on-in so we plowed on towards it while ignoring the laughing and belching of the insects behind us. It turned out to be the north side of Lake Andrea.

The circle activities included, besides the usual debaucherous songs, the following penalties, which were duly assessed:

FRB – Just Dennis. Penalty? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

LRB – Sauced at Lowes. Penalty? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

Hare – Gerbil Stuffer. Penalty for a shitty trail? Down Down from the sacred vessel!

Virgins – None this time.

Trail Treasure – None, not even a golf ball this time.

Accusations – Somehow I incriminated myself with the harrowing tale of the tar crossing and was given the Hashit scepter. Yes, it’s a toilet plunger and yes, I did a down down from it. It’s now mine until someone witnesses something heinous happening on trail and brings it up at the accusations portion of the circle. I need to decorate it to commemorate my temporary ownership of it.

Last but certainly not least, Sauced was tagged for being the hare (harriet?) the previous month. But not before being inoculated by the doctor! That’s Dr. McGillicuddy, of course! Congratulations, Sauced!

On On!

Just Dennis