8th Annual Green Dress

HASH TRASH No. 61 (do you have a better number?)

Hares: Daily Newd, Narcoleptic Noodle, Touch My Innards.

Hounds: 7 Seconds, Rug Doctor, Semper Felonious, Just Mike, Just Lynn,
Just David,

Wandering Dick (Columbia hash visitor), Betty Kaboose (Columbia hash
visitor), Lady Long Legs.

The trash: 'Twas 14 days before Xmas and here in the city,
Hares and hounds gathered to run a trail so shitty.

They all wore green dresses, chosen without care,
And they hoped by running, they'd give folks a scare.

Passers-by saw them, this is what they said,
W.T.F. is going on in your head?

Down roads, alleys and lawns, the hares created a clatter,
Spreading flour, toilet paper and other foul matter.

The pack chased, even crossing a log in a flash,
All to find beer kept cold in a stash.

The trail was bad, mismarked and often didn't appear,
But the pack followed anyway, they were after the beer.

They ran so fast to catch the hares so lively and quick,
But the trail was difficult, and they swore, 'You big Dick!'

Eventually Beer Near and On-In was found scrawled,
The pack was so happy, one screamed, one bawled.

In an abandoned motel, out by the old mall,
They drank down-downs, yes, one and all.

Soon, they were sated, drunk, red of nose,
And freezing their asses, fingers and toes.

So it was off to the bar, where they gathered en masse,
They ate Mexican food, drank, and yes, they got gas.

Hours later after finishing, they drove out of sight,
Saying, Merry F'ing Christmas, we'll drink more tonight.

Afterwork Hash

HASH TRASH No. 58 (we're going with our arbitrary numbering system)
Daily Newd and Narcoleptic Noodle put together this memorable
hash through the North Main neighborhood that included a stop at a
legendary Greenville bar, an auxilliary Hare, finding some guy smoking
weed in a field and a prolonged naming.
The usual band of idiots met at the Other Side, a venerable bar
on North Main Street known for its vintage Stroh's signs, cold beer
and pictures of old Greenville. The owner even bought a hash shirt.
A half-hour late per tradition, it became obvious that one of the
Hares wasn't there. After searching several bottles of beer and the
bathroom, Noodle called into say he was still in transit from Atlanta.
Peggy Pullinasti was pulled in from the bullpen to serve as
auxiliary hare. Daily Newd told his usual lies about the route, while
Pullinasti stood there agreeing with no real clue where they were
going.
When the annoying talk was complete, Strokes Twice Daily blessed
the Hares with holy fermented-hops water. The pack apparently believed
Newd's lies about being injured in a bike crash as they gave them a
real 10-minute head start (it's usually more like five) before
leaving.
The trail headed up a hill and quickly got into some serious
shiggy. The pack of about a dozen hounds crashed head first into the
shiggy without really thinking that they could follow the trail by
circumventing the woods.
After thrashing around for about 15 minutes, the pack emerged
battered, bleeding and bruised in front of Stone Elementary. One part
of the group went up a steep hill that turned out to be a false trail,
while the rest went through a playground built by the Lowe's Corp.
that was the true trail, but was so nasty they wished it was a false
trail.
Despite the autumn sky gloaming into the twilight, the pack
somehow separated into two or three groups with one following some
imaginary trail into someone's house. Meanwhile Newd, Pullinasti,
beer truck driver NFHN John, and a just arrived Noodle were sitting at
the beer stop drinking heavily and wondering where the pack was. After
30 minutes, the first few hounds rolled in. Then a few more. After 40
minutes, there were still hounds missing and a search party was sent
out to find them and lead them to the sacred beer stop.
The stragglers got there just as Newd and Noodle (aren't they
characters on SpongeBob?) left for the second leg of the trail.
Because it was late, Newd said the trail was being changed on the fly
and there would just be an on-in.
After about six minutes, the hounds took off after them. While
the Hares thought they were smart by making false trails and the like,
they were betrayed by various members of the local gentry who aided
the pack. How did they do that? By shouting things such as:
"Hey, you looking for the two loopy looking white guys who came
by? They went that way."
"What the fuck are you people doing?"
"Hey, it must be the money."
"Five dollars and I love you long time." (7 seconds left the
pack, but came back when the woman wouldn't accept his roll of
quarters)
After passing a man smoking a joint next to the methadone clinic,
the Hares went down Randall Street where the pack eventually spotted
them. Knowing they were going to be caught, the aborted the mission
and ran back to the Other Side only saving themselves by putting a
boob check in the
middle of North Main.
The beer truck soon arrived and the circle was formed, and the
Hares were saluted for their sorry trail-making, and then they were
honored with celebratory down-downs.
Next a virgin -- Ju -- was introduced, mocked, asked stupid
questions and honored with celebratory down-downs. And then there a
naming. NFHN Natalie, who has done about a dozen
hashes without getting named was brought into the circle for
interrogation -- I mean questioning.
However, George Bush and John Ashcroft would have been proud
because Air Force Cap. Natalie divulged little more than her name,
rank and favorite sexual position, which by the way is driving (for
more information on driving call your local library.)
Tired by Nat's evasiveness, the pack dismissed her and decided to
come up with a really bad name for her. Some of the suggestions
included Stinky Snatch, Anal Excitement, Anal Driver, Butt Sex and
Captain Snatch. The group finally decided on Butt Sex because we just
liked how it sounded.

Brick Town 5000

HASH TRASH NO. 57 (we think, record-keeping has been extremely hazy
over the years).

The usual band of miscreants met at an abandoned Taco Bell on
Pleasantburg Road on a boiling hot afternoon not fit for running, but
perfect for beer drinking. Being stupid asses, they decided to hash
anyway.
A half-hour late per tradition, the Hares began their litany of
lies about the route and the hounds ignored them while chatting among
themselves and sipping amber nectar. When the annoying talk was
complete, the hares were blessed with holy fermented-hops water, and
they were off, dodging traffic.
The trail headed toward some sketchy neighborhoods and for once
the Hares seemed to have told the truth. They'd told the pack about
the route going through the "Bricktown All-Stars" gangland, and the
pack found trail littered with used bullets and hobos. Unfortunately
for the hounds, the trail soon meandered through Beck Academy where
the pack momentarily lost the trail by searching everywhere except in
plain sight where the trail led down the middle of a sidewalk.
The trail then circled a track, confusing the pack as it ran
around it several times shouting "hash," "hash," and blowing the damn
whistles until someone got a bright(?) idea that it was circle.
Quickly regrouping, they found trail dead-ended at a fence, where
after they hopped it, things got worse.
Prominent features were poison ivy laden underbrush through an
uncharted forest, in the heart of Nicholtown. After 20 minutes
following a sketchy trail, where Daily Newd was somehow able to fall
on his ass in Sliding Rock Creek and smash his on the rock - luckily
the rock was undamaged - the pack crossed a small stream and ended up
at beer stop numero uno, fittingly on an abandoned
street.
After much whining from the pack, the hares departed and, "they
said," they felt bad for the hapless pack and tried to make the trail
as easy as possible. Due to their joint incompetence, this was
impossible.
On Faris Road the clueless hares led the pack through a circular
road, and an intersection on the edge of choice-looking woods that any
right-minded hare would have plunged into with delight and set a
beautiful trail. But the drunken losers instead, head up an asphalt
hill, through several steaming hot Greenville Tech parking lots where
the sun threatened to kill them all due to the lack of
rehydrating beer.
Finally, the trail led into the campus administration building,
up a flight of stairs, down an elevator for two flights and out the
back door. Not a bad little trail for the hare-brains. The pack
luxuriated in the air-conditioning, drinking water of all things, and
used the facilities, flushing their chances of catching the hares down
the drain, along with used beer.
Eventually, the pack found the second beer stop, and GM, Strokes
Twice Daly, and NFHN Natalie who were late because they were planning
for a r*ce. Finally, the Hares left for the final stage, up more
hills, behind commercial buildings where they set off an alarm, which
alerted the pack of their presence while they were warned: Evacuate
these premises immediately. The Police have been called. You are
trespassing on private property. The Police have been called. Etc.,
etc."
Meanwhile, the hares - allegedly feeling sorry for the pathetic
hounds, made the last leg short and they mercifully ended the trail at
an abandoned Mexican eatery.
The circle was formed, and the Hares were saluted for their sorry
trail-making, and then they were honored with celebratory down-
downs.The Virgins - Just Ray and NFHN Hans -- were introduced, mocked,
asked stupid questions and honored with celebratory down-downs.
Hare "Just Paul" was then brought into the circle and it
ominously began raining. Peggy Pulanasti interrogated "Just Paul" like
a Nazi War Criminal, and the no-namer cracked under the pressure,
admitting to a litany of crimes against nature, underage Kmart
harlots, the Wisconsin legal system, his bowels, Mexican police, and
various traffic offenses, including one with a golf club and an irate
motorist perpetrated within the confines of the Greenville City
Limits.
The naming committee convened, and after much beer drinking, lewd
propositions and general time-wasting techniques honed in their
civilian jobs, arrived at a name for "Just Paul."
For his digestion of a quarter pound of fine Colombian weed, on
two occasions!; for admitting to crapping himself in a drunken stupor
outside a Greenville strip bar; and for being a member of the ersatz
para-military organization and Republican money-laundering
organization Greenville Rifle Club, he was named, with all lack of due
respect: "Straight Shitter."

On-On!

Beautiful Berea Hash

Hares: Daily Newd and Pole Dancer (nee Peggy Pullanasti)

Harriers: Way too many to remember

On one of the hottest days of 2005, a little more than 20 hashers met
behind the Ingles at Cherrydale to visit the beautiful world of Berea.
Okay, they really came for a hash and the hares never led them to
Berea. It was really Sans Souci.

But anyway, the ever-devious Daily Newd and the ever-clueless Peggy
Pullanasti left a half-hour late per tradition while the pack drank
from the unending well of fermented hops left to them.

They eventually crawled out of their gutterly ways and followed the
trail. They almost immediately got lost on a false trail that led to
some railroad tracks before crossing Poinsett.

They ran past the porno shop and into some shady looking areas. The
hares had apparently split and created numerous false trails that led
down train tracks, into dirt mounds and through trailer parks.

Ok, so the trailer park was the real trail and spooked the heck out of
a lot of the hashers as well as the people who lived there. The pack
eventually got to a couple of back yards the hashers had cut through.
There were now big dogs and snarling people guarding the path.

While the pack looked for away around the yard, the hares were sitting
in a very shady bar with no money or identification. How shady was
this bar? A sign on the wall said no food, no drink, no asses on the
pool table.

The pack eventually got there…just as the beer truck driven by Lady
Long Legs rolled in. There was much griping about the trail and dogs,
but the hares didn’t listen as they left again.

The pack soon followed through some more of the hare’s random nonsense
and false trails before finding true trail heading down some railroad
tracks. The pack eventually had to jump from the tracks and ford a
small stream.

That led in various directions, but eventually true trail was found
going through a field. The pack was forced to cross a ravine using a
Hobo-made bridge (Hobo-made: helping the shiftless get shiftlesser
since 1936).

After some random meanderings through a couple of shady areas and past
some abandoned industrial buildings, the second beer stop was found in
an abandoned warehouse where much beer was consumed.

Now a side note. In planning the hash, those no-good hares kept
worrying about what would happen if a train came by as they started
the third leg because they were crossing an active line. They never
saw anything on scouting trips, so they figured they would wing it.

Okay back to the story, the hares take off. Get about 200 feet and run
into a train coming down the tracks. They wait and wait, thinking the
pack is coming any second to pants them. Fortunately, the pack wasn’t
paying attention and the hares got away.

The pack eventually followed for the third leg, which was much short
than the previous legs and led to the on-in, Robert’s Pub on Poinsett
Highway. Oddly enough. one of the people at the first bar the hash hit
was now sitting at Robert’s.

Considering that a good omen, Circle was formed and many down-downs
were consumed. The hares were lambasted for a shitty trail. Bust Her
Hymen did a down-down for being the FRB, realizing he was the FRB and
then trying to leave so he didn’t look like FRB. About a dozen virgins
were singled-out as well.

Circle ended and much drinking followed at Roberts.

on-on