Page Last Updated: Tuesday, December 23, 2014
What the Hell Happened................
Salaam and good evening from your loyal scribe and welcome to my inaugural trash for the Peach Fuzz Hash House Harriers. As I sit here in my masturbatorium (Writer's Comment: that's what I call the office corner of my living room. Full disclosure: I'd advise not sitting on anything in my apartment you haven't specifically seen me clean because, well, see previous sentence.) pondering this past week's trail, the lyrics to Hozier's Take Me to Church are running through my head. Why, might you ask? Well, let me get to that after this brief message.... beep beep...beepbeepbeep... beep...beepbeep....beepbeepbeep...beepbeep.... Newsflash:
PeachFuzz H3's 1001's run. It was a lovely evening somewhere on the beautifully pristine
sands of Bora Bora when Dead Baby Beater laid a short, flat, and dry trail for all us half-minds to
follow to the most delicious craft brew beer this palate has ever tasted! Errr, wait, no that's not right.
In fact, that's nearly the polar opposite. It's funny I should write polar because that is exactly what it
felt like outside. How cold was it, you ask? It was SO cold even my gimp nipple was standing at
attention ready to cut diamonds. I could go on about my body and how cold it was or how much
shrinkage I was experiencing, but I'll get to the meat of this self-involved harangue. You see, dear
reader and fellow hasher, though our glorious Religious Adviser had blessed us with an evening not full
of weather befitting Noah's Ark and God's angry promise Dead Peter Beater decided one religion was
not enough (Writer's Comment: I think this may or may not have started some extended vacationsturned-
holy-wars, but I never studied Biology.) and sent our heathen minds, souls, and livers to church
where – tired, cold-of-foot, pricked-of-leg-and-scrotum (sorry. I forgot I wasn't going to talk about my
naughty bits), and so nearly dead for thirst – an angry pastor and flock, cold beer, and these words rang
through my head like a chorus of angels. Golden brown, hoppy, delicious angels, “In the maddness and soil of that sad earthly scene / Only then I am Human / Only then I am clean / Amen. Amen. Amen. Amen. / Take me to church”
I mean, that's just poetry in motion, my friends. I weep at the mere memory. I'm gonna go use these tears as lube, now.
Violations: I think there were some, but, as I said before, it was FAR too cold for me to write legibly.
Announcements: Do not forget Birmingham's Red Dress Run. If you rego before the end of the year, you get a major award. (Spoiler alert: It's a kilt.) If you're reading this, you probably already missed Hashgiving and I am sad to have missed you. Or, you didn't miss it and I'm sad to have not had sex with you. Or, you were there, we had sex, and I'm sad it wasn't as fulfilling for you as it was for me. Lastly, next week's trail on 26 November is a pub crawl. Don't ask me where, I just scribble.
Passion of the Dumbass
The Peach Fuzz would like to thank Butt-Her Finger for hosting a Yummy Hashgiving Dinner!
Welcome, welcome, welcome, half-minds to the second ever, weekly Hash Trash translated to
you by your humble servant Passion of the Dumbass. You see, I would have LOVED to actually recall
the events and misadventures of last Wednesday; however, it was a pub crawl and, well, truth be told,
Dumbass likes his liquor. A lot. Therefore, I will be transcribing my message to you about last week's
trail from these tablets I found while traipsing around in the woods behind my house. You can't see
them, thought, because a heavenly being descended from Heaven earlier today and totally stole them.
Fuckin' ingrate! I as your humble scribe also pull double duty as your Hash Flash and you would think
I'd be able to put together that evenings events from all the pictures I took, but you'd be wrong in
thinking anything good about me. Apparently, after 10 or so beers and I think maybe a shot check, I
just started taking pictures of boobies and my dick. I don't know what I would use pictures of my dick
for, but there it is: you now know WAY too much about Passion's habits while inebriated. I'll attempt to
recount as much of the evening for you as possible, but be forewarned – I'm pregaming the bar as I
First Remembered Event: My own recollection and picture evidence (as well as intelligence gathered from local sources) indicate we started the night like a bunch of malcontents and miscreants huddled together for warmth in the parking lot of the Brunswick Lanes off Washington Road. Now, I know you are all thinking, “But Passion, the Brunswick lanes is dangerously close to a school. Aren't you forbidden from being close to schools?” “Don't worry,” I would say, “I stepped it off (read: guesstimated) and I'm well outside the court-ordered limit.” Some virgins were brought – by whom I can no longer recall – but we scared one of them away somehow after explaining all about the joys and delights of that evening's trail and Hashing in general. It may have had something to do with my gawd awful rendition of Inagaddadavida, but I have not evidence to 100% support these claims. Our first stop, surprise, surprise was the comfort and quite of the Brunswick Lanes bar.
Second Remembered Event: I know after Brunswick we moseyed on over to Shannon's where beer flowed and flowed and flowed like water from a heavenly tap. Or pitcher. I had a lovely conversation with NFHN Nick about the fun to be had with challenge coins, but none of which I will recount here for fear of frightening the younglings. I will, however, show a picture. Don't everybody just look the cutest?
Third Remembered Event: Now, here's where it starts to get all hazy and caty-whompus. I know there was a shot check, as I can prove via media evidence, but I couldn't tell you of what said shot consisted. Look! Shots! ---> Don't you fear, Dead Peter Beater's look of abject horror and disgust has ABDSOLUTELY nothing to do with me or any of my friends. Ok, ok. That's not completely truthful. It may have something to do with one of my friends, but I don't remember much after Shannon's. Also, I'm assuming one of you all drove me home, right? What I do know is that this was behind Rhinehart's
Oyster Bar. HA! Interesting fact about Rhinehart's: I didn't know it was an oyster bar until just now as I look at Google Maps. I had a wicked craving for oysters yesterday and had I but known... Alas! On to something completely different.
Fourth Remembered Event: While I think I may be skipping a step or six here, I remember something about the ancient and oft-beautiful Japanese art of Karaoke taking place at Mi Rancho Mexican. And, I can totally prove it with this blurry picture.. just like we can prove the existence of the Loch Ness Monster and Big Foot via one outdated and blurry photo. Now, I'm not exactly sure of what's all on the floor there. I've heard it's glitter, but I distinctly remember the appearance of a unicorn and they tend to make a mess. Ask anyone who saw him that night. He was a freakin' slob who should have been cut off hours before!
Fifth Remembered Event: Ok, not so much a remembered event as this is my last, printable picture on my phone. If anyone knows where I left my underwear or those naked pictures of Bea Arthur I've been saving, please contact me offline.
Passion of the Dumbass
|1004||You know, it seems I'm always rushing to get this thing done before I head out to drink on Saturday. Why is that? Do you even care? Probably not. I'll just hurry up and finish so you can get on with your day. (I've said that a lot to the women in my life.)|
The 1004th running of the Peach Fuzz Hash House Harriers was a real treat. Foreskin King pulled out all the stops, it seems. He brought us beer, run-ins with the law, celestial boobs, and virgins. I like virgins! They aren't tired of my lame attempts at humor yet. It was a crisp evening as we gathered in the dirt parking lot behind WKZK, CSRA's oldest urban Gospel Radio Station. There seems to be a recurring theme in this hash of inviting the Holy Spirit. I didn't think Jesus could actually go hashing on account of his being a Jew who don't pay his dues. I have to give a shout out to our unnamed hashers this past week for bringing all our virgins: Just Hoss (that is a big boy) and Just Bryce and Just Kaitlyn (the latter being married to the former or vice versa). Here, check out some of the virgins in their natural habitat. Why does Just Kaitlyn look so skeptical of a strange man taking pictures of her in the dark? I cannot understand it.
Shit Slushy blessed our hare and away Foreskin went not-so-gently into that good night. I believe there was some talk about Father Abrahaming it up for the virgins, but it was canceled due to a general lack of enthusiasm. Trail was full of beer and naughtiness. Even the moon had a ring around it looking like a boob check. Really set the romantic mood. Speaking of romantic mood, at the second beer check, I noticed Just Hoss and Dead Peter Beater bringing up the very rear of our formation and maybe just an ever-so-slightly coy smile on their faces as they approached.
Speaking of strange stuff at a beer stop, I'd like to quote a few helpful tips to you from the internet on dealing with police:
1) When dealing with the police, keep your hands in view and don't make sudden movements.
- I think that's what the Rams o-line may have been telling us last Sunday. Or, maybe they just switched to Sure deodorant and wanted everyone to know just how Sure they really were.
2) Avoid passing behind them. Nervous cops are dangerous cops.
- When I get nervous I pee. Do patrolmen pee when they get nervous, too? We have so much in common! Is there a support group?
3) Also, never touch the police or their equipment
- Now, this just flies in the face of every instructional film I've ever seen on the subject. Apparently, Naughty America and the rest of the internet are on different pages.
So, thank you to all who came out to the 1004th trail. Try the veal. And, tip your waitress.
Announcements:Do not forget Birmingham's Red Dress Run. If you rego before the end of the year, you get a major award.
If anyone is interested in running a beer mile or doing a case race (12 beers/13 mi) see me, Just Nick, or Dead baby Birth at the next event. We've got half a mind to actually do it!
Do you know of any good shiggy in the area? Do you have flour taking up space in your house leftover from that cake baking marathon you did with your muggle friends who are, apparently, REALLY into baking cakes? Butt-Her Finger can help! I'm willing to help, too. I'm so lonely. Please someone talk to me!
Passion of the Dumbass
|1005||“Welcome to the 1005th running of the Peach Fuzz Hash House Harriers!” Is what you would have heard had you cum to trail last Wednesday. If you did, thank you for supporting your local kennel. For those who didn't, cum on by next week. I heard everyone will be bringing sex toys!|
Did you know that on December 10, 1869, the territory of Wyoming authorized women to vote and hold office? I don't have anything to say to that, I just decided to throw in some factoids to fill space. You see, I'm not doing so well today. I blame Dick Tested for dragging me out to a strip club after the Army-Navy game yesterday. But, more on that later.
Now, where was I? Ah, yes. Trail! It was a dark and chilly night December 10, 2014 when your fearless friends braved the bitter cold and wind to join Dead Peter Beater for her, we'll call it, trail at Gander Mountain Augusta. As an added bonus, and completely unbeknownst to him, it also was Just Nick's virgin hare! What a banner day for him. I'm sure we're likely to never see him again.
Not only did we have a virgin hare, but we had a true virgin courtesy of Chainsaw. No Name Stephen or Stieve. Or maybe it was Stephan. No, it was definitely No Name Stephen. Definitely. And, I betcha No Name Stephen will show up again, cuz at our first beer stop at an old and abandoned house, Chainsaw found a shit-ton of checks that were, like, 20 years old and I'm totally certain once he cashed those checks he split his winnings with his dear, dear friend No Name Stephen who he's know for ever and ever and ever. Or, maybe he put all that money into a high-yield CD account to mature for a year or two and maybe buy the hash something fancy! Oooohh, I hope it's a pony. Or a kegerator. Or a soft, warm blanket I could curl up in and would make me feel less pukey.
You know what else I remember from that trail? A thousand little pricks stabbing me in the legs and stuff. And there was a swamp. Not, like, your average swamp, but a much colder version of the Swamp of Sadness from The Neverending Story. Remember that one? Where Atreyu loses his horse and the horse, like, looks at him all weepy-eyed and stuff right before he sinks into the muck? Oh my god. I need a moment. I think I'm gonna cry. And vomit.
I may have gotten lost somewhere in this story.
Oh! I know. The trail! Right. So, after the dark, dark house which didn't have a working bathroom or any toilet paper, but all those checks and a long, thin, white rod that gave me penis envy, we meandered across the street and into the graveyard for another beer check whereupon we sang Hashmas carols and played with our new-found long, white rod. Why do I keep talking about that rod?
But, that's the last part of trail I can tell you about because immediately upon leaving our second beer stop, I bee-lined right for the cars where Mission, Roofies, Volunteer Queer, and I drank and sang carols in the warm confines of Mission's automobile. Man, it was so cold outside. Well, thank you for reading. I hope to see you soon. Maybe we can share a blanket and a bottle of wine and some cheese.
Oh, remember that bit from earlier when I promised more details on some late-night escapades with Dick Tested and me carousing with naked women? Well, I'm not expounding on that cuz I'm tired and hungover and not everything in life fits into what the masses' idea of a narrative is. So, if you'll kindly excuse me, I'm gonna go rub one out, shower, and pray I feel better. Toodles!
Did you know that the next full moon is on January 6, 2015? I'm so full of fun facts!
Passion of the Dumbass
|1006|| A clear and crisp night I doth remember|
Peach Fuzz the one thousand sixth time did meet
The merry eve of 17 December
There we partook of libation and ale so sweet
Bags of toys for tots we brought
to Winchester’s parking lot
A lady of bags with her treats for hounds
Did blaze a shiggy trail for our pack to follow
After heady brew and much down-downs
Would we soon regret the coming of bright ‘morrow
A knavish virgin brung along to join us
Did Mama’s Mayo gift us Just Josh
As a gift for the harriettes’ rituals pre-coitus
Or so the pack could jeer another virgin who got lost?
Anon, anon and by and by
We left our circle to wander into the night
Over the curbs and through the ‘hoods
On the prowl for a beer stop
When greeted by the scent of baked goods
We halted to imbibe some cans of golden hops
And just like the Eastern man Kwai Chang Caine
Cursed to wander without rest
We sought a new beer stop again and again
Signaling our path like a buzzing pest
Anon, anon and by and by
We sallied nearer our goal
With a delicious waft upon a gust
Of hearth and stew rich and piping hot
Rest assured in fact that peace did find us
It was, surprise, Winchester’s parking lot
The Peach Fuzz would like to thank Chainsaw Masochist for hosting this year's Dirty Santa XXXMas Party!