White House Hash House Harriers

For Directions and Information call 202-PUD-JAM0/202-232-HASH

Check us out on line: www.dchashing.org/wh4

"In Beer we Trust"

April 1, 2001

Warning: This paper contains 30% recycled waterborne bung leeches. May cause rectal itching, leaky faucets, premature evacuation, and anus inflamatus. Alcohol intensifies this effect.

 

Hash No. #762 - The Old Dominion Brewery Hash

Start: Ashburn, VA (Walmart in Bumfuck Nowhere)

Hares: M.I.C-OchShootsBlanks, Target Practice
Two Guys, A Girl & a Pizza, Big Dick No Brains

A Tail of Two Trails

It was the best of times and worst of times. The best part of the runners' trail was the first leg. I mosied along with the pack through suburban parking lots, office parks, and paved trails. It was short, dry, and unencumbered by briars and tunnels. Tasty rounds of Dominion Ale awaited at the conveniently located beer check. The best part of the walkers' trail was the second half, as I skipped out on the runners, and joined the girls for an extended "cawfee tawk." From all reports, the worst of times were found aplenty on the second half of the runner's trail. But more on that later.

The Start

I found the hashing tribe gathered in a painfully low rent shopping center across from the Walmart. We found it nicely suited to our purposes since SSBB would blend in well with all the other heaps in the lot. Butt Plug gave me a big smooch and was raring to pour beer for Brew Crew. But SSBB was nowhere to be seen. Waves of anxiety rippled through crowd. Put It Out led us in prayer to calm the fears of the congregation. For some reason, Joey Buttafuckme tried to pick a fight with Watergate, but he went away licking his wounds and maybe his nuts as well. KY Belly serenaded the Virgins with the White House Anthem, and we also sang to the Visitors who dishonored us with their presence. Then it was revealed that the habitually late Big Bird Turd was driving SSBB. And still there was no beer. PIO called on a higher power to lead us in Father Abraham and bring forth beer. Actually it was the prodigal son, Pussy Whipped, who returned to WH4 from Dayton OH for a visitation. As he finished the last verse and took a final drag on his cig, our prayers were answered. BBT, the Holy Father of the Hash, and SSBB came gasping into the parking lot like a meat out of loaf or some other bad metaphor. With that, the baying pack was off on the run.

The First Leg

The pack went around a corner and into some fields and woods. Then we rambled past a car dealership hawking used Vulvos (take note For Sale or Rent, Yank Me Out and the gone but not forgotten, Bad Bush). We turned around a few times by the Dulles Toll Road (Poodle Fucked was given a violation for marking trail like a dog) and before long a beer near marker was noted and the pack came to rest.

The Beer Check

While sipping a beer and striking up small talk with Kumsoon and Don't Let Your Meat Loaf, I spotted Two Lips in the Bush down on his knees as if this Michigan State grad was servicing an Arizona hoopster or maybe it was Big Bang. Just Nandu and Just Diep, who could use some scribe-friendly hash names, were accused of provocative stretching and wearing of identical outfits. Several hashers took the opportunity to rat out GBOF for finishing 3rd in his age group in some senior citizens race. GBOF's cohort, Bite Me Elmo, admitted to putting freshness dates on her running shoes due to suspected anal-obsessive-compulsive disorder. I say this violates the social norm. Do you think social icon Bad Dog puts freshness dates his running shoes?

Never Saw Him Cumming was sanctioned for wearing little thorny boob protectors over her protruding nipples. Big Dick No Brains thought this was a fine idea and tried to attach a few to his not so little head, but he kept getting aroused by the little stickers. Delaware Queen and Kiel Bastard were tagged for wearing matching swishy, golfing outfits. Target Practice showed off an open wound from stepping on a rusty nail. Never Saw Him Cumming told me about the slumber party the night before at the house of M.I.C-OchShootsBlanks-Target Practice. It seems Pussy Whipped was appointed cabana boy. He donned a skimpy outfit and served drinks, made dinner and otherwise serviced the women all night.

We wrapped up the beer check with the appointment of FarFromScorin' as beer bitch. For Sale or Rent stood under an umbrella doing her imitation of "Cherry Poppins", which must have prompted KYBelly to lead a round of show tunes from the Sound of Music. He was ably assisted by Delaware Queen, Dairy Queen, Jag Queen and Kiel Bastard (Queen for a Day) who may want to try out for the Gay Men's Hash Chorus.

The Walkers' Trail

In the interest of full and fair coverage of all of the entire Hash, I bailed out onto the walkers' trail. Mr. Softie and Dangerously Close led us as we meandered through some light shiggy and came to a bridge over a rushing stream with a "Trail Abutting" sign. This inspired a group of walkers to pose for pictures, including MyNutsRideShotgun and CumofaCumofaSailor who showed off their repulsive, hairy butts to the stares of passers-by along the bike trail. We looked into the twisting cauldron of water below and then realized that all of the hares were on the walkers' trail. None of them were crossing the water with the runners. Mama didn't raise no dumb hares in this group.

As we proceeded, Kumsoon, Don't Let Your Meat Loaf, Snatch Shot, Well Drilled and TipperWhipper welcomed me into the coffee klatch and gave me all the dish on the men in the hash. Suffice it to say that this was an eye opening experience. Dudes, do not try to pull the wool panties over these girls' eyes. They know all and they tell all. It was enough to make Little Mitey want to enter the witness protection program.

Meanwhile on the runners' trail... the pack came up to the big-ass creek crossing. There was a slippery moss covered dam that theoretically could be used to ford the stream. Before attempting the crossing, Bad Ditch decided to wait and let the bloated bodies of her fellow runners stack up in the creek bed to form a human walkway. Assfinder, Big Bang, Beer Slut, ShockaCock, Diaper, BoloHeadRat, Duck Job, Weed, Hops, Microprick, Dairy Queen and No. 2 all looked dumb enough to fall for this gambit. But amazingly, none of them drowned or suffered noticeable brain damage. They all managed to roll into the back of the Old Dominion Brewery, and after some verbal abuse was heaped on the hares who forgot to bring food to the hash, we circled up.

Virgins (Vagina/Penis Gallery):
Jeff Hopkins (I have some yeast for you)
Brian Farrell (Let me rub your head)
Terry Dunbar (Let me drink from your tap)
Michael Pease (Let me fill your mug)
John Gould(Let me taste your microbrew)
Margaret Burridge (Do you spit or swallow?)

John Barnes; Mark Giebel; John Giebel

Visitors:
Mr. Bigglesworth; PussyWhipped; Joey Buttafuckme
MyNutsRideShotgun; CumofaCumofaSailor; Pump&Run; SandNuts; Don't Let Your Meatloaf
Home Depot; FarFromScorin'

AnalVerseries:
TargetPractice got a 25 Run Mug (For 29 Runs!!!)
MiteyTite -- 169 and counting.

A Very Solemn Occasion - Naming Gunay Konakci.

The stunning, raven-haired Just Gunay has been hashing with us for a while, but is not well known because she only speaks German. That did not stop us from suggesting about a dozen names like Oh Pair, I Like Young Boys, Shackle Me, Get Off the Baby Sitter, DeutschBag, OrangeShaft, Schwartzekatze, Wienerswallow und Analweiss. But the overwhelming choice was Guten Tite. Give credit to Herr Diaper for suggesting the name. (Ausgezeichnet, nicht wahr?)

Hashshit: Perkaset was relieved of the old Hashshit and it was retired from service. The new and improved Hashshit adorned with a streamer was awarded to Poodle Fucked for missing two photo-opps of Raise My Titanic's bare boobs. Poodle attempted to make amends by showing his "toy poodle."

ONONON: The brewery was great. Several hashers got the big growlers to take on road trips. However, the Hares will be publicly pissed on for failing to tell us the bar closed at 7:00 pm. The hash was less than happy when we got booted out, despite the pitiful whining of $50Bitch, FAG and Poodle who only had half a load on.

On On, my little hashin' dogies, MiteyTite

 

ASK MITEY

Anonymous hasher questions asked and answered.

Featured Question of the Week

Vom. N. A____ writes: I have dated some guys with passable intelligence and grooming habits. But they just don't measure up in a key category such as say, THE PUNY SIZE OF THEIR DICKS. Maybe 1 or 2 guys fit the bill, but there's probably a waiting list for them. What's a girl to do?

After combing through research journals this week, I have some significant findings to report (true stuff, no kidding). First of all, in prior studies, research subjects self-reported on their penis size. A new study confirms what we all knew. Men lie about the size of their hydraulics. Measurements of college boys on spring break in FL, have confirmed that guys pad the pud. The average length of the erect penis is only about 5.8 inches, not the 6.4 inches previously reported, and circumference has also been overstated. So, maybe things aren't that bad. But if the next one really does have a toothpick dick, perhaps there is hope from a report out of a Cleveland clinic. A scientist has attached the head of one monkey to the body of another, and he actually lived for a while. Take a look at Big Dick No Brains and imagine him with a head transplant. OK, maybe this theory needs a little more work. In the meantime, I'll look into new surgical procedures that purport to fatten up the little chub-on. Hmm, why do these always appear in my email box?

always appear in my email box?