Warning: This paper doesn’t contain much of anything. Feel free to burn it if you need to warm your hands.

Well, it wasn’t as cold as last week, but it still wasn’t warm enough to enjoy standing around for 20 minutes waiting for 2/3 of our leadership to show up so we could to get started. Oops…my delete key isn’t working. Just pretend you can’t read under that ‘strikethrough’ line. After the chalk talk given by WDFK to the five virgins, the circle was formed and we went through the normal ritual. Father Abraham was ‘led’ by LTNS’er Missing Link, with a great deal of assistance from most of the crowd, who decided that shorter and faster was a good idea. The Hares (Fag, KY Belly, and Raise My Titanic) provided the usual useless information (including an "M" drawn by RMT, who said it was the marking for the Walkers’ trail), along with the useful info that there was to be one beer stop. After the standard admonishment about "25 to a check" (yeah, right), off went the pack.

Having had a ‘senior moment’, yours truly had to go home and pick up the Re-Hashes (aka Trashes) that were so lovingly produced by Late Cummer. Ergo, no part of the trail was seen by this humble scribe. It got rave reviews from the interviewed participants (all two of them), who thought it was neat going through the Mall and all of the parking garages at Washington National Airport (I will NEVER call it Reagan National). Fag uttered several loud comments about FRBs not being able to follow trail, and a couple of people responded with something about laying the fu**ing trail properly. Another of those topics that will never be resolved, since dueling is no longer an acceptable means of settling disputes.

After the usual interminable, especially in cold weather wait (oops…it happened again), the circle was called and everyone stood around and sort of paid attention. The loyal Hares were called in and did an admirable job of downing their beers, although the short one did take a bit longer. The secret is to hold it in your mouth a little while before swallowing (yes, I’m talking about drinking extremely cold beer, so get your mind out of the gutter), since it gets a little warmer that way. Next came the five virgins, who had somehow shrunk to four. I believe the other one left with the comment that it was too fri**ing cold, but she would join us again some time. They were:

Name Come/Cum Inducer Say Hello To

Bonnie Elena Cheap Pickup

Raj Fag Rag and Fag

Sam Free Willie Sand in My Face (?? – pen went bad on me)

Lars (I dunno) Cums in his Dreams

We had three visitors. Love Canal, from somewhere; Fuck Jonathan and Get a Visa (???), from Taipei; and JayWalker, from Pittsburgh, who kept a very low profile. And then there was mystery man Jay, who, before the run started, said that he had never Hashed before, yet still didn’t consider himself a virgin or a visitor. Ask Poodle Fuck, since they’re sort of neighbors.

Our Long Time No See people were the aforementioned Missing Link and Love Canal. Missed Erections was also called out and rewarded for having done 125 runs, which puts her about 37^th on the all-time list. There were few violations, one of which was the loss (by Fag) and subsequent retrieval (by Semen on the Pew), of a garter, which Fag then donned as though it was something he did every day. Well…come to think of it… Drip Dry was accused of something, but all of these things paled in comparison to the heinous sin of knocking up a little old lady in a wheelchair at DCA by Fuck Jonathan and Get a Visa. Oh – sorry – that should have been "knocking over". These folks all drank, and seemed to want more. Since the Presidential election is still up for grabs, Mitey Tite was awarded the Hashit (again) in absentia. Then we did Swing Low, and listened to the Hares explain the ON-ON-ON.

Turns out it was being held at the Crystal City Café, which is known far and wide for the outstanding display of feminine pulchritude, which is only enhanced by the lack of clothing and athletic ability of the nubile young maidens. I think that the guys didn’t really want to go, but they were dragged there by the Harriettes among us who were curious to see what the big deal was. Well, Hiram, let me tell you…them ladies had some serious big-uns, some of which actually looked real. The real lure was the $2 hamburgers, I think. Several people were seen going up to the stage with $1 bills (names won’t be mentioned here, since "what happens at the Hash stays at the Hash"), for which the young ladies seemed grateful. Meanwhile, on the back stage, someone not of the Hashing persuasion was covering one of the dancers with what seemed to be a never-ending stream of dollar bills. Best guess is between 25 and 35. As a group, we were surprisingly well-behaved (and somewhat cheap, judging by all the people who neither approached the stage nor slipped it to the performers as they were working the crowd later (my preferred mode of operation).

No Hash songs were played on the sound system, and once we had gone through a complete cycle of all the dancers, there was something of a mass exodus. I guess the novelty had worn off. Before I forget, the Hares provided everyone with a set of ‘pasties’, with the instruction that they were to be worn as you entered the facility. I’m not sure how many people did that, but I know I lost some of my already sparse chest hair when I took them off.

One sad note. While waiting for the pre-run circle to start, Watergate and I attempted to get people involved in a little rendition of Singin’ in the Rain. This is not a difficult song/action routine, but the lack of participation was absolutely amazing. We seem to be getting farther and farther away from some of the famous Hash traditions. What's to be done? OK, enough editorializing.

This week’s journalistic effort has been brought to you by "If You Really Need Somebody to do It" scribe,