Vancouver Hash House Harriers

Nov 26 2011

Wednesday, November 30, 2011

The Vancouver Hash House Harriers
Run No.1308, 1415, Saturday, 26-November-2011
at
Iona Beach Regional Park, Vancouver Airport
8 Celsius, 92% humid, E winds of 26 Km/h, Rainfall Warning in Effect!
by
Kiss My Furry Butt

Captain Hymen Grinder, Hardon with Shitty and Roadkill, Kiss My Hairy Butt Cheeks (hare), Squid Lips/Freddie Mercury, Plunger, Dangler, Shagger, Aw Fuck It, Beheader, Malice, Errin and Murphy, & Porno prick all made it to the start of the run. We had set out hours before for the hard trek across the entire city, followed by the labyrinthine passages over and around the airport required to access this little bit of Vancouver tucked away on the shores of the deep, green, greasy Fraser River tributaries.

Massive sewer pipes march off into the falling rain, full of shit and destined for the mouths of hungry salmon and dungeness crabs. We assemble within the heated public toilets and occasionally look around outside to see if the pack has assembled itself. Finally, the moment comes. Kiss my Ass speaks to us in that way she speaks, and we are all deeply impressed both at her command of the lingua franca and of the traditions of the hash - flour here, ribbons there, checks, back checks, falsies and all that stuff: "... do not," she says, "run back to the car park when you pass by it, but keep going or you will miss the beer check. Oh, all the flour is on your right hand side, eh, except when it's on your left hand side..."

Indeed, she has pre-laid this run and is dressed in the style of Irene Cara in the seventies flick called FLASHDANCE. We are drowning in rain. Finally, the moment arrives and off we plunge into the wetness beyond the bogs. We traipse along the sewer pipe heading E and after a few minutes we dive off to the left and follow the fence line out to the North Arm Jetty and then NE until our hats float off.

Some pathetic specimens short cut, but the real men and Beheader plunge on whilly nilly to the end. Reversing course at the end of the North Arm Jetty and running in the sand back to the car park, and then we jink ENE onto the PLOO (pipe-line-ocean-outfall), rhymes with 'pooh', and plod along the causeway to the bus shelter for ample quantities of beer and chips.

Before not very long we adjourn to the men's bogs for warmth and companionship, but are persuaded against our better judgement to occupy the women's; which is totally free of odour - unlike the men's... Hardon is deeply perturbed by someone stealing his can of beer, and loudly curses them with long, hanging and very painful anal hernias, only to discover that he has in fact left his beer inside his vehicle. Hmmm.

Beer flows freely and we are all happy, and Kiss My Hairy Bottom receives 7/10 for a good effort despite mixing-up back checks with falsies, excessive distance (once) between checks and first flour, and finally for flouring a log which is busy floating off into the 'oggin - indeed, such is the poor mental state of certain hashers that they have to be restrained from plunging into the chilly waters. The Mou-Fuckers (have I got this right?) are proudly displaying their facial hair.

The hash trash is still missing, so is Goat Fucker. Man Hole is marooned in 100 Mile House. Hardon lost his keys and found them again, but had to blow Squid Lips to get them back. Luckily he is a swallower and finds that soup is all he requires at the On On On. We finish our libations and retire to the Flying Beaver for 22 oz beers and $15 burgers. Well done Kiss My Ass. Next week's run is somewhere else.

On On !