Porque yo consume dos botellas de la salsa habanera de Senor Dave, I'm 
forced to pen this write up from the shitter, where I take turns pinching 
pepper turds and applyiing vaseline to my burning arse.

                    PRINCETON HHH HASH #1025.9

Date: January 30, 2005

Weather: Almost nipple-deep snow

Venue: Boy Toy's R Us

Setter:  Hey!  Yo! ,   Paully!

Time: ~ 1 hour

Hashers: Count von Count, Delicate Psyche, Hand Solo, SOS (AKA "excitable 
girl"), Wipi, Salsa Bitch, Safety Sweats, Homo Erotic Tick Checking

On-In:  Eat at Joe's (Joe's Crab Shack)

It all started innocently enough as HYP engaged the hashers in civic duty by 
donating clothes and toys to the economically unstable here in Mercer 
county, although Homo Erotic Tic Checking looked so good in Juicy's old 
sleek black jacket, that we were all disappointed to give it up.  In fact, 
HTC tried to make up for the lack of women by showing some naked, 
soon-to-be-bleeding leg of his own.  Alas, minus the female gender and minus 
the jacket, the pack set off in search of the rose coloured trail.  Why were 
the marks red?  As we pondered this question, we heard stories of the Salsa 
Bitch's journey's up the himalayas in deepest, darkest Peru.  During his 
climbs, he apparently lost his hearing, but was in top form today, and 
looking forward to the Hard Corps at the end of the month.

As the path meandered in and out of brush and bramble, half the half-minds 
decided to forego the canal crossing in favor of the Province Line Rd 
bridge.  From the tow path, the trail plunged down into the swamp, where a 
few hashers sunk to their icy demise.  Pulling ourselves from the slushy 
muck, we ambled onto the spur that leads to Princesvillie, where our tax 
payer money is wasted on some stupid old house.  This trail seemed to lead 
to HYP's abode in Lawrenceville, but we were denied another ONIN of good, 
clean family fun, like at Big Nut's place, and led once again into the 
forest.  As the miles wore on, Count von Count's lumbering stride evidenced 
the tell-tale signs that his recovery has hit the exponential tail of 
diminishing returns, practically guarenteeing that he'll never again run 
like the young buck he did only months before.

Throughout the hash, our setter, Hey! Yo!, Paully! crouched and watched from 
long distances giving the wary hashers the sign not unlike the mythical 
GRIM, which fortells of death and destruction.  Also, during our backwater 
gala-vanting, it came to our attention that Hand Solo was also doing his 
civic duty by collecting SOS's deposits in a yellow bag to keep our 
environment clean.  This is how it came to pass that Excitable Girl was 
renamed SOS, or Sack Of Shit.  As we stumbled from the woods, back onto the 
tow path, the whole pack now took a nervous trip across the barely frozen 
canal, and Safety Sweats' recent trip to do a west coast movie star weight 
loss program came in handy as he was only just supported by the mere inch of 
frozen slush.

Through more brambles, then mass confusion at the specially marked ONIN, 
which happened to be at none other than Joe's Louse House.  Unfortunately, 
the Louse House's health and safety standards did not allow for dogs because 
they apparently do not make suitable Louse hosts, so Hand Solo and SOS took 
their leave, after leaving the saved up deposits in the ash tray.  The rest 
of the frostbitten hashers had enough spunk in them to make everyone at 
Joe's sorry they turned away our furry friend.  Wipi swiped the skiing hats 
of small children.  Everyone hung their dirty wet garments from the tacky 
fishnets and umbrella poles.  Crackers and hot sauce were stolen from nearby 
patrons, and much imbibing lead to lots of cross table bickering and 
yelling.  For example, CVC counted the reasons that Weepee is single while 
Safety Sweats boasted about his forays with Seattle Sorority Girls, Salsa 
Bitch came up with politically incorrect schemes to sell the PHHH 
wife-beaters, and HYP threatened to make a nipple impression in the butter.  
This was definitely a guys night out.  In the end, HYP did a salty, saucey 
downdown, then performed a stirring rendition of the Eagles fight song, 
which scared one little would be hasher, but got the rest of the Louse House 
to join in on the chorus.

I suppose that since we now have a Conservative African American Women as 
Secretary of State, PHHH has taken the hint and begun to spend hash cash 
like the end of the world is fast approaching.  HTC has already done his 
part in finishing off the world supply of crackers.  Next week, we'll do the 
same for the beer!