PHHH #1029.9
Date: Sunday, February 27, 2005
Place Washington Valley State Park, Somerset
Weather: Bracing
Time: 2:45 including regroup featuring hot rum spiked with milk and dusted
with cocoa
Hares: Hand Solo, Safe Sweats
Hounds: Hey YO! Paully, Rambo, Ouiepeiuoy, Count von Count, Delicate Psyche,
Bjorn Dork, Wacko, Sarah Rogers, Salsa Bitch, I Hear Old People, Stigmata,
Down 5 Times, Justin/Judson, What a Moron, Safety Tits, Brain Injury
Volunteer, Dancing Fool

Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies: Watchung Baby!

Those of us who survived Big Nut's 2:40 warmup
(www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/1023.9.txt) will affirm of the Hard
Korpts, as Rambo says, "1. It was not a debacle."  Rambo thinks, and this
shows how well he knows Geezer, that "2. Geezer will be interested to know
that 12 years after that fateful day, Rambo finished the route (in reverse) of
Hard Core II --- his first event with the Princeton HHH."  Our esteemed and
recently remarried visitor from Charlotsville summed up hash itself
effectively as follows:
    "3. It was unusually intelligently marked with no endless miles of RR
tracks or Nonsensei-like inscrutable figure 8's of death...
    "4. With temperature around 30 F/-1 C and only 5 stream crossings
(calf-deep max.) and one true river crossing --- that could have been
accomplished w/o getting wet if one was willing to make a flying belly flop
leap onto thicker ice mid-river -- avoiding the thin and unforgiving edges --
it is difficult to really call this Hard Core -- H-A-R-D. It was pretty long,
with some good uphills, brambles, snow and not-immediately-obvious
checks, though so it was a nearly-hard, really pretty-damned good hash.
    "5. 17 showed, which was great, especially since Pyro the Whiner wasn't
one of them -- though the parking lot banter DID seem a little dead without
him..."
    But his comments about the No. 1 pub in lovely downtown Bound Brook were
not only grossly inaccurate but way out of line. "6. I must state in closing
with utmost vituperative amertume, that the lack of a dinner at Good Friends
-- especially the lack of Bitter Melon -- the reason, after all, why I made
the pilgrimage up from Charlottesville in the first place -- was TOTALLY
UNACCEPTABLE. A pox on the clan and scurvy on the lineage of those
respoinsible for abandoning decades of PHHH tradition and leaving us to drink
Amstel Bock in some imitation Irish Pub in Pluckemin, staffed by an Italian
and populated by Greeks...  rather than giving us Good Friends -- as we
deserved!"
    The ingratitude!  Hell, you didn't see Count von Count complaining after
swimming all the way from Hobart for the Hard Korps, or Bjorn Dork, who walked
all the way from North Carolina.  Why, Hand spent days ruining a stomach
conditioned to the delicate sashimi snacks at his honorable place of
employment touring the grease traps of Rt. 28 in search of the ideal venue for
the on-in.  The grease on the mozzarella sticks was just as tasty as on the
pork shoulder at Good Friends, where we brought our own panther pee.  Rambo
wants another hash cash bash three months after the greatest 1000th PHHH
celebration in world history?  Hah!  Better start recruiting a few more morons
to show up a second time, because right now, as keeper of the hash sock, I
hold the PHHH in debt bondage.  No more on-ins in comfy, heated confines with
servants waiting on us hand and foot--at least, not til next year, or you
wankers buy those wifebeaters.

Next up: Geezer, it's unreliably reported.  Count, you keep count of future
sets.