PHHH #1104.9 Date: Wednesday, July 26, 2006 Weather: Tumid Time: 90 minutes Start: Long Hill Road, way off 518, to the North Princeton Economic Dead Zone of the Very, Very Nervous, fka the New Jersey Neuropsychiatric Institute Hares: Windbreaker and the unsinkable Molly Baker Hounds: Wacko, Hand Solo, Safe Sweats (Geezer, give him .2 for starting at Montgomery HS 5 minutes from the on-in), Ouypuy, Pizza Flesh, Full Moon Smiling, Hare in my Zipper, Queef, Itemized Seduction, Cliffdiver, Dave Colucci, Alex Fuller, Mike Hay (2nd hash, first last week), Chris Pilla (2nd hash, first last week), Scott Mildrum (2nd hash, first last week). Virgins: Bubbles aka Stfu of Summit HHH, Jesse Sloan, Kevin Henry, and Keeva Kase. Seen at the On-In: Harpreet Lost en route: Ouipee's sole First to Keg: Weepee Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies: Looking in at the Belle Meade Inn A. G. Zaire slammed his Stegmaier's 1857 on the table, sending five empties rattling onto the fetid basement floor, where they joined the rest of the better part of three cases. "Goddamit, Jorge, make those hamsters run faster! How else are we going to get power down here?" Jorge, loyal servant to Zaire and the Cuban Assassin for longer than all of Hand Solo's sets put together, flailed at the rodents racing in their wheels with a tiny whip, until his master's Commodore computer lit up. "That's better. Now. . ." Zaire hit some keys and twiddled his mouse until a fuzzy black and orange image filled an eighth of the 12-inch screen. "Geezer! Where the hell are you?" The Princeton Hash grandmaster appeared as a vague form on the sputtering Skype connection. "Oh, hello, Zaire, good to hear from you. Just back from Truro with a six of McCeol's Irish Red Ale. Have you tried it? It's been a whirlwind up here: the jazz festival in Halifax, lots of new artists, and now Susan wants me to help weed the gorse in the yard . . ." "Shut the fuck up!" The ugly red scar across Zaire's right eye flared; he took a Kapalabhati breath and composed himself. "It's obvious you haven't been paying attention. The Princeton Hash is back, in spades, if you count Rambo's recent appearance. Just Wednesday, 19 hounds showed up for a set by two bimbos who can barely draw a Wachspress Double Cross, and had the time of their young and miserable lives." "You don't say? Well, that'll blow over, you know how fickle students are." "Out of touch as usual, Professor Jones. The only student in town is Suicide Watch, and she's guarding your house from impromptu cookouts while sharpening the kitchen implements. No, these are another generation of extreme-sports 20-somethings, full of high hopes and hormones, lured by that temptress, Full Moon Smiling. She and the co-hare Baker, a Big Fragile Broken Bone if I ever saw one, have half the men in the new Hash Ghetto on Madison tramping across Hopewell and Montgomery Townships in search of beer and-" "Not Hopewell! Did they run into that foul Richard Pashtun (www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/805.4.txt) or Ossifer Todt (www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/1018.9.txt)?" "At ease, Geezer. The co-hare Windbreaker sent them east, not west, laying trail for pack animals through verdant forest floors and the backyards of more placid homeowners. Even the Conrail bulls didn't bother them, though getting to the tracks fractured the pack." Geezer could be seen wiping his brow on the flickering display. Another encounter with Pashtun and his shrew of a wife could lead to spontaneous oxidation of his Jazznights schemes (www.princeton.edu/~mjjr/Jazznights.html), if the Hopewell police cited the Hash a third time on their database. "Did they lose anyone?" "No, they all came together in a field behind Montgomery High School while Safe Sweats watched from the parking lot. Even Wacko couldn't believe it, because this rookie Keeva is bigger than Total Fucking Moron and Tropical Depression put together, and the other two virgins looked worse after 75 minutes of thrashing through shiggy than they did in the Beirut losers bracket Saturday night. "Now get this, Geezer. The hares rolled out a keg-of fermenting panther piss from said tournament, mind you-and the security guard at the abandoned nut house decided they were better behaved than the mutants and crystal-meth-cooking suburbanites who usually congregate there. Good thing she didn't see the kegstand contest that Wipi won." "Well, what are the chances we'll get these numbers again?" Zaire shook his head. "Grandmaster, my old friend, have I not always watched your back? Remember Aden in '60, Haiti in `18, Khartoum in `85? This Bubbles, she's not really a virgin, she's a chemist, and next week, she's setting in Roosevelt after regaling the others with topless tales of the Reading Hash. This could be the biggest turnout since Hopalong Joe Burns returned for the Anniversary (www.princetonol.com/groups/phhh/archive/1000.0000.txt). If you don't want Hey YO! Paully and company shouting out lewd names for these hopeless wankers, get your ass back in town."