PRINCETON HHH HASH #500.4 Date: April 30, 1995 Weather: Too Wet For Reptiles! Venue: Montessori School (corner of Great Road and Cherry Valley Rd. - Northwest to Weinstein's plowed field - South of Beden's Brook Country Club - back across Cherry Valley Rd. - Zig East to Great Road - Zag West to Province Line Road - ended on the rocks. Time: 2222222 PPPPPPPPPPPP MMMM MMMM !!! 222 222 PPPP PPPP MMMMM MMMMM !!!!! 2 222 PPPP PPPP MMMMMM MMMMMM !!!!! 222 PPPP PPPP MMMMMMMMMMMMMM !!!!! 222 PPPPPPPPPPPP MMMM MMM MMMM !!!!! 222 PPPP MMMM M MMMM !!! 222 PPPP MMMM MMMM !!! 222 PPPP MMMM MMMM ! 222 PPPP MMMM MMMM 222222222222222 PPPP MMMM MMMM o Set By: LRF Hashers: Delay Lllama, Geezer, The Madam, RoJo, 242, Milkman, RAWSEX, My Lips Are Seals, Throatwarbler Mangrove, Toxic Waste, Wrong Way, Ned the Boy, His Dad, BIG NUT!!!, Hand Solo, LFBB, Trash Can, Dry Martinez, Big Steve (Damion), In Up To His Waist, Safe Sweats, Rob Krebs, Ron HEAD FIRST Roessler, Bill Hyncik and Wacko the Humbled. Visitors: The Immortal Legend/Guru/Founder Joe "Hop-a-along" Burns, The Inimitable Bootlicker Dr. No Name, The Unfathomable Village Idiot and his Trusty Sidekick, Email, He of the Pseudonym - Mr. Fluffy New Boots: Margaret "Dybvig's friend" Danton The Humbling of Sir Wacko the Vain For the five hundredth odd time in the last fifteen odd years that odd lot of individuals, the self-proclaimed, "Princeton Hash House Harriers", once again infiltrated the Stevenson Hall parking lot as they have done ever since October 10, 1979, when so prodded by the one and only, Founder/Guru/Archetype/Creator Joe "Hop-along" Burns. These no-life sods form the bastion of the modern evolutionary theory that "Darwin was wrong", that evolution was not the result of the survival of the fittest but rather should be viewed as the result of large conglomerates of bacteria getting together each week to run through the woods in search of beer. Present at this momentous event/celebration were some of the PHHH's foremost evolutionary scientists headed by the Founder/Guru/Archetype/Creator himself, who began his research many years ago in the jungles of Medan, Malaysia before continuing stateside on the PU campus. Other luminaries included Dr. No Name, professor and mystical wizard - sorcerer of police, homeowner and child - that rare individual who tiptoes the fine line between pedagogy and pederasty with such delicacy and ineptitude that it makes your heart wail like a police escort out of town; the Village Idiot - a rare mythical figure who appears magically from time to time spewing indecipherable verbiage and sometimes just plain spewing; The Village Idiot's trusty sidekick, Email, (he placed); and finally the legendary Mr. Fluffy, feared throughout land, air and sea for jokes so tasteless they can sear the buds right off your tongue. The festivities began promptly at noon. The customary keynote address was offered by the hare (the LRF) along with a map of the trail and the location of the beer stash which the Founder/Guru/Arch etc. etc. promptly ripped up ("We don't need no stinkin' hashs maps") and then carefully placed in his pocket. (It didn't help.) There was the sale of T-shirts, the piling into the vans, the piling on of abuse, the group photo-ops, and then the trek began, as the bacteria swarmed into the environs of the Montessori school like an amoeba in heat. With thirty odd people, picking up the trail should have been little problem, but with thirty *odd* people, it was often impossible. In fact, it was Toxic Waste, sauntering up to the first check mark at his legendary crawl, rusty from years wasted playing with his kids, who saved the day by uncovering the hidden "H" mark that pointed across the famous Weinstein field of microdots to the enormous haystack beyond. At this point, the hash divided into three groups. Those who run. Those who walk. And Big Steve. We're still not quite sure exactly what it is Big Steve is doing, but the water bottle appears to be indispensable. The walkers soon overtook Big Steve and together they set out on a bold initiative - shortcutting miraculously to a lone mark in the middle of a rock garden - aided by Hop-along's uncanny sixth sense for the trail and Toxic Waste's well honed seventh sense to ignore the rantings of a clearly demented Wacko (who constantly heard distant cries of "On On" coming from the wrong direction). The SCB's arrived just in time to rescue a floundering frustrated pack. A hop, skip and a smash your shin on a rock and the beer was uncovered on the cliffs next to Province Line Road after slightly more than an hour of wet wandering. Then came twenty minutes of cold and wet as all waited for the hopelessly disoriented Wacko to gather his wits (all three of 'em) and find the end. ("I know where it ends, I just don't know where I am!") Unfortunately, Wacko had lured our Founder/Guru/Archetype/Creator away with him after both couldn't have been more than a hundred feet away from the On In when the first bugle cry was sounded by Wrong Way. The scale of Wacko's ineptitude was epic, and might never be matched now that Postage Paid has turned in his sneakers. However, it did allow Wacko and Joe to keep moving while everyone else was freezing their butts off waiting for the vans. The apres at Good Friends was wonderfully true to the Princeton HHH's longstanding tradition -- an excellent example of why we have ascended without peer to claim the coveted title of "World's Lamest". Two long-suffering down-downs, one whining rendition of the Wild West show, and a few weak undistinguished attempts at raunchy jokes while we enjoyed some fairly decent Chinese food. No condom inflating, foulmouthed, cigar-smoking, desperados from Reading. No tactless Phillie Hashers whipping out their willies. No Fifi Lavoisseur to titillate the likes of Helen's Organ. Instead, the evening was passed with genuine camaraderie and some rather sickening self-congratulation as we recounted some of the more memorable moments of our personal hash lore. Today's young brood felt blessed to experience the likes of Dr. No and Hop-along firsthand, remarking in awe how their real-life personas not only match their legends but, indeed, oftentimes surpass them. Can't wait for 550. Future Hashes: #505.4 May 7, 1995, Road Jaundice sets #506.4 May 14, 1995, 242 sets #507.4 May 21, 1995, Village Idiot sets in South Jersey #508.4 Saturday, May 27, 1995, The Warbler sets the Reunions Hash at a special time -- 10AM