PRINCETON HHH HASH 614.4

Date: July 5th, 1997
Weather: ideal for a hash - but then again, when isn't it?
Venue: Princeton loop #1b. - Dinky station, down to the lake, to the
institute woods, back to the Dinky station. 
Time: 53:35
Set By: kanaga?
Hashers: The Gerbils are Sick and Dying, Wendy Sullivan, Niles, Table Toes,
         242, and his coulsin Dave (who pissed in a cup on the way to the
	hash), a bunch of slickers from the city.
First to the cooler: Joe Burns 

          The Hash that Never Was - only a (non) hashstyle run.  

	The culture clash was evident from the start when a haggard 242
asked permission to run home for his hash shoes and it was granted. Shouts
of "BOOOORing"  filled the air from the lungs of the natives as the ever
patient Kanaga did his best to describe the situation before the hounds.
The hometown folks strolled through the marked trail as one would drive
through the suburban roads marked with a double solid line. Muddy NJ
hazardous goop as well as any scratchy nasties were carefully avoided by
the hare - preventing social suicide due to imperfect skin at the NYC
health club scene. 242 and cousin too, ventured only a few seconds off the
flour highway into the warm arms of the institute swamps - just to see
what it tasted like. Several regroups were called to bring the hounds
together - and likewise ignored, and surprise! we ended up at the Dinky
Station - just as we had been told - to drink..... water. Cultural faux
pas ensued as the Princeton hashers exhalted the costumary "shitty hash -
it REALLY sucked!" to make the visitors feel at home here in Princeton. 
The response was "you can go fuck yourself" - presumably their
corresponding salutation. Commom ground was found as the virtues of both
Midwestern and East Coast felatio were compared, debated and demonstrated. 
However, as the wayward urbanites regarded Dave's paltry token bit of
lower leg mud with contorted faces, reminiscent of the last summer
sanitation strike, the locals lemented the scarcity of blood. "Where was
the geezer, where were the thorns, the stinging nettles? we know they're
out there. These guys can't be real hashers - there's no stench, there's
no blood, there's not even any black, sulfurous mud. Good thing we got
eachother. Let's get out of here and go drink rasberry smoothies at
Wendy's!" Baffled at the dismal show of local hospitality, the visitors
lamented the poor hashing etiquette. "They don't drink beer, they don't
sing. These guy's can't be real hashers. Does hashing exist outside of NYC
anymore? Good thing we got each other." 

Next year, the rematch.... the 53rd anniversary.