PRINCETON HHH HASH #691.4 Date: December 13, 1998 Weather: Drought-like Venue: Cold Soil / Blackwells Rd./Rosedale Park Time: 1:10 Set By: The Cuban Assassin Hashers: LLYoda, Rubber Alan, Tropical Depression, A Joy to His Mother,Ice Blue Balls, Tree, Darby, Oui!Pee!, Uranus Williams, Table Toes, Hand Solo, Hey Yo! Paully!, Prickly Pear Juice Rookies: Eric, Amanda Jones Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies: When family obligations obliged our stalwart pal Wacko to miss the hash this week (in spite of his recent resurgence as an active member of the International Brotherhood of Hashers and Tool-Die Machinists) I thought I would visit him and regale him of his missed opportunity to run a hash set by the ever mysterious Cuban Assassin, who apparently left the save confines of the Belle Meade Inn for an afternoon to inflict pain and suffering upon the PHHH. So off I went to where I can usually find him when he can’t make it to a hash - as always, in the backroom of the Double Cross Arrow Child Care Center, sitting amidst an array of seasonal PC holiday decorations - candy canes in Geezer’s Blood Red, pine trees in Shiggy Green, and dradles in Carnegie Lake Blue. As is typical, Wacko was tossing back milk and cookies with a mob of young hashers-in-training about him, listening attentively to his philosophical discourse on "The Effect of a Full Moon on the Mooning Activity of Hashers, or If a Hasher Moons in the Woods and Only a Blind Man is There to See It, Did the Mooning Actually Happen?" Seeing me, Wacko wiped his milk moustache off his upper lip - as if he was posing for one of those Milk is Good ads (or hoping to make points with Yasmine Bleeth so she would agree to star in his next feature film) - and had me sit down to tell his disinterested mob of youngsters of the day’s shiggified events. "Tell me" he said, "nay, tell us all a tall tale of the hash and the many miles of shiggy that the Assassin took you through." Well, in spite of Rojo’s absence due to her continued international diplomatic work negotiating the final surrender of the Khmer Rouge coupled with her Sex Shop Tour of Thailand with AG Zaire, as well as the Pyro Man’s absence - obviously lulled into a bucolic sleep by the serene landscape of BUTT-ful Bucks County, a surprisingly large group of hashers - including 2 rookies - showed up to risk the travails of an Assassin hash and/or hoping to catch a glimpse of the mysterious Cuban. The Geezer led all to the start near Terahune Orchards, directions to which apparently were transmitted to him "in code" by the Assassin. The Aged One’s loose translation of the Cuban’s code noted the reappearance of Zaire’s ever dangerous "Yo-Yo of Death" - once again mocked by the unsuspecting hashers as the "Yo-Yo of Incredibly Mild Annoyance" as well as the reported pattern of non-check-check marks to further confuse the easily confused warren of hashers. With this misinformation provided to the new boots, etc., off the hashers went looking for said marks, winding their way down a lovely country lane and into the dark reaches of a forest primeval the likes of which can only be found in the overpopulated regions of central new jersey. Upon emerging from these woods, the hashers were presented with a dash across the "Field of Leech-Like Prickers" - a field overgrown with briars and prickers that stuck to the legs, arms, shoes and the most private of private parts of hashers. "Ooh, sounds pretty scary" said Wacko, as the urchins squealed with horror. Well, like the Australian soldiers slaughtered at Galipoli, the hashers threw themselves into the fray, only to be taken down one by one from the excessive overgrowth upon their legs. Overheard coming through the field of leeches: "Oww, I hate it when they get caught between my legs" "Oww, I’ve got some on my crotch", "Oh yea, that’s nothing compared to having them jump up your shorts to stick to other parts of your body." After surviving the Field of Prick - it was back into the woods, passing checkmarks dropped on dead birds (again the dead gooser points to the true trail) and check marks set around piles of dead bones (possibly surreptitiously enhanced by Joy’s goulish, undertakerish tendencies), across the cross-continental pipeline, and past the first sighting, or possibly third, depending on your eye-sight, of the Geezer-Van - into the infamous "new territory" of Rosedale Park and the dreaded Yo-Yo of Incredibly Mild Annoyance. All hashers, save one silly soul (who shall go nameless to protect the innocent - A Joy to His Mother) deciphered the yo-yo-like markings and looped back to the on-in at the geezer van after a quick jaunt through the rolling hills of Rosedale. At the On-In, Juicy’s legs were attacked by a ravenous band of hashers who mistook the leech-prickers covering her legs for food, but luckily for her left her legs, picked clean of the leach-like flora. Interestingly, Tropical Depression’s legs did a Geezer impression and bled like only a hasher overdosing on aspirin can. Also, one of the rookies - Amanda Jones - was at first mistaken for the infamous "Carol" who has been lurking near the PHHH website for some time, was discovered to actually be a bastard child of the Geezer, bringing the PHHH another Jones to confuse the records with. The Geezer led a down-down for the rookies and another for Uranus to commemorate her 50th (Get a Life) Hash - although she did not reach 50 in the 51 or so weeks it took the Get a Life poster children - Delay Lllama and Joy to his Mother to reach such a mark of futility. Meanwhile, silly soul Joy kept running around the lake, caught in the yo-yo of increasing annoyance. We then listened to Geezer’s wireless ("who needs them new fangled computer chips - vacuum tubes have always worked just fine for me") as Bobby Thompson hit a remarkable fourth quarter home-run to defeat the Denver Broncos (or something like that). All of a sudden all we could hear was the geezer was running around like a goose with its head cut off yelling "The Giants won the pennant, the Giants won the pennant!!!" About this time Joy finally was able to break away from the Yo- Yo and sauntered up from his little jaunt around the lake. Finally, after a naming ceremony for LLYoda - seeing as we don’t have any double or triple L-ed hashers now that the Lllama has made his way to the west (although rumor has it that there is photographic evidence of the Lllama’s demise after taking a wrong turn and perishing in the high Andes. Photographic proof however remains to be independently confirmed). Our new small Spanish friend LLYoda (who is shorter even than Juicy) with the large gray hood of a wize Jedi Ke-nig-it, made a mockery of her naming ceremony, as seems now to be the case at the Rosedale parking area, which resulted in her attempt to clean the geezer van by pouring her beer over her head onto the geezer van. Amazingly, the van did not melt away, despite the loss of a coat of dirt that might have been holding the door together. A quick word to foreign visitors - when pouring beer over your head, it should come spilling down UPON your head, not onto large brown metal objects that resemble a means of transportation behind you. Then again,given the quality of so- called beer that was at the on-in, doing so may have saved LLYoda from permanent chemical scarring on her scalp. "Well, as long as something was made a mockery of," said wacko, as his restless crowd of urchins started clamoring for Wacko to lead them in a rendition of Swing Lo Sweet Chariot, "But, I must go and entertain this wild bunch of urchins." So I bid farewell to the Wacko as he tried to teach the yung’uns’ the complicated hand movements to swing lo. I think I heard him say as I was leaving "Yes, it is kind of like the itsy bitsy spider song"