PHHH Hash (that's redundant) #696.4 Date: Hanuary 17, 1999 Weather: Hard, Wet, and Slick Venue: Duke Island State Park and environs Time: Give or take 2 hours for most lost, about 3:20 for one most trailed Set By: Jan Solo Hashers: Ju-icy, Road Jaundice, Excremental Earning/Urges, Amanda Bear, Discumfit, Wacko, Table Toed, His Mother's Joy, Hey YOU! Paully, Impatient Pete (a non-writer), and a virgin. Virgin: Mike, Hey YOU! Paully's work buddy. Despite the fact that it was his birthday, Mike failed to hash in his suit. But what better way to celebrate one's dob than to unbecum a virgin. Cyclist: A blonde woman was washing her very nice, white front and back ends in Lot A. Someone said she seemed to be a bimbo (Juicy will remain nameless-but if you ask me I'll tell you who thought this). Smirking Pete thought the thoughtful one just plain jealous. Paully was zealous and would never shirk some company so an effort was made for her to join us (or at least Paully). She didn't have running shoes and was planning on cycling. He asked where she kept her cycle, which she also didn't have. She said she would think about him while she cycles - he rendered similar comment; she melted. His only goal: to make both genders equal in the hound tally. But there were plenty of dogs. Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies: The Hash That Could A little ride to Raritan (grounds rarely stomped by the PHHH) and an hour's light leeway saw a bright group of able bodies, minus one left hand. A Vitamin B-piss colored oval coagulation (not quite a slurry, more like a thick roux) of flour, carpenter's chalk, and moisture had lain on the wet macadam for some duration, hence the gelatinous texture. Lo and bewholed! A note was affixed to the aerial and wiper blade. It said something. We chewed some shit and spit at the virgin. The hash had commenced. Hashers sprawled in an erratic fashion but far from the random crowd. One last invite to Blondie, she wanted to but did not. She blew Paully a kiss and wished him luck. He caught it and breathed it in. I think he swallowed. Rojo got some flour first, then check. The sprawling spread in the hunt for an on-on. Almost all options exhausted, an ice crossing was in order. Paully Yo'd over the solid mass, which was very thick but not slick. Over yonder, a grass field strewn with frozen slush was so slippery that Hey You! Paully fell heels even with head and back. Undaunted, he rose agin and found a check, then he beckoned the others. They came. They scampered. Paully belched and looked relieved. Oh here comes Joy from a complete other direction - one coated in asphalt. He joins our dismay. Then we get it on - back from whence he came - through a residential area with a school and playgrounds. And then more asphalted streets. Hey, chex, marks, chex, sometimes long gaps, a couple falsies but generally followable. Generally that is, until we found ourselves in the grasp of a icy 4 rail train convergence. Table was first to new flour - it pointed under the tracks to the other side. Hashers were all over. The arrow was not true. The hashers were all over and back again. There was much discussion. Paully had back check on his brain and found the trail off a few marks back. Gullible Pete and Virgin Mike joined Paully and told him that they were here already. Paully was not convinced. Mike and Pete joined the others - EVENTUALLY. A break was made back to the cars after more endecision insued. Paully got all the way back to Somerset and Old York Road and finally asked a family washing their beautifully red front and back ends in the driveway. "Did you guys see a bunch of runners?" The young, handsome patriarch of this clan replied, "a while ago they all went up there" {pointed where I had just come down}. Paully was now fairly convinced that he had NO-NO'd! So he went ON-ON. Found nobody. But knew that all options had not been exhausted. He hashed back to the RR and went far left, beyond the must-be false pointer. He got up some good speed and hit a patch of ice. Hey YOU! Paully fell the second time. He got up and continued. To his surprise and glee he did see a freak'n check. Then two roux, followed by another check. ON-ON! he wailed. Realizing the other's have failed to have trailed {actually they were celebrating} ,on the RR he hashed, but no more marks. He went back and hashed his way up the railcut to a residential area which quickly turned industrial. The trail tiptoed along the high cut of the railroad and led almost out to 202 through Fisher Scientific. But alas, an "F" at the foot of a security guard. I kindly explained how I got on his property. He calmly told me to run out another way. I became enraged but kept cool, convincing him that I had to go back to the trax. He thought my car was in Hightstown, perhaps he pitied me for other reasons. Enough of that 3rd person shit. I should have asked him the quickest way the Duke Island. But I was on the off-white stuff and Raritan to go. Onward I trudged - sparse marx now but I was in my element. Across from Fisher is the old GE complex - a drilled many a rock well over there. It had to go over that way across 202, more RR, the 4H club and North Branch Park - I was right. But out of flour. And losing light. I ran on 202 hoping to be picked up. I got to a pizza joint to check the scores - Atlanta won in freak'n OT. Go Broncos! I down-downed a free water (no one would sing to me though - not even chant. They just glared. I worked my way the Raritan train station and found a lump of flour - remarkably like that used by the Solo setter (he is Irish too, no?). On back along Somerset Street. Hey, here comes Chauffeur Pete. He tells me I better hurry up because they lock up at sunset. I convinced him to give me a lift. He road me back to the cars too. Solo said that the flour at the Raritan Station was not his. Yeah right. He was shocked I had gotten where I had gotten. He then told me I was supposed to do a 180-degree turn on flour behind the bathrooms of the park and that would lead me EVENTUALLY back to Parking Lot A. A true A-A huh? Apparently, Chris the Air-Forced Doll had come in tails and offered home brew. Thanks for waiting up for me! I am told that football playing and listening occurred. Then someone noticed I was missing. Then the ranger was enraged that we were still around. He pointed to the sun and made a sunsetting sign with his body. It was very sensual. Solo communicated to him. It was very eventual. The Ranger had been listening to the whole hash turmoil on his ham (radio). He consoled Solo, and put out an APB for several 5-pound bags of flour. We haven't heard the last of them I'm sure. I wolfed down a wed dog and two potato chips - hence equalizing calories in with those lost. Threw another dog in my trunk for Monday's Flyers game - I'll walk him later. Powerless Pete needed a jump (don't we all). His battery was drained from all the football action. He was charged and ran in to me on the way home. See you next Sunday - no football! Regular time. Hopefully we'll be done in time for the All-Maddening Team! Good hash, par apres - but don't take my word for it.