Date:    February 6, 2000
Weather: Schwhite
Venue:   Sauerlands Quarry
Time:    1:33 for the pack, 2:30 for Hand Solo, 2:45 for Wacko, and 2
something for Tabletoes
Set By:  Schwa! and Rambo
Hashers: Geezer, Rojo, Hey Yo Paully, Juicy, Uranus, Hand Solo, Wacko
         Discomfort, Tropical Depression, Llloda, Wrong Way, Latecomer,
         Rubber Alan, Throat Deep, Squirrel Droppings, Uranus
Williams,          Minor minor minor minor Tom the Army Guy, Grant
(Braveheart          would be fine, Bluebutt would not) Wallace, Tomoko
(I'm quite           satisfied with my name, thank you) Yokoi, Weepee,
Tabletoes,
         Wil Innis, Chris Brander, Kim Regan
Rookies: Pam Myers, Anne Foss


SCHWABERRY SHORTCAKE'S FIRST SET


        The sun rose in a cloudless sky over the tidy cottages of central New
Jersey, sending a warm light through the windows of a brightly decorated
bedroom.  Buried under her green calico quilt, Schwaberry Shortcake
opened one eye, then two.  Suddenly, she remembered: today she would
make her first set!  In a trice, she hopped out of bed and clapped her
hands in delight.  "What a nice day!" she exclaimed, looking over a lawn
of downy snow.  "We're going to have so much fun!"  Just then, someone
pressed a nose to the window.  "Oh Sparkle, there you are.  Are you
going to help?"  The magic blue unicorn grinned and nodd
        "OUIPEE!"
        "What?"
        "I didn't come all the way from Charlottesville to sleep in Geezer's
garage and set the Hymenopterous Hash for this drivel.  Give me a
write-up with snow so cold Iced Blue Balls stayed home, armed guards
gave Wacko the Green Mile, and an ON-in they'll be talking about at the
Belle Mead Inn when Schwa!'s a grandmother!"
        "Oh, right, hang on. . ."


RAMBO THE BARBARIAN in THE SET OF RED SCHWANYA


        The bitter wind blew straight out of the frozen wastes beyond the Great
Lakes, where some say a Windy City has towers taller than any other and
a quiet people live by the shore.  But it was not loud enough to obscure
the argument taking place between the Nubian warrior and the
flame-haired maiden.
        "Curse you, Schwanya, of course they'll go into the quarry!  These are
hashers, not mortals.  Look at Geezer, by the time he climbs out of the
snowfields, he'd sell his first-born to scale a thousand feet of
cliffs."
        "I'll not have it, Rambo, the vultures and eagles look too hungry to
leave my mentor to their tender mercies.  Besides, you're not fit enough
to set a trail down there."
        "Wench!  Men have died by my hand for less!  You'll be a virgin no more
by the time we're done!"
        "Back off, Virginian, or face the sting of my sword!"
        "Ha! That?  A mere w. epee--"
        With two flicks Rambo's pants became cutoffs and Red Schwanya was
laughing merrily from the safety of a high crag.
        "Hellcat! By Crom. . ."
        "Enough, Rambo, set a trail down below if you must, I'll set a false
one around the edge and meet you on the far side."
        While Rambo descended into the chasm, Schwanya erased the marks at the
edge and headed up the road.
        Sometime later, the unlikely pair stood at the top of a mountain.  The
sun was drawing high but the heat from the encounter with the Sicilians
in the quarry had long faded.  Rambo, however, wanted more.
        "We go down the icy slope and set a checkback two thirds of the way
down.  The FRBs are sure to go all the way to the parking lot in search
of goodies."
        Schwanya cocked her head, finger to cheek, and rolled her eyes skyward.
        "Hmm, I have a better idea.  Why don't you go down the hill and I'll
set some more checkbacks up here."
        Rambo gave the pinkshorted warrior a hard look.
        "No tricks, Schwanya, I've slit prettier throats than yours."
        "Yada yada yada. Now, shoo."
        Rambo made his way down the slippery incline and had just made the last
of three dots when he heard a rumble and possibly a high-pitched
giggle.  The giant snowball caught him broadside, carrying his chiseled
body to the base of the peak.
        "Frigid icemaiden! You'll be spitting fire when I'm through!  No one
makes a fool of the Czar from Afar, the Nubian in Nubucks, the Swain of
Pain, the. . ."
        "Ouipee?"
        "What?"
        "I'm tired and have to write a lab report tonight.  Can we go home
now?"
        "Sure, hang on a second."
        Mister Sun tipped his hat as he dropped below the horizon, saying
goodnight once again to the good people of central New Jersey.  Back in
her cozy room, Schwaberry Shortcake took off her bonnet and thought of
the wonderful hash she had set.  And the picnic afterwards?  Goodness
gracious!  Everybody had their fill to eat and drink: Sparkle brought
potato chips and pork rinds, Bugles and spiced apple rings, and lots of
healthy drinks, full of cold nutritious vitamins and grain products. 
The boys had practiced making angels in the snow, everybody sang a song
and Sparkle gave rides to the tired late arrivals.
She couldn't wait to set another hash for her friends.
        
Next week: Hand Solo's 200th.