PHHH Hash # 769.4: "But this Hash had such Promise!"
Date:  April 30, 2000
Weather:  or not bad, rather nice in fact, enough to make the poison ivy glow
Venue:  Parts of Chesterfield Township, somewhere west and maybe south of Fort Dix
Time:  TWO AND A HALF HOURS
Set by:  Rubber Alan
Hashers:   Tropical Depression, Ice Blue Balls, Table Toes, Rojo, Minor Minor Minor 
Minor Tom the Army Guy, Hey Yo! Paully, Juicy, Weipea, Discomfort, O. Binky (formerly 
"Rich"), Greg Bell, JohnPaulGeorge, and
Jenny Craig, aka Lisa Lisa and the Cult-Jam Force, aka Monica, aka Steve Lisa


Hash quitters: Geezer (tho' Binky and Ouipyy would have joined him if they could have 
made up their minds in time)


    Virgin turf (Wuypy: "Geezer, Has the Princeton Hash ever been down here before?" 
Geezer: "Who knows? Who cares?"), lovely shaded glades of beech trees and poison ivy, 
hash on a summer's day, a trail through New Jersey's own Grand Canyon (in another 60 
million years, but the hardened sediment is off to a very promising start), an on-in 
that surprised the hare: what more could a hasher ask for?  To put the
best spin on it, imagine Rubber Alan as young Herr Mozart, and Tropical Depression as 
Salieri:


TD: I know; it's outrageous.  Still, if the Hash doesn't like one's set one has to 
accept the fact gracefully.


RA: But what is it they don't like?


TD: Well, I can speak for the Geezer.  You made too many demands on the Hashers' minds.  
The poor wankers can't concentrate for more than an hour and you gave them two and a half.


RA: What did you think of it yourself?  Did you like it at all?


TD: I think it was marvelous.  Truly.


RA: It's the best hash yet set.  I know it!  Why didn't they approve?


TD: I think you overestimate our dear Princetonians, my friend.  Do you know you didn't 
even give them a good vegan option at the end so they knew what to eat?


    Yes, it was the neverending hash, where pitiful excuses about "Officer Fyfefield" 
forcing a six-mile set up and down a creek didn't wash with wankers whining, "When will 
we find the on-in?"  What's more, a perfectly good golf course, crying for a traverse, 
but instead there's Rubber and his red bitchin' Camaro, giving us a "shortcut" down a 
mile of pavement before everyone follows the stream to the headwaters somewhere near 
Deptford.
    As for the on-in, well of course Rubber was happy, he got a birthday cake with real 
whipped cream from real whipped cows.  And the carnivores were taken aback by Honest 
John the Used Car Dealer's hospitality: hot ham chunks from St. Looey, hamburgers from 
handselected Angus steers. . . Honest John even offered to whip up a fava bean compote 
for Ice Blue Balls, but why couldn't he have cooked it ahead of time?  And the 
basketball court--a nice touch, but the baskets were set for petite people, of which 
few--Juicy notwithstanding--were in attendance.  As for Geezer, he could have stayed 
the course, but do we need another endless loop of life-and-death right at the start.
    Such terrain, such weather, such cheap beer, such potential for greatness, but. . 
. . Well.  There it is.