PRINCETON HHH HASHES #855.4, 856.4

Date: November 18, 2001

Weather: not much

Venue: Terhunes-->Woods-->Radio Towerland-->Rosedale Park
Set: A. G. Zaire
Time: 0:50
Hashers:    Rojo,  LLLoda, Wee-P, Nonsensei, Wacko, Hey Yo! 
Paully, Winkie's Binky, Spaghettiboy-R-D, Atomic Duck, 
I forget the others, but they are in the Records
Rookies: Black Death Rugby, Binky's cousin

Date: November 25, 2001
Weather: not at all
Venue: Community Park Ollie North --> Church --> Deer 
       Necropolis---> Great Road---> CPN
Set: Geezer
Time: 1:45
Hashers:    Rojo, Throatwarbler Mangrove, LLLoda, Wee-P, 
Hey Yo! Paully, Winkie's Slinky Binky, Juicy, Dummer, Atomic Duck, 
Alan Braun, Janani Sreenivasan, Tropical Depression, Ice Blue 
Balls, Dancin' Fool
Rookie: Ex Utero
Descriptions, Polemics, and Lies:


What Was That Strange White Powder, Lone Ranger? Chapter 4

..... and then, as they turned to ride North, 100,000 really 
pissed off Pashtuns came riding right at them. "We better ride 
South, Tonto," said the Lone Ranger.  "Yes, Kemosabe," replied 
his faithful companion, "we ride South." And just then, out of 
the South came 150,000 demoralized formerly brave Talib warriors, 
and the Lone Ranger said, "I guess we've had it, Tonto."

And Tonto replied.......with

        Another Tale from the Belle Meade Inn

I guess it was the ramp. I was passing the Belle Meade Inn about 
4 am, musing on its past glories, and then I saw the ramp. I can 
understand all sorts of handicapped access devices at the BMI- 
slings for immense bellies, and translators for languages not 
spoken in centuries anywhere else, for example, but a ramp? 
Impossible, unless..... There were no lights, but you can never 
see them even when He's there. So I pulled in past the graveyard, 
forced open one of the boarded up doors, and made my way downstairs 
in the dark. There had been rumors, denied of course, so I was 
scarcely prepared for what I finally saw in the dimly lit basement. 
There was Jorge, in his immaculate tuxedo behind the bar, and Rojo, 
of course, in her fishnet stockings and little else. The Cuban 
Assassin leaned against the wall in one corner, the long scar across 
the top of his bald head throbbing. In the other corner, his chair 
surrounded by an immense pile of discarded Stegmeiers, sat Zaire, 
scarcely diminished by his hideous injuries. I snatched a Steg from 
the tray as Jorge replenished his master's cup, and settled down 
against the wall. Zaire was clearly in a bad mood and only barely 
tolerating my presence. "Jesus H. Christ on a Moped, these guys are 
a high-maintenance group of pitiful pissants," he said, as he hurled 
his empty Steg bottle at the retreating Jorge, "I set one week and 
they can't deal with that. Then they can't find another setter and 
have to trot out the Geezer. That guy is older than dirt, and clearly 
past it; can't they come up with anyone else? Then they complain when 
he uses moss-colored chalk to mark the trees. Rather clever, I 
thought.  I think it's harder dealing with the PH3 than fighting with 
the Taliban. it's certainly tougher than fighting against the Taliban, 
and I ought to know."  The Assassin smiled his terrible smile in 
response, and I sunk a little lower against the wall, remembering what 
happened to the dwarf, and hoping for invisibility.

"Still, that little kid Katrina was cute." Zaire continued, "But then 
she ought to be!" Zaire winked at Rojo and rocked in his chair. A 
terrible sound that might have been a laugh came from his corner. Rojo 
looked upset, and the lights went out. The room spun as I blacked out. 
In the morning the basement of the Inn was empty.

I found my way out, tripping over a single empty Steg as I left.

The ramp was gone.