PRINCETON HHH HASH #873.4


Date: March 24, 2002
Venue: Small parking lot on Quakerbridge Rd by Canal
Weather: Springtime for Geezer
Hare: Geezer
Hounds: Hey YO! Paully, Juicy, Weepee, Natural Born Lesbian, Hand Solo, Alison Croke, Nonsensei, 
Pyroman, Little Blue Butt, Speedbumps, Llloda

"Valerie Lied"

"Hi Val, are you hashing tomorrow?"
"Yup, the 'Weezer' is setting.  Are you coming, Alison?"
"Yeah, he's pretty funny for an old fart.  Is it in Mercer?"
"No, we're starting from the parking lot by the Canal on Quakerbridge.  It's a nice area."
"Are you sure? I mean, I don't want to have to swim the Canal. . ."
"Don't worry, Geezer would never do something like that.  We'll probably end up in the 
Institute woods.  It'll be fun."
Twenty-four hours later, Alison was doing a slow burn as she picked her way through shiggy 
with 2-inch thorns.  Since the moment 5 minutes into the hash where Juicy had warned her not 
to follow Hand Solo, Alison had stayed on trail and suffered the consequences of one of 
Geezer's more inspired sets.  The hounds had dodged the buckshot of Clem's drunken buddies 
in the Princeton Rod and Gun Club, outrun the wild boar in the floodplain by the Stony Brook, 
crossed a 50-foot gorge on a rotting sapling over the Brook, sprinted across the back yard of 
Richard Pashtun's brother, and now were picking their way through Princeton's old growth forest.
"Valerie lied," she grumbled as Geezer pointed out to Weapea a pileated woodpecker family 
having lunch on a 300-year-old sycamore.
"Say what?"  Owipuy turned and smiled, for Alison was plainly not in Junior League form.  Her 
shoes resembled black cinder blocks, her tights looked like something Xena might wear, and the 
branch running through her hair clashed with her lipstick.  "Shucks, look at it this
way: a hash like this is a sort of coming-of-age, an initiation for a young woman."
"I can think of something better for that."
"Hmm," said Wypii, wondering what she was referring to.
After another 20 minutes in which they had escaped the Nazgul recrossing the Stony Brook and 
narrowly avoided a fusillade from the Revolutionary War re-enactors at Princeton Battlefield, 
Alison was feeling somewhat better, Geezer's cheap beer reviving her spirits. That is, until 
he and the hash conferred upon her a decidedly uncool name.
"When do you think Weezer will name me, Val?"
"Oh, after you keep showing up for 6 months.  It takes him forever, but it should be pretty 
good.  Look at what I and Llloda got."

    Valerie Lied, indeed. . .