PRINCETON HHH HASH #878.4

Date: April 28, 2002

Location: Elm Road Codgers' Home to Stony Creek to PDS Park parking lot

Weather: 100% humidity

Time: 47 minutes and change

Hare: Nonsensei

Hounds: Geezer, Weepee, Dummer, Ouipee's Binky, Llloda, Scratching Ryan's Privates 

Hare at the Start: "There are two marks." 

Most original marks: Little Japanese flags using pink chalk on white trail markers



                            Another Tale from the Belle Mead Inn

The aged VW bus, one headlight out and the windshield missing, sputtered and smoked its 
way into the parking lot behind the darkened building off Route 206.  It was some time 
after 2 a.m. and scudding clouds obscured what remained of a waning moon.  A figure once 
tall but now shrunk with age fell out of the bus, cursed loudly, and hobbled to the back 
door of what had once been a garage, bordello, inn, and oncogenic mouse lab, but which 
now featured a crudely lettered sign reading "Pashto To Go" over the boarded front door.

The visitor worked a rusty key in the lock, swung the door open, and held out a watch 
cap while stepping aside.  After the Stegmaier's bottle whistled past, landing in the 
VW's passenger seat, Geezer limped down the steps into the basement.
"Geez Zair! What eez the mattair?  A leetle waterlogged?  Ha ha ha ha ha!"
"Haw haw haw!" echoed the dwarf until the Cuban Assassin clubbed him with another bottle.  
Geezer sat down heavily between the Assassin and Jorge, flipped open a Stegmaier's, took 
a long draught, and warily surveyed the detritus of what appeared to be a fortnight's 
regimen of beer and Vincent's potato chips.
"Jesus H. Christ in a miniskirt, who are you kidding with the storefront?  And how the 
hell do you expect him"--Geezer gestured toward the misshapen figure across the card 
table--"to catch Bin Laden on this diet?"
"Not so f-fast, G-G-Geezer," A. G. Zaire coughed up a furball before continuing, "not 
f-from a g-g-grandmaster who takes to w-water like a st-st-stone."
"Yayess," laughed the Assassin, "I hear you lost your sheet--and your shirt.  Would you 
like it back?"
And he waved a sodden ball of cloth in front of the old man. Geezer lunged but the 
Assassin was too fast.  He laughed again.
"Tell me, Geezair, the little Nip, she's pretty clevair, yayess? Hashair of the year, 
no?  Sets in an arroyo and Voom! a flash flood nearly sends you to the Chesapeake.  
Eemagine, the skeeny Guipy and his Binky have to pull you out.  Have you lost your 
cojones?  Maybe you should have made like Llloda, no, and driven with the hare to the 
other side?
"Now you go back to Basel, then Nova Scotia, maybe you sayonara--hee hee!  Rrrochho 
eez the happy housewife in ol' Virginny--HA!" he exclaimed at the thought of the Grand 
Dominatrix in such a state, "and Wacko eez stuck in the parent trap.  Hand Solo sets 
only 83 minutes, Nonsensei sets across a flood, even el loco Private Ryan gets wet.  
Pyroman and Speedbumps have Pepe Lopez chhello shots in store next week.  Eet's 
begeening to look like somebodies wants your crown."
Geezer stood up, knocking over the dwarf as he pushed back his chair.
"47 minutes, Assassin.  Jesus H. Christ in a kilt: she's not repeating, and look at 
you miserable bastards.  I sleep better than you three combined.  Somebody takes my 
place when hell freezes over."
And with that he stomped out, Stegmaier bottles escorting him in lazy arcing pinwheels 
to his left and right, drunken laughter and shouts of "Ice 9!" ringing in his ears.