PHHH #990.9 

Date: Sunday, May 30, 2004 

Place: 87 Prospect

What:  Reunions Hash

Weather: Sunny cicadan

Hare: Wheapea

Hounds: Skaar Tissue, Discomfort, Jan Kaiser, Brain Injury Volunteer, Hey YO! Paully,
Soft Bottom, Bruce Hancock, Ed Zysik, Polish Twin C, Jimmy Ruckfutgers, Tim Edmunds,
Premature Graduation, Bjorn Dork, Salsa Bitch


    Not a bad turn out this year-- certainly better than last year, where Lady Macbeth's 
Family and Bjorn's father couldn't help the pitifully few hashers finish the spread 
Oieepee put on.  The trail, limited to the Princeton environs couldn't leave much to the 
imagination.  Do we go clockwise around campus or counterclockwise?  Counterclockwise 
it is!  Despite the no-brainer of a trail, several hashers did end up losing the pack, 
with HYP and Tim making notable late rejoinders at the on-in (I thought we had a name 
for Tim by now-- wasn't he Chest-Deep or Iceburg Lettuce or something?).  High points 
included a trespass through the soon-to-be-finished library construction site, and... 
well... I guess that was the only high point.  Oh, the pack did make the acquaintance 
of a distinguished reasearcher-jogger out by the Institute-- who happened to have hashed 
a few times in England.  Will this gentleman try to elbow Geezer out of his spot as 
PHH's elder statesman?  Only the summer season shall tell.  The on-in included an 
excellent salsa that the hare made himself.  Numerous requests for the recipe were 
made.  Salsa Bitch made a few new friends, and regaled the group with his tales of a 
semmester spent trying to make it as a Sherpa on Everest.  A no lesser feat was his 
appearance on the hash itself, on the Sunday morning after a serious Reunion Bachanaal 
(similar props to the Runners--Bruce and Ed, BIV, the New Brunswick Crowd, and I 
suspect Scar Tissue-- back for a visit from Harvard Sucks!).  In fact, was anyone not 
hung-over that morning (and yes, I know Discomfort ran with us)?  Numerous Jumbo hotdogs 
and even slabs of a Christmas sausage were grilled and eaten with relish (the adverb?) 
at the Gazeebo overlooking the soccer fields.  A mass orgy of cicadas was created out 
of/in PTC's shoes by unnamed hounds, and fun was had by all.

   After the hash a few unrealizing souls braved sure death by the Wife of Geezer, and 
tried to visit him in his house where he lay nursing a pulled/torn? Brad Pitt tendon.  
Oipee wisely held to the back of the group as we pushed into the kitchen.  I suspect 
only the presence of Discomfort saved myself and PG, and Geezer was in fact allowed to 
see us (where we waited in the kitchen-- on orders not to step a foot further into the 
house; and ladies and gentlemen, PG who actually has gone through Marine Boot Camp would 
agree with me that those orders were the kind at which mortals quake).