Non HashTrash #2067 or 8 or 9
57 brave non-hashers didn’t turn up at someone’s place, for what turned out to be the non-hash event of the year. Upon arrival we found non-hare Prick had gone all out with a team of masseuses busily preparing benches for a quick rub down. Massages over, the venerable non-hare led us down the drive, where he explained the trail had not been marked in chalk, flour or gold-plated toilet paper. Amid a cry of OnOn we didn’t set off. At the first corner we found the non-hare had not provided a piss-stop of refreshing cold Coronas. Nor had he provided any Virus Vodka, which could have made up an interesting CoronaVirus beveridge. We then failed to proceed, with Screw complaining his knee was not sore. Delicious claimed her knee was likewise not sore, and even old Knicker didn’t do a highkick with his non dodgy old leg. Fork didn’t quite run a sprint, and Hooker failed to get lost, not helped by Lassie, who claimed to not know the way. Running late, Tonguer failed to appear, but Snot did, having not picked up Blurry for a non-attempt to flee S.A.’s rigid border patrols. Golly didn’t find any non-false trails, and Corgi was quick to not find any either. A large group of nattering harriettes did not gossip, and the rest of the blokes didn’t short cut, not following Zorro to the nearest non-open pub. Eventually, we all didn’t wander back to Prick’s abode, where we weren’t at all surprised to find a team of white-coated silver service waiters not serving marvelously decadent hors d’oeuvres.
We didn’t gather around the portable bar not staffed by red-coated barmen, serving non-drinks of any description. Some of our Harriettes nearly suggested said barmen were not wearing enough clothes on such a chilly night.
Suddenly the non-monkee called for a square, not having a circle. The NonMonk likewise didn’t have a run report, a hare downdown, or any charges. No jokes were told, and no-one said anything. The non-GM had no announcements, and several members fell asleep.
The mob was not surprised then, to hear the non-hare call for quiet, as he didn’t wave his arm in the direction of a vast buffet of fillet steak, lobster, and a full menu of ready vegs and salads, meats and fishes, pastas and various sauces, served by voluptuous serving wenches. All of which wasn’t there, and therefore not paid for from his own vastly deep pockets.
After not indulging in such a feast, we non-hashers settled in for a session of non drinks not served by the non-barmen, until 11.00pm didn’t roll around, and the hare gleefully told us all a fleet of stretched limousines were not waiting to drive us all home.
Once home, I fell into an immediate deep-sleep, didn’t snore once, and failed to have a throbbing headache in the morning.
All in all at terrible hash non-night
See ya, Pensch.
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Well what a week it has been! So many liberties shutting everything non essential down. I like all hashers across the world was extremely upset, yet understanding, when MH3 held its last run for some time last week.
Having said that I emailed all of the applicable applicants in my email list and decided to rebel against the decision and hold a virus rebel hash anyways. Well all of the recipients on the email list turned up and what a great evening it was.
For the fist time ever, held the run from my kitchen. At precisely 608pm I called everyone to attention and explained the trail markings etcetera along with the usual puns, short, no hills, mud or water on the trail. I laughed because I called bullshit on that one. I’ve never set a trail without some surprise!
Off I went and it was not long before I found a check, leading me all the way to the coffee table before finding it was a false trail. On back I went, finding the right trail leading me to bedroom 2. I thought at one stage I was on a run set be Delicious because I passed through a downpour of rain in the bathroom and crossed a water trap bathtub before moving onto the main bedroom. Stuffed from the run I took a quick nap before moving onto the courtyard. The jungle caused by the owner not weeding the garden was like crossing a forest and getting onto dark I realised I didn’t bring a torch.
I heard the familiar “on on” call thankfully knowing I was on trail and finally found an on home taking me back to the kitchen.
Back home and not finding the familiar piss truck, I reached into the fridge and pulled out a coldie. Pensioner being absent I also took the money for the night crossing off the attendees.
Some pretty funny conversations and stories from the week were told but I was rudely interrupted by not Mango calling the member to form a circle.
Not Tarzan got me up for a drink for being the front running bastard and last home. Charges were also given to JCF for not wearing hash attire and me for chatting in the circle. I winged and whined dictating I was not Streaker but not Tarzan being monk wins the argument every time.
Executive Lunch will be in the courtyard for those interested, just scratch around the fridge and see what you can find.
Dinner was good, grilled cheese on toast. As usual no desert which again caused an argument, I had to laugh, again.
As the evening and alcohol continued to flow I can’t remember what else happened.
Until next week on on and enjoy your isolation!
On On
JCF
