Years have passed since Sr. Hot Nuts El Puta Nero first introduced the rabble to rotting mounds of piscine carrion on the First Annual Dead Fish Run. Since that time, others have taken up the baton and hared the Goldstream Hash . One of the steadier hares has been Deep Shit, who again took upon his broad and manly shoulders the responsibility of setting another hash. And once again, his hard work was enjoyed by all, despite his misgivings about adding new, virgin territory to the route. All his bowing, scraping and old-woman like worrying about how the peanut gallery would receive his innovative start simply dissipated like bad gas as the hounds loped off down the trail. Deep Shit should know by now that his trail is to be run; if any whiners want to make an issue, well f*** 'em. One is here to hash through mud, sweat and beers (especially the beers) and it's best not to worry about the delicate sensibilities of hashers. He should know that by now.
And hashing at Goldstream can be fun, what with the waterfalls, a fine Irish mist, big primal-looking trees and final-stage running with traffic on the highway. It was indeed a lucky happening for a large number of hashers that they were spotted following Homer back into town alongside the highway. Frantic cries of "on-back" rose over the traffic noise and brought the strays back to true trail.
Once again Shrink entertained the beer-check with his pantomime of birth, migration, spawning and death, although the boys were disappointed that the bearer of roe was not present to assist him. Hopes of sighting something other Shrink's butt in the water were brutally dashed, although those new to the VH3 were no doubt entranced and amused by his annual routine.
A spontaneous decision to just keep on going from the beer check and on into religion was made and Stoolie took over as RA because Double Hump was absent. Two new guys were introduced by Beaver Fever - one a visitor from Calgary - but their jokes were lame and they didn't seem to know how to drink beer. But we all know it's not the clay, but how one squeezes and molds it (metaphorically speaking, of course). The new guys are bound to pick up more acceptable social habits in the future with the right kind of training. BUB will have to start bringing her camel whip. One notable charge was against those hashers that were eager to advertise Stoolie's 100th Darkside by wearing their handsome new technical tees. It seemed Slow Cooker was also downed, but it's hard to remember why - maybe it was just because it was good to see her out again.
About half-way through Stools lost his voice and this gave Shrink the opportunity to step up to the breach. It was good to find out that he hadn't lost his ability to manipulate a credulous audience. Stools had a large bag of flour and a match in the event that Crispy Bush decided to mention the Green Goddess in the circle again, but it appears that this wanker has again left the country.
On on
Stoolie