This is your late-coming official old fart, Sir Rabies reporting.
His Majesty, GM Sex Tax had warned us last week in writing: "You better go to hash, or the Hash will go to you!" Also, Jaws & Oral Orgasm have invited us for a free(!!!) after-hash chilly party on this same day. Another thing; it was known ahead of time, that the hash site will be on the hill-less, perfectly flat Pest side of Budapest. The synergic effect of these three (maybe more?) factors was amazing!
The turnout broke decade old records. There were around thirty of us, including at least six of the runners alone. Namely, Sheila (later Ginger Pussy), Incredible Hulk, Cheesy Balls, Baldric the Great, Shivering Jason and my good rabid self. St. Anus was hard to tell, if he walked or ran, he himself was not sure, only lost for sure. Walkers were quite impossible to list, either, since all of them got lost, but in several different groups, some under the leadership of hare Jaws, not to mention always alternative Lynn, that is our leaving Wet Blanket, as well as the never-hasher (yet numbersome) party vultures. Not only them, but I got mixed up, too.
Both the beer-drinking Circle and the belonging naming ceremony went well, while tramping in lots of dog-poop in the very middle of Hunyadi square, with also drinking homeless supporters around. Only the ending party could supersede the excellent beginning. Jaws proved to be an outstanding cook again. He prepared two huge pots full of chilly, one hot for the professional Indian food lovers, and one mild for the hash wimps.
Despite all complaints (the hot was found much too spicy, the mild was found not enough spicy), all the chilly was eaten up within a few minutes, as well as the rice and the corn bread offered. Huge amounts of beer and wine were also consumed, of course. Too bad, that my better half, Lady Rabies (Tokaji Sweet by maiden hash name) was missing from the party. She was supposed to come, but later she changed her mind, as usual. The after-meal down-down games were led by Petula Clark (Pussy Willow Baton) and George Harrison (Sex Tax), respectively. In the absence of my wife, these crazy games led to the unforgettable event of being kissed in public by Wet Blanket. Trying to behave like a gentleman, from this point on I refrain from disclosing any further details. Ask for the pictures from those photographer hashers flashing around all day, if you want to know, but don't dare to tell my dear wife, not at any rate. Never! OnOn...
Ps.: On the following day the usual Monday Night Hash-On-Ice went cool, in line with the acceptable participation implicated by the ironic general reaction, when I re-advertised this event in the Hash Circle on the day before. Less snow flakes and more skaters compared to the previous Monday, but still none of them from the Hash, except for me, this time suffering from a cold too. Laying in my sick-bed now it makes me ponder, if the idea of hashing on ice is worth for it at all? On the other hand, Monday night Bang Cock was kind enough to invite me for an after-ice pint at Captain Cook's place. Please read again and do reflect on BC's message repeated below:
His Majesty, GM Sex Tax had warned us last week in writing: "You better go to hash, or the Hash will go to you!" Also, Jaws & Oral Orgasm have invited us for a free(!!!) after-hash chilly party on this same day. Another thing; it was known ahead of time, that the hash site will be on the hill-less, perfectly flat Pest side of Budapest. The synergic effect of these three (maybe more?) factors was amazing!
The turnout broke decade old records. There were around thirty of us, including at least six of the runners alone. Namely, Sheila (later Ginger Pussy), Incredible Hulk, Cheesy Balls, Baldric the Great, Shivering Jason and my good rabid self. St. Anus was hard to tell, if he walked or ran, he himself was not sure, only lost for sure. Walkers were quite impossible to list, either, since all of them got lost, but in several different groups, some under the leadership of hare Jaws, not to mention always alternative Lynn, that is our leaving Wet Blanket, as well as the never-hasher (yet numbersome) party vultures. Not only them, but I got mixed up, too.
Both the beer-drinking Circle and the belonging naming ceremony went well, while tramping in lots of dog-poop in the very middle of Hunyadi square, with also drinking homeless supporters around. Only the ending party could supersede the excellent beginning. Jaws proved to be an outstanding cook again. He prepared two huge pots full of chilly, one hot for the professional Indian food lovers, and one mild for the hash wimps.
Despite all complaints (the hot was found much too spicy, the mild was found not enough spicy), all the chilly was eaten up within a few minutes, as well as the rice and the corn bread offered. Huge amounts of beer and wine were also consumed, of course. Too bad, that my better half, Lady Rabies (Tokaji Sweet by maiden hash name) was missing from the party. She was supposed to come, but later she changed her mind, as usual. The after-meal down-down games were led by Petula Clark (Pussy Willow Baton) and George Harrison (Sex Tax), respectively. In the absence of my wife, these crazy games led to the unforgettable event of being kissed in public by Wet Blanket. Trying to behave like a gentleman, from this point on I refrain from disclosing any further details. Ask for the pictures from those photographer hashers flashing around all day, if you want to know, but don't dare to tell my dear wife, not at any rate. Never! OnOn...
Ps.: On the following day the usual Monday Night Hash-On-Ice went cool, in line with the acceptable participation implicated by the ironic general reaction, when I re-advertised this event in the Hash Circle on the day before. Less snow flakes and more skaters compared to the previous Monday, but still none of them from the Hash, except for me, this time suffering from a cold too. Laying in my sick-bed now it makes me ponder, if the idea of hashing on ice is worth for it at all? On the other hand, Monday night Bang Cock was kind enough to invite me for an after-ice pint at Captain Cook's place. Please read again and do reflect on BC's message repeated below:
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