Larrikins Trash Reports

74th Running of the Corpus Christi Bay Area Larrikin’s
January 16, 2002

So there I was, driving my ass downtown for another attempt at making it to the On-Start of the 74^th Bay Area Larrikins Hash before all the wankers start following trail. Needless to say, I missed it. Under the cover of darkness, as I drove by the memorial to the Sacred Whore, Selena, no hashers were in sight, only a few homeless guys who used to be hashers. So, I point my chariot in the direction of Doc Rockit’s to park and then jog down to catch trail.

Before I get past the bus station, I already see the familiar chalk chevrons defacing the sidewalk. Is this trail already? Is it old dead trail from hashes past? Or is it some attempt by the evil hares, Chemo and $3 Bill, to lure the pack, and hash crashers like myself, off the trail. I figure it’s just old trail, but as I get to Shoreline, I see another one, and this one is fresh! Hmmm. I must be on to something. Thinking that I’m still following the pack, I follow trail toward the Omni. A couple of intersections are found, but strangely, no hound arrows. When I get to the Omni’s hotel front, I see the unmistakable sign of the hares. It’s a sign, quickly scribbled on the sidewalk at the feet of the dozing doorman. On Up to the ROT.

I ask the doorman if the pack is still up there, and he asks me "What group?" Oh, do I have a winner here or what! Did any ‘runners’ come this way? "Yeah, they just left and went ‘that way,’ he reported, pointing up the street. I go tearing off in hot pursuit, then I realize, "Hey, I’m not EarFucked! I can’t just blow past a beer stop!" And where are the hounds? Are they ALL lost on trail??? Maybe I’m ahead of the pack? Then, off in the distance, I hear the faint sound of a whistle. Yessss, the Pack is near! They’re still making their way up Shoreline.

I signal to the hashers that a clue is near. Luckily, I didn’t say beer was near, as we would all soon find out that it wasn’t.

The pack assembled and we all crammed into one of the straining elevators, even Two Angry Inches, and his bike! When we get to the top, the hostess has no clue who the fuck we are, so some of the more adventurous go straight to the bar where we assume we’ll be more welcome, even if we’re a little ‘underdressed’ for the occasion. But even the bartender wouldn’t give us the time of day at this ritzy establishment. What do you got to do to get a BEER around here?!?!?!? Well, apparently you have to PAY for one, because our friggin’, wankin’, stinkin’ hares couldn’t even set up a proper beer stop. Oh well, at least they did leave us a clue. After singing a ‘clean’ version of Brother Hashers, the bartender gives us a sealed envelope with our clue. In perfect English, written on a speedy G4 computer (whatever the hell that is), we’re told in no uncertain terms to go to the Court House.

So, we stumble back out of the bar, frustrated and still thirsty from the trail, and continue for the Court House. Some of the more dimwitted of the pack, (DNR, HLD) think it’s the OLD Court House, so we’re tearing off in that directions. Ear Fucked finds trail and signals the pack. Honor to Smells Like Fish (our dearly departed hasher) for making his presence known on trail. Some people see ghosts, but we could smell this one! Whew!

Another beer stop awaits down by the auditorium. Rent-a-Cops and uninterested bystanders watch as the crazy group of a dozen wankers eagerly quaff, I said QUAFF! down our sacred nectar. No clue at this stop, but as usual, Ear Fucked is off scouting trail.

After a good cool-down with a cool beverage, we’re off to the water park for our next nectar stop. Our clever hares have hidden the drinks in plain sight. That’s why it took so damn long for us to find it. Spanking Granny doles out the chilled Robitussin, disguised at Cinnamon Schnapps (Who drinks that shit? It’s nasty!) Hot For Teacher, the only smart one of the bunch, would have nothing of it!

We read our hastily written clue, which instructs the pack to look up their hash Heritage and Park their asses! So, it’s off the Heritage Park. As trail meanders around, Spanking Granny and Ear Fucked are off doing their own thing, while Cop Blocker and Lady of the Rings are doing their own thing…damn kids, get a room! Can I watch?

Down to the familiar Fire Station and up the concrete embankment for another beer stop. DNR leads the way to the top. Our evil hares have thoughtfully placed the nectar in a fire ant bed, which provided the rest of the pack hours of entertainment as Blue Balls and Pecker Checker do the dirty dance to remove the six-legged insects from their shorts. While we drink, DNR regales us in the Hash History of this sacred site, the location of some of the more memorable trails in Bay Area Larrikins history.

But, we’ve heard enough about all that, so the pack is off like a white light in the red-light district. Down the shiggy with Ear Fucked in the lead…oh wait, he never stopped for the beer in the first place! Hot for Teacher, making her grand return after backsliding for longer than I have, is already bitching about all this shiggy. At the bottom of the hill, Blue Balls thinks he knows where trail leads and hangs right, while the rest of the pack goes in the obvious direct…back to Doc Rockits. Sure enough, the pack is right, but how could Blue Balls be wrong…oh yeah, he’s always wrong!

Across I-37, through the park, back down Chaparral and on-in Doc Rockits for REELIGION…..

With Guest C2H3 RA and BALH3 RA EMIRITUS "Chemo" presiding….

Some of the highlights

SHITTY Trail – Chemo, $3 Bill, and Scuba Steve (Double Secret Hare)
FRB – EarFucked
DFL – Lady of the Rings and Cop Blocker
Backsliders – Hot For Teacher
Down Down Demo – Blue Balls
Hash Crashers – Just Wayne and Just Josie
Private Party – DILDO DIVA (Really? How surprising!)
Sacred Hash Naming – Just Rebecca will now be known, forever and ever, as Seat Cover
Fucked Off – Keeps on Cumming and Seat Cover!
For being too quiet to be mentioned in the Trash – Just Dean!!!

I’m sure there was other stuff that I forgot, but do you expect me to remember all the shit that went on at Reeeligion? Well, you should have been there yourself you backsliding bastards. Bring your ass to the Bay Area Larrikins H3! Every Wednesday, 6 p.m. at the Selena Memorial on Shoreline.

See ya at the Hash!

On on
Harelip Dog

73RD Running of the Corpus Christi Bay Area Larrikin’s
January 9, 2002
Temperature: 68 degrees
Wind: SSE at 15-20 MPH
Visibility: Clear

So there we were, 18 bright-eyed Wankers hanging out with the pilgrims come to see our Sacred Whore Selena. A festive atmosphere prevailed as a great many Backsliders were welcomed back to our Pack. Finally, the call cums “Into the box wankers!” The Pack descends to the water’s edge and our hares COCKSHOT, GUAMARHEA BALLS, and DADDY’S CUM disappear into the night. COCKSHOT is towing a suspicious-looking rolling backpack and DADDY’S CUM is straining at the end of his leash. Once again, CHEMO does the honors, with introductions and chalk talk keeping the Pack occupied during the 10 minute head start.
Trail starts with an immediate intersection, but True Trail is discovered on Starr. At the corner of water, another True Trail mark indicates a turn into the Ramada Inn parking garage. On-up to the very top where a 12 pack of Nectar awaits the Eager hounds. The winding ramps are difficult to negotiate, especially for TWO ANGRY INCHES and MANGY TWAT who have decided to BASH on their high-dollar European racing bikes. A clue written on the garage indicates that Trail will pick up on the next block.
After several intersections, the Pack finds themselves rapidly approaching Q’s Sports Bar. Sure enough, a bold BH sign is marked at the entrance. Three pitchers of delicious Miller Light are lined up on the bar, anxious to be poured into the gullets of this sorry Pack.
Refreshed, the Hounds follow the bartender’s instructions to pick up trail at 21 Club. Backsliders are seen to act nervous at this point, as this sounds like some sort of gay men’s club. Fear not, fretful Hounds! GAYLORD FOCKER is still out on the Pacific coast, no doubt face deep in the lap of another male nurse. A large True Trail emblazoned with the words “Trail Starts Here” is found at the entrance to Club 21. Unfortunately EAR FUCKED’s mastery of the English language is still pretty shaky, so he decides to ignore Trail Marks and head out alone in a generally northern di-erection. An intersection at American Bank includes a YBF on the roof of their parking garage as well as a Bad Trail mark several yards north, which EAR FUCKED ignores.
On–up to Upper Broadway via the pedestrian tunnel, where True Trail leads through some lovely courtyards and then into the Wells Fargo Bank parking garage. Another 12 pack of Miller Light, this time with clue to pick up Trail at the corner of Antelope and Tanachua. The Hares are so close, MANGY TWAT can smell them! If fact he claims to catch a glimpse of them, but his leiderhosen get caught in the spokes of his bicycle so he is unable to pursue. A dead end trail leads up to a fence which DADDY’S CUM was unable to climb over and obviously too lazt to dig under.
Back down the hill goes the Pack, and again they find the Harbor Bridge looming ahead. For several weeks, trail has led this way without actually going over it. Could this be the week for a trip across the Ship Channel? Alas, the clever Hares have once again built up the Fear, only to divert the Pack down the spiral ramp by the Old Courthouse once again. Waiting to intercept the Hares at the bottom of the ramp is none other than EAR FUCKED! Seems his inability to read Trail Marks and his desire for taquitos led him to the nearby Circle K which is across from the Old Courthouse. DADDY’s CUM doesn’t have any shorts to give up, so he leaves a steaming brown pile of Chad instead. Where was he when the Anthrax scare started? We could have used this variant of Chad to mark all of our Trails. On-In to Dr. Rockits for…

Reeligion
Hares: COCKSHOT, GUAMARHEA BALLS, DADDY’S CUM
Smallest Hare in History: DADDY’S CUM
First Dog to Set Live Trail: DADDY’S CUM
FRB: EAR FUCKED
DFL: EASY GOES
BASHing on Trail: TWO ANGRY INCHES and MANGY TWAT
New Shoes: DONKEY JOTO
Not following the Trail: EAR FUCKED
Backsliders: DONKEY JOTO, EASY CUMS, EASY GOES, TWO ANGRY INCHES
Virgins: JUST DINO
Telling the RA his business: EASY GOES
Not Drinking Nearly Enough: COCKSHOT, SPANKIN’ GRANNY, $3 BILL
Lack of whistles: EAR FUCKED, DONKEY JOTO, TWO ANGRY INCHES, The four mystery Hash Crashers
Hash Crashers: COP BLOCKER, LABIA OF THE RINGS, Those 4four mystery guys
Sullen: COP BLOCKER
Not showing enough of “the Rings”: LABIA OF THE RINGS
Hares for next week: I NEED VOLUNTEERS!!!!!!

71st Running of the BALH3
Temp: 54 degrees and COLD
Wind: Variable at 5 knots
Visibility: DARK

So there we were, some 25 wanking bastards milling about in front of our Sacred Whore Selena. After a quick chalk talk for the Virgins and Backsliders, BLUE BALLS, GAYLORD FOCKER, and GUAMARHEA BALLS scatter in three directions to set Trail. CHEMO assures the Hares of a 10 minute head start, which translates into 4 minutes using the Official Canadian Exchange Rate.
Trails lead generally toward Chapparal, then turns south into the first Beer Stop at Q’s Sports Bar. The Hares are waiting at the bar rail with vessels in hand and 5 pitchers ready for the eager (?) Hounds. CLITTY-CLITTY NUM-NUM heralds her own arrival with a chorus of whining that can be heard all the way back to the On-Start. P3 and EAR FUCKED seemed entirely too eager to get back on Trail, so the hares depart, leaving the Sacred Nectar for the pack.
Several Intersections later, Trail takes the pack up the hill to Upper Broadway, where NICE PAIR-A-KEETS uses the momentum in her ghetto-booty to crest the rise. 2 blocks later, COP BLOCKER starts to run as the trail turns downhill and his fat ass causes him to loose control of his legs. A flash of neon surrounded by hobos (could this be one of the Hares, BLUE BALLS?) looms ahead, where Juan is waiting to serve more Nectar to the pack at Beer Stop number 2; Angies.
After enjoying a few pitchers and some of CHEMO’s senseless blather, Juan directs the pack to Murdock’s for Beer Stop number 3. The crafty Hares have arranged for not only Nectar, but the most beautiful bartender in Corpus Christi to be waiting there. LILY VON SHTOOP is so overcome by the sight, that he lapses into his native German tongue...as he tries to talk the bartender onto his tongue. Reluctantly, the hounds depart this Beer Stop, and head (yeah I said head) back up Starr to Upper Broadway. Visible on the left is none other than the original Cum Dumpster, where CUM DUMPSTER got her name. And then: could it be, is it true? The Harbor Bridge is ominously close, and a straight trail without intersections appears to lead directly up its massive flank.
EAR FUCKED, P3, and TWAT DID YOU SAY are kind enough to locate the Check Back at the foot of the bridge, sparing the non-competitive wankers a torturous ascent. Down the spiral ramp near the old courthouse, and across the highway; trail works back toward Dr. Rockit’s where EAR FUCKED is once again the FRB.

Religion, and boy did we get pissed! The Sacred Mantle has finally found its way home, and the KMHHH Stud is safely back in San Antonio...for now? Still no sign of the FRB Rock. Accusations top the agenda, with CUM DUMPSTER accused of desiring to give up her whoring ways and limit her sexploits to JUST BRIAN. Due to the severity of this offense, we enlisted the help of an honest-to-goodness Republic of Texas Justice of the Piece, JUDGE COX! Together, GUAM and JUDGE COX decreed that in the eyes of the State and the loins of the Hash that these two wankers shall be man-child and wife. What JUST BRIAN did to deserve such punishment, G only knows. Next up, CLITTY for her near continuous annoying whining. If DILDO DIVA and HARE LIP DOG (remember him? he used to be a hasher) ever had a love child, CLITTY would be the unfortunate result! Into the bucket of ice with her bare ass while Down-Downs are administered. It didn’t quiet her down much, but at least her naked tookus provided some enjoyable dis traction from the noise spewing from her cock-garage. JUST BRIAN returns to the Circle for engaging in a Hash Marriage without a proper Hash name. Let it be written, let it be said, JUST BRIAN shall henceforth and forever be known as (what else?) DUMPSTER DIVER! CUM DUMPSTER provided the ice for his cock during the naming, but for some reason seemed reluctant to remove her hand afterward. Strange.
SCUBA STEVE did a few Down-Downs, just because she is a lot more fun when she’s drunk. LADY OF THE RINGS did her obligatory flashing of the pack...for those who forgot how she got her name. We had a whole bunch of great new songs from our Distinguished Visitors, but as I was mostly drunk at that point I cannot remember their names.
Finally, after much Sacred Nectar we come to the sad part...GAYLORD FOCKER has decided to leave us for the enticing man-treasures of the Pacific Northwest. Into the ice with his bruised and swollen arse! A great many hashers lined up to fuck him off right, each taking their turn quaffing from his size 18 shoes. LADY even offered her breast for an honorable breast chug, followed by SCUBA STEVE with a butt chug. Next time we need to time these things a little better. GAYLORD departs as the Flounder of 2 hashes in Corpus Christi, and the only man in the state who receives conjugal visit requests daily via the sheriff’s department. Fuck Off Brother, you will be sorely missed!