For run number 67 (Q - What’s a 67? A - A 69 that’s too short) Poptop lured the members of the Halvemein HHH to the virgin hash territory of Greene County. Your scribe must immediately state that in the interests of keeping the Hash non discriminatory the following topics will remain off limits in this account of the day’s proceedings:

1. Dental insufficiency
2. Inch deep gene pools
3. Porcine squealing
4. Intrafamily relationships
5. Dueling banjos
6. Activities in the privacy of your own barn

Poptop did, however, set the scene nicely with a forty-foot trailer sitting squarely in his yard. I guess he didn’t have time to set a couple of 80's Chevys on bricks or import any children wearing only a diaper.

After the traditional welcome cocktails (a classy selection of Labatts or MGD), Hash Aerobics and late arrival of Dr Queer, the pack set off along a road running the border of Greene and Albany counties, and apparently forgotten by the highway departments of both. Hash crimes were quick in coming with a poor trail scouting job by Stinky Queef leading the entire pack over a stream, where they discovered a false trail and had to make a return trip over said waterway. One Drunk Watching was able to build up a large lead on the other hounds and took the opportunity to fertilize a farmers field all of 5 yards from trail; unfortunately Francis and McCavity arrived to witness said event. Finally the pack discovered an evil Back Check 20, which further confused the simpleton hashers by using Greene County math and rejoining trail at mark 22.

Now the real trail began with the pack zig-zagging along forest paths that were either shiggy, extremely shiggy or running water. Dirtbag optimistically found a pond to bathe in en route while the rest decided to forego cleanliness in a desperate search for beer. Finally THFKAD spotted civilization (recognizable by the increase in dumped garbage) and we emerged at beer check one like the cast-offs from the lost series of “Survivor: Greene County”. Here Poptop met us and ordered flagons of the landlord’s finest ale. Spotted as being out of towners, however, we were served 2 pitchers of the collected remains of the slops tray and the men’s urinal. (Q - what is worse than Coors Lite? A - Coors Lite in McNerney's Brass Rail Pub & Grill). One hasher even enjoyed it enough to order another pitcher (memo - if the beer sucks, order something different). Several games of air hockey were completed before the pack moved once again into the sunlight, whereupon McCavity discovered that someone had stolen the Hashit (may it rest in peace).

As the pack had been promised a visit to every one of Greenville’s two bars the route was not hard to follow and we soon found our hare again at The Kilcar Hotel & Motel & Restaurant where we we sampled their extensive selection of draft beers, one in each pitcher. Hash thirst being what it is, and in a desperate attempt to get rid of a still lingering flavor of vinegar from McNerney’s, pockets were emptied to subsidize the hare to obtain more beer, more beer, more beer, more beer. Once again, though, the pack was forced to move on, this time to prevent Dirtbag misbehaving with the landlady (who may or may not have been voted Miss Greenville of 1963).

Most of the pack set off in first one direction, then another, caring little for a complete lack of trail markings. The devious hare had in fact backtracked but soon had the pack returning to shiggy and slogging across waterlogged fields and woods. One final stream crossing did little to clean the mud off, and the pack were soon squelching into Krauss acres with the promise of more beer and the finest repast 3 George Forman grills can produce.

Circle was conducted in the usual manner with credit to our hare Poptop, overachieving FRB McCavity, chivalrous DAL No Name Dan (who has yet to learn that gentlemanly conduct in the hash will only get you a down-down or worse). THFKAD drank for inadvertently leaving the NURD finances at the last on-after, Bockman Turned Her Over for sitting down in circle.

The voting for Hash shit was as usual conducted with the precision and accuracy of an Iraqi presidential poll: nominees included One Drunk Watching for shitting on trail, Stinky Queef for leading the pack astray, Francis for false accusations in circle and McCavity for assorted whining. In a major upset Dr Queer failed to be nominated for anything, and the final vote narrowed to McCavity, and One Drunk Watching with McCavity achieving a second term. With the Hashit (may it rest in Peace) recovered from the bar (where it would soon have been boiled down to be included in the next batch of Coors Lite for out of towners) McCavity had the honor of being the last to drink from our revered flagon before its untimely demise (may it rest in peace). Finally the numerically challenged RA called upon those with a Hash anniversary: Peace O’Chum with 10 runs and Poptop with 30, and a couple he had forgotten at the last run, Dr Queer for 11 runs and McCavity for 41, to drink. With final renditions of the “Days of the Week”, a script assisted “I Used to Live in Chicago” and the closing “Swing Low” (last sung by 8 drunk hashers at a karaoke night following run 66, much to the bemusement of the other bar occupants) the circle was at its end.

George Forman subsequently did the pack proud with beer, burgers and sausages produced in satisfying quantity, though speculation was rife about what Poptop might be lubricating with the copious quantities of grease he was secreting away.

Thanks to Poptop for the excellent trail and on-after, and to the weather for co-operating in the production of some serious shiggy. We do, however, promise visitors for the Red Dress that we will do a finer job of scouting the quality of the beer on offer both Friday and Saturday nights.

On-On!

If you have anything to add, send a note to thfkad@hmhhh.com.