The end of the year is a time of reflection. All your failures, the resolutions you didn’t keep, the booty calls that were left on read. But it wasn’t all bad, right? I mean, this was the first full Gregorian calendar year that ChooChoo H3 has had consistent scheduled hashes since fucking forever. So we got that going for us, which is nice.

But let’s not dwell on the accomplishments. Hashing is all about the times you fucked up. It makes people laugh. It serves as a warning to others. It creates fond memories – and those memories shouldn’t go to waste. Here, have a BEER, because we’re gonna need a montage!

• In January I had a wet dream, which happened to presage 2025’s weather outlook. The trail was so short that I’m not sure it happened. It still counts, though.
• Just like riding a coconut-locomoted horse in medieval England, hashing in February is cold and wet and gets shit all over everyone. Mix that simile up with some Mardi Gras references and you get…something. Boobs. You get boobs. And an argument over whether to spit or swallow.
• Speaking of swallows, we got blown all over town when March came along. March is an odd name for a prostitute. I guess it’s like naming your business AAA-something so it’s first in the phone book. That way clients call her before April, May, or June. Stay away from those whores, they’ve got the clap.
• In April we honored the hash’s resurrection like Jesus Christ rising from the dead with a bad case of swamp ass. What better way to celebrate our first ANALVERSARY than searching for Biggus Dickus among the dearly departed? F’n B reminded us AGAIN that he was the reason this thing was still going, and there was much rejoicing.
• Keep it classy, May. The hash, not the whore. Chlamydia isn’t chlassy, as they say in sex ed. Anyway, we pranced around in our fancy hats like Kentucky Derby ponies. Just kidding, ponies don’t wear fancy hats because designers refuse to accommodate their ears. We added that to an ADA complaint that the hills on our hashes are clearly ableist obstacles to BEER.
• June saw the EAGLES up to their elbows in tadpoles. Those things are fucking weird. Remember when you were a kid and put them in a jar and watched them sprout legs? And then they became frogs, at which point you were clearly committing animal abuse, but you didn’t care because you were a fucking kid with your very own jar of frogs.
• Angry neighbors accosted the pack in July. It seemed like a welcoming neighborhood, but once the Facebook brigade gets going, look out. I don’t even want to think about what they were saying on Nextdoor. You know, I bet we could make some BEER money as TikTok influencers, prowling through Brad’s vegetable garden (Sunshine Organic Pesticide™) or Ellen’s lush yard (AAA Lawn Care).
• A bunch of TURKEYS came out for a full moon hash in August. All that effort to lay a fucking awesome EAGLE trail, and they just went tra-la-la-ing from BEER to BEER. Lazy, ungrateful bastards. Oh, and it was C3H3’s first full moon hash in living memory. How ‘bout them sturgeon?
• We had TWO hashes in September. Look at us, overachieving. It’s like when people say you get an E for Effort because there isn’t an E, it goes right from D to F. It’s a place reserved for failures who can still make an Effort on the extra credit couch. Not only are we getting on that couch, we’re buying a fancy Lovesac one so we can do whatever position gets us the best grade.
• In October we got caught up in an international drug ring that the cops were in on. We had to run this hash extra fast with a stolen kilo of coke to avoid federal fuck-you-up-the-ass prison. We ended up striking a deal with the cop to not do it again or else he’d tell his mom.
• Christmas came early in November, because all these hounds wanted was Santa’s big blue cock. That one had been on their wish list for a long time, but you know hashers, always on the naughty list, always getting coal. Pro tip: chunk enough coal at Santa one year, and the next year you get your wish.
• The ADA must have finally gotten to our complaint, because the December hash was hill-free. We celebrated dear eight-pound, six-ounce newborn infant Jesus with Santa hats, sleighbells, April the whore, and some really inappropriate antics that no child should experience unless it’s with a priest.

Let us not forget the individual hounds’ transgressions through all this chaos. Inside jokes are the best. IYKYK. Had to be there. Even they may not remember, but I remember e.v.e.r.y.t.h.i.n.g. Muahaha.

• Walk O’Shamy – Every bar has their own level of “banned”.
• Cut It Short – Forgot his lanyard. Shame!
• Rug Muncher – Tried being a gentleman once. Once.
• Crimson Dyke Jr. – If you’re gonna have a lesbian, make sure she’s competent.
• Patsy – Had the best wingman and still blew it.
• Ghost Rider – It’s like a logistics operation but funner.
• Fifth Sonnet Sinner – Laid some poofs.
• Party up the Back – Those wings aren’t gonna burn themselves.
• Bone Star – Covered in beeeeees!!!!
• Pinky Pinky Little Star – It was her. She let the dogs out.
• Timothy Leery – Contrary to popular belief, he’s somewhat remarkable.
• F’n B – Did you know he took over just to avoid another shitty trail?
• Cum Analyst – I asked F’n B to come up with something, and his response was, “I don’t fucking know, I’m not good at this shit!” I guess that makes me “better than F’n B”.

How about some metrics to prove how fabulous it was?

• Over thirteen hashes, we had 131 hounds and hares show up! That includes two REBOUNDS who returned to their mother kennel.
• I asked ChatGPT who was first in most often according to the hash trash because I’m lazy, and you won’t fucking believe it – Cut It Short! Yeah, I don’t believe it either. It also said Bone Star and Party up the Back were last in most often. Definitive proof AI is full of shit.
• VIRGINS – something ChatGPT refused to count, that stuck-up bitch. By my estimation, we had TWELVE! (That includes AHABs, but they’re like family without the dysfunction. We need a little positivity in life.)
• SHOCKER status was new this year. Too many Just hounds became eligible for names, but the time was never quite right for a proper ceremony. Thus, we promoted them from Just to Shocker. We had an unknown number because I didn’t keep track, but there were at least two.
• We had TEN NAMINGS! You’re not really a hasher until you have been stripped bare for all to see and thoroughly roasted just to get a name that takes an hour to explain and definitely don’t want grandma to know. From least to more least: Patsy, Crimson Dyke Jr., Fuzzy Balls, Hardly Cumming, Cranky Old Bastard, Chicken Wing, Chicken Nugget, Pinky Pinky Little Star, Universal Hole, and HR Violation.
• We drank 927 BEERS. I totally made that up. But I bet it’s close.

There you have it, a great big heaping, steaming pile of FOMO for all you INTERRUPTUS. And with all that came “progress” like a more engaged social media presence and a shitty website. Big thanks to Walk O’Shamy and Bone Star for getting that rolling. Speaking of thank yous, a few more are in order:

A shoutout to all our hares, because without hares there is no trail, and without trail there is no BEER ☹️ Thank you Cut It Short, Pinky Pinky Little Star, Timothy Leery, Walk O’Shamy, F’n B, Bone Star, Fifth Sonnet Sinner, Ghost Rider, Party up the Back, Patsy, Headless Ninja, Wobble Bobble, and Crimson Dyke Jr!

C3H3 also wants to recognize our most loyal hounds, the ones who kept things going: Walk O’Shamy, Patsy, Party up the Back, Cut It Short, Timothy Leery, Ghost Rider, F’n B, and Bone Star. I started counting up how many they attended then got bored. It’s a lot, trust me.

I’m not going to thank myself, even though I deserve it the most, but Imma give mad props to our GM F’n B – he really has put in a lot of time and effort to rally hounds and keep this thing on track. He hasn’t missed a single hash or drinking practice since #69, which is kinda depressing if you think about it.

For anyone I didn’t mention, your handwriting must suck because I didn’t see you on the roster. There’s your resolution, bitch.

Son of a motherless goat it was a fantastic year. Anyhoo, let’s put all that behind us and look ahead to next year’s BUSINESS:

• Pop the champagne of BEERS, because there are at least 5 hounds whose NAMING is imminent!
• We need hares for 2026! You can pick your month, but if you don’t, we’ll pick it for you.
• Now that we’re on a roll hash-wise, our goal this year is to grow the kennel. We’ve stepped up our recruiting efforts with improvements to the website, more social media, business cards to hand out, stickers to stick, and a big banner for public exposure. Help us out by spreading the good word!
• HOMEWORK! F’n B suspects that some of you may not get the references in the hash trash. You make me sad. If you truly want to appreciate the smack talk, required watching includes Monty Python and the Holy Grail and Monty Python’s Life of Brian. That should get you 80% of the way there, and you’ll crush trivia night. Off-couch extra credit if you caught Caddy Shack, South Park, Office Space, and Talladega Nights in this trash.

I guess that’s it. We did a lot of stupid shit. We drank a lot of BEER. We made the world a better place. So long, 2025. We hate to see you go, but we love to watch you leave.