Hares lie. The End.

Actually, no, that was just the beginning. Gather ‘round, young pups, as I tell you the tale of five brave hounds, a wicked hare, and the aptly named Cohare-Not-Appearing-in-This-Story.

Once upon a time, in the faraway land of ChooChoo, a great thirst had befallen the hashers. Where BEER had once been plentiful, none had been poured in nearly a month. Someone had to venture out to tap another keg, but the weather had been cold and blustery. Not-quite-so-brave hashers trembled at the thought of leaving their warm beds, no matter how thirsty they got.

One day, a strange hare by the name of Ghost Rider came to the parched land. He promised the hashers that he knew the way to a treasure trove of gold – lager, pilsner, and even shandy! He warned that the trail was long and treacherous with shiggy, and only the bravest of hounds would make it. He gave them a map to meet him at the mystical Signal Mountain.

Five hounds accepted the challenge. Among them were two VIRGINS, whose innocence and purity would ward off the worst of the hash. That’s a pretty good ratio, two thirds of a VIRGIN per hasher!

They came prepared for the bitter cold, but that big ol’ ray of sunshine Cooter Hogg, the aforementioned unmentioned cohare, greeted them on the mountain with warmth and joy. They shed their many layers as they waited for the hare in the agreed-upon place at the agreed-upon time. Yet no hare arrived. This was their first indication that maybe this hare was a lying asshole.

The hare sent out a message, Where the fuck are you? The hounds replied, Right where you fucking told us to be. He said, No, you used the wrong map. The hounds said, No, you sent us bad directions. (I mean, if all the hounds and a cohare had showed up at the same location, it was obviously the hare’s fault.) The hare then sent another map which was completely different from the first map, and the hounds found the start of the hash.

To soothe their grumbles, the hare plied them with some BEER that he said he had brought back from the treasure trove. He got them just tipsy enough to regain their trust, at which point the hashers circled up to hear the trail description.

Immediately the hare’s second lie became apparent – while he had insisted that this was one trail to lead them all, this hash was actually TURKEY / EAGLE! The deception was to ensure that only the bravest hounds volunteered, no matter their capabilities. And it had worked – the weak, whiny, fair-weather hounds had all stayed home. Those sad, pathetic, disappointing mutts would be forever afflicted with desiccated tongues, BEER so near and yet so far. The Greeks even wrote a myth about them, that’s how cursed they are.

The hare did make one promise that everyone assumed was a lie but was actually true, which was that it was a simple trail. The hare would run ahead to make sure the way was safe, and he would leave only flour dots, flags, true trail arrows, and TURKEY / EAGLE for the hounds to follow. The hounds nodded in approval, mesmerized by the hare’s sweet words. Away the hare and cohare bounded with a six-minute head start to slay whatever dragons were in the way. The clock struck 2:24pm, and off the hounds set for the golden nectar and ChooChoo H3 hash #69+22!

The trail began down a well-travelled road before veering onto a less-travelled path. The less-travelled path led them to a medium-travelled walkway, whereupon the hounds found a TURKEY / EAGLE split! The five of them put their heads together, debating the merits of each. While the TURKEY trail would likely be a quick, safe, and easy route to their destination, it hardly seemed worth all the trouble they’d taken with the weather and bad directions, and the old hashers felt obligated to show the VIRGINS what hashing was all about. Off they marched down the EAGLE trail.

Orange flags guided the way across a meadow and into the deep, dark woods where the hounds found the promised shiggy. They pushed through brambles and over rocks that were definitely more than a 3 out of 5 on the Shiggy Scale. Soon they came upon a wide river gorge. An orange flag on the far side beckoned them. The cliffs were steep and the water crashed below. These were the bravest of hounds, however, and they faithfully followed the marks. Except Cranky Old Bastard and F’n B. They pussed out and found a shallow crossing.

The VIRGINS gladly galloped ahead, undaunted by the hare’s challenging trail. The marks then led the pack up the mountain. Up, up, up they climbed. Now ChooChoo H3 has had some hilly trails before, but this was mountainy. Mountainy is definitely worse than hilly. The only consolation was that the dreadful hare had gone through the same shit and would have to go back through it after the hash to pick up his flags.

They huffed and they puffed, first up one ridge, then down into the valley, only to go right back up. Everywhere they looked, marks went up. Occasionally the trail crossed a well-worn, easy path only to veer back into the shiggy. Despite their fatigue and thirst, the hounds pushed on, determined to complete their quest and save all the timid hounds back home.

Since it was a simple trail, after going up it went nowhere but down. The hounds were quite happy with that, as they had had a good enough journey at this point. They tumbled through the last of the shiggy and popped back out on the medium-travelled walkway the TURKEY trail had taken. Across the rolling meadow, the hounds spied the hare holding the promised BEER aloft. Success!

The hash’s long dry spell was finally at an end, and there was much rejoicing. They sorted through lagers and IPAs and flavored malt beverages until they found the one that was just right. One of the hounds brought out a king cake, because there’s nothing better than BEER and cake.

Now that all was right in the world, the GM called the hash to circle up. First was vote on trail, which was decidedly GOOD TRAIL! Not only had it led to BEER, it had been a grand adventure. Since Cut It Short, the only hound with a good excuse for missing the hash, was not there to lead them in song, the hash gave a sad rendition of Shitty Trail as the hares drank it down down down.

Hare charges clearly focused on the hare’s LIES! The hare’s very first lie in a mountain of lies was BAD DIRECTIONS. The hash had almost fallen apart before it even began! Ghost Rider whined about this and that, but a trial by gravity ultimately declared him GUILTY!

On such a simple trail there was only one inconsequential trail charge, so the hash moved on to greeting our VIRGINS! First up was Just Rio, a courageous hound who had crossed many rivers to get to the hash. She said her daddy made her cum, and…the hash left that one alone. Welcome, Just Rio!

The second VIRGIN stepped into the circle.  Now if you’ve ever wondered, What’s a gibby? This is a Gibby. A shy, quiet young pup who spends most of his time trying and failing to drown in hazardous waters. Just Rio made him cum, so technically her daddy made him cum too. Busy guy. With great enthusiasm, the hash cried, Fuck you, Just Gibby!

There were so few hounds that there was no INTERRUPTUS, so the hash got down down to BUSINESS:

• Bonus drinking practice on Tuesday the 17^th for Mardi Gras! Bring your best beads to Mike’s Hole in the Wall at 6pm.
• Our regularly scheduled monthly drinking practice is on Tuesday the 24^th, location TBD
• Next hash is 3/14, though hare Cum Analyst reserves the right to change the date subject to weather.

Happy with all the upcoming fun, the hash gobbled up the last of the king cake and headed to the On After. The hounds followed their own noses instead of relying on Ghost Rider’s directions to River Drifters, and they spent the last of the warm, sunny day on the deck with BEER in hand.

The End.

First in: Cum Analyst
Of Questionable Origin: Just Rio
All About the King Cake: Cooter Hogg