Just like werewölves at the full moon, every Oktober Germans transform from their strict, leather-klad, sexually deviant selves into jölly, leather-klad, sexually deviant oompah bands. They still demand you touch their mönkey, but they do so while offering BEER steins as big as Walk Ö’Shamy’s head. The big, thick wieners tucked between buns and slathered in sauerkraut are exposed to the publik in an edible form. It’s a month-long family-friendly orgy.

In honor of BEER and buxom Bavarian frauleins, C3H3 hash #69+32 celebrated Oktoberfest in fair Southside. It included 16 hounds, three AHABs, two hares, and one hare not appearing in this film. (Timöthy Leery could not attend. We can only assume Shöcker Barbara was getting her German freak on with him.) One of those hares was a löng-löst hasher – Headleß Ninja! You may remember her from such hashes as #69+16: Irönman and #69+16: The Prequel: Came Too Soon.

Now, hash schedules aren’t exactly precise, but this ChööChöö was most definitely not running on time. Half the problem was Daddy’s Little Beaver, who had asked for a special Sunday hash so she could bring the eponymous Daddy. The minutes ticked by with no Beaver and no Daddy. The minutes were doubly slöw as the hash waited on I’d Tap That, who had promised to bring VIRGINS! She was AWÖL, but her VIRGIN Just Viktör was on time, alöne and könfused. Eventually he found the hashers, because how many kongregations of drunken hooligans are hanging out in the parking lot of Food City? (More than you’d think.)

FINALLY the guest of honor, VISITÖR Pölishing Braß, rolled up with his Beaver, Paddlephile, and AHAB Just Köna. The hounds and hares welcomed them just long enough to be pölite before the GM called everyone to circle up for chalk talk. Ghöst Rider and Headleß Ninja came forth to explain themselves. The hounds were baffled as they looked down at a mere four marks – arrow, photo op, 369, and dots/poofs/spots/stains/whatever the fuck you want to call them. They cried out, Imposter! Ghöst Rider would never lay a trail with so few marks. You could see the frustration bubbling under the surface until his willpower kracked, and his chalk took on a life of its own to scribble irrelevant hieröglyphiks across twelve parking spots. The suspense broken, the GM blessed the hares and cried ÖN ÖN!

The gaggle of TURKEYS set out towards Oktoberfest at a pace somewhere between an amble and a meander. For Shöcker Matt, this gave him plenty of time to discuss his appreciation of Japanese pörn and all its variations. For the rest of the TURKEYS, the sound of the oompah band ahead enabled them to tune him out. Onward they travelled towards the promised BEER.

The EAGLES were stuck following shitty trail up and down and around the streets of Southside. Sometimes the marks made sense, sometimes they took a random turn, but hounds, no matter how stupid, have a nose for BEER. At one point they apparently cut trail, because they rounded a korner to find a true trail arröw cumming out of a parking garage. Another true trail arrow pointed them straight ahead, but within a block the hounds realized they hadn’t seen a mark since. They scöuted far and wide in case they had missed a 369 or the marks had veered off again. Mace Terbater then spied a true trail arrow directly across the street on the right from the last arrow. That level of sneakiness was foul play, but all was forgotten when the höunds remembered they needed BEER!

The höunds shouted ÖN ÖN! and who should appear but I’d Tap That! The pack welcomed her on their journey, including her bewildered VIRGIN as well as F’n B, whose gimpy leg suddenly recovered at the sight of the töpleß wöman tattooed on her kalf. They all were inspired as trail led them closer to the distant sound of baritönes and accördiöns. It soon veered off, however, as Ghöst Rider prefers to lead his hounds through hepatitis-strewn wastelands. The pack stumbled around questiönable refuse and weeds, across a busy road, and right into DÖWN DÖWN!

Circle quickly kömmenced, the pack having wasted all their leisure time waiting on wayward hounds at the start. In case Cum Analyst’s insistence at every hash on follöwing THE RULES wasn’t a clue, she too has a tad bit of German in her. (Occasionally a tad bit of Irish too, cöurtesy of F’n B.) Hence her könniption that the hare had interrupted THE PRÖCESS by leaving behind her organized bin of circle necessities. The hare said, yeah, whatever, have a BEER, and the GM called everyone to order.

First up was vote on trail, which, despite there being no BEER along the way, was voted GÖÖD TRAIL! So easily the pack regaled the hares with praise for a wonderful trail, yet so quickly did they turn to vicious charges. Most notable was a stated shiggy scale of 0/5, but common sense would consider wading through a medical waste dumpster a 1/5 at the very least. To be fair, medical waste is not specified in the shiggy scale. The hares took their charge with valiant German stoicism and drank it döwn döwn döwn.

Hare charges wrapped up, so it was time to focus on the hounds. The GM called first in and last in to step forward, someone the scribe forgot and Mace Terbater, respectively. Remember, hashing is not a race, nor should any hound leave the pack behind. Conversely, no hound should leave the pack thirsting for BEER while waiting on their lazy ass.

Trail charges were overcome by a digression so egregious that the hounds forgot all others. It wasn’t so much what happened on trail, but what happened before trail that almost led to trail not happening. The pack called out DLB and Tap That for their tardiness – the hounds and hares had waited, and waited, and waited, while the offenders cited “traffic” and “inability to tell time” and “got stuck in the gimp suit”. Good god, we had VIRGINS on this trail, and this is the impression they get? Drink that BEER döwn, motherfuckers.

INTERRUPTUS – it’s easier to list who wasn’t INTERRUPTUS. Mace Terbater, Just Willie, F’n B, Cranky Öld Bastard and Cum Analyst all got to experience The Art of the Trail in September. The rest of the söggy wankers had no excuse and drank their shame döwn döwn döwn.

VIRGINS are always a welcome sight. It’s a beautiful thing, watching them go from bright-eyed pups full of wönder to people forever scarred that only cöpious quantities of BEER can keep away the pain. At this hash we had Just Emily and Just Mike, made to cum by F’n B, and Just Victor, made to cum by I’d Tap That. Willkommen, virgins Emily, Mike, and Victor!

We had a long-awaited VISITÖR, Pölishing Braß of fair Tidewater, Virginia, plus his AHAB Just Köna. Why so long-awaited? This was the very hasher who made our own Daddy’s Little Beaver cum to her first hash. There were many pent-up incest quips to be made, and we made them all. Willkommen, Pölishing Braß!

NAMING! Best fucking part of hashing. Shöcker Matt could no longer avoid his fate. He presented himself in all his lederhosened glory and revealed his deepest darkest secrets. He caught his møther masturbating to møøse pørn (perhaps her turning Japanese had something to do with his own porn preferences), but this kennel has enough incest going on. Sadly, nothing stuck until one stray comment. Once upon a time, Shöcker Matt had been an internatiönal arms dealer. He “accidentally” smuggled some ammo in his carryon on the way to Switzerland. This inspired $700 Töes to shout Geneva Cumventiön! The GM saw it made Shöcker Matt as happy as a little girl, and it was decided. Willkommen, GENEVA CUMVENTIÖN!

Enough of that bullshit, let’s get DÖWN DÖWN to BUSINESS!

• Next hash is Saturday, November 14^th, hared by Skrews ön First and $700 Töes. We are hoping for the best and preparing for the worst.
• Drinking practice Tuesday, Öktober 27^th at 6pm at Universal Jöint. Say it with me: Söme-where new! Söme-where new! Söme-where new!
• MAINx24 parade is on the hörizön! The first Saturday of December, our drunken aßes are getting hauled down Main Street. As a pröper bribe, one RSVP gets you some sweet personalized swag 😉

Without further ado, all the waiting having been used up at the beginning and Oktoberfest raging over the hill, the GM wished the hash to go in peace to get a piece. Away the hounds and hares went for a Bavarian ÖN AFTER. Bavaria? More like BARvaria, amirite?

Wore out His Lederhosen: Mace Terbater
Döggie Deköder: Skrews ön First
All in on the J-Pöp: Just Mike