12 09 1254
Hash Hotline: (562) HASHITT
December 16, 2007
What do you mean, this isn’t a BOHICA hash?
POOP FICTION: THE RAID ON RED RIVER The year was 1968. With dense coastal fog as a cover, a Soviet submarine dropped off a boatload of operatives at the mouth of the San Gabriel River, who then made their way upstream to Whittier Narrows where they set up camp. Their mission was to infiltrate American society and slowly but surely taint the fabric of democracy with the pink stain of Communism. Strange, coded radio transmissions have been intercepted coming from the Narrows for years, but they were dismissed as static from LAX flight control stations …. So nothing was ever done, and the infection continued to spread. Richard Nixon tried. He sent the Army into the Narrows, but Kremlin operatives in the state department intercepted the orders and then had Nixon framed for a bad plumbing job at the Watergate Hotel. And the infection continued to spread … until today. Several weeks ago, the ghost of Richard Nixon came to 4H in a dream disguised as a hasher named ‘TRICKY DICK”. He said, “brother hasher, we’ve got to chance the red herrings out of Whittier Narrows once and for all. They pose a great danger to all that we hold dear, things like four dollar hashes, unprotected sex, and an endless supply of cheap, cold, American beer …..” 4H’s dream blew up like a speeding train center punching a gasoline tanker. He knew what he had to do. No one can go through shiggy like a bunch of hashers looking for beer. If we could capture even one red herring, their whole iron curtain operation would fall apart like a cheap, leadpainted Chinese Christmas present.
Aw, blow it out your tunnel, pal! Try hashing sometime.
www.lbh3.org
Dr. Superscar. imbedded journalist at large.
The morning of December 9th greeted the hash with a cold, unforgiving wind that came over the snow covered mountains to the north. Today’s hash had been clouded in secrecy. We knew something was up, but we didn’t have any idea. Our only orders were to bring extra dry clothing and our balls. Dry clothing and balls? What the hell was he talking about? We would soon find out. At precisely 10 AM, 4H jumped into the bed of the beer truck to give instructions, “All right, listen up”. 4H was would tighter than the mainspring of a two-dollar watch. He looked like he was about to come unraveled at any moment, (either that or he had gotten into THE OTHER’s medical supplies). He continued, “Two beer checks, a turkey/eagle split, and if you see any Communists, kick their ass! TRICKY DICK from the DC Hash told me that they’re planning to put saltpeter in our beer supplies, you know what that means, don’t you, beer that tastes like shit, no more drunken sex, and soon no more hashing”. I wasn’t sure how all of this is tied together, but it didn’t matter as my thoughts were drowned out by the shouting and screaming of the hash gone mad. 4H was off in a cloud of flour, followed 15 minutes later by FRB’s HOWDY, CUM NAIL ME, DANCING QUEEN and SIN D BARE. The pack resembled a whirling buzz saw as they rounded the first corner directed by HARD DRIVE, OH ENEMA, BROOMHILDA, ALOUETTE and JOCK.
Sparky bites off more than he can chew!
The trail led to a rocky climb and the flood gates of the Whittier dam. We were dwarfed by the massive structure as we tiptoed through the gentle water that flowed under the gate, knowing that at any moment we could be killed by the flood waters that strained behind it’s cold gray walls. Now joined by KAMMANA. WHITE ELEPHANT, NICE HAIR and POOR AIM, we sped into the first beer check, scared shitless but safe. I quickly shotgunned a couple of good, cold American beers and jumped onto the eagle trail that led down into the brush. I was loaded and ready to kick some big fat Communist ass!
As we rounded another corner, onto a street that led to some railroad tracks, I could see MR RAT, HOZER, SID and BEN DOVER ahead of me. I turned onto the railroad tracks led by BLOJACK, FAGGEDY ANDY, BACK DOOR and TAKE A #. The tracks led to the first of what turned out to be a network of concrete tunnels filled with mud and reeking of Communist activity. They knew we were on to them. The tunnel led to a long, single-track trail lined with willow trees. I ran hard with WHALEBONER, TISSUE TITS and WILD BILL. As we sped through the willows’ curtain-like limbs, they eerily whispered to us of the danger that lie ahead. The trail soon led to a clearing. As we entered the clearing, I could see the telltale remnants of what had been a raging gun battle. Shell casings by the thousands lay on the ground. Here is where they honed their evil trade. Just then, I saw movement in the brush on the other side of the clearing. Fearing we were about to be ambushed and shot like rats in a trap, we hauled ass to safety in the dense foliage at the end of the clearing.
Doesn’t feel like tissues to me!
Good old Santa – he’s so sweet to everyone, even baby crack whores.
I caught up with FRUIT, who was bustin’ through the brush like a human bulldozer. Thrashing and crashing, we ate up shiggy at a suicidal pace, but how long could we maintain it? There was nowhere left to go but down, and down we went into the San Gabriel River. As we clawed our way out of the river, I saw the cover of a small, red book lying on the riverbank. Heathen bastard savages! I knew they were here! As we ran, I could hear in the brush what sounded like an army in full retreat. Was it the Communists, or hashers bustin’ trail in front of us. We continued to gnaw down shiggy like a pair of rabid beavers until we reached beer check number two. Beer check # 2 was held in the cold shadows of an abandoned bullring. Here I was joined by YULL JACKOFF, HORNEY TOAD, TWEEDLE, BABY CRACK WHORE, SPREAD ‘EM, SPARKY, SEAMAN SAVER, just ZACK, HE’S SO SWEET, FUNGUS, PINKY, ALWAYS JUICY and PMS. Even though the bullring was empty, you could still hear the sadistic roar of the heathen socialists as they butchered live animals for their entertainment. As we ran past the bullring, I saw the most disturbing sight of the entire campaign, a full size replica of the Liberty Bell encircled in a cold steel prison, it’s image imprisoned and it’s voice silenced. I’m glad that MOAN N’, the other journalist on the campaign, was here to document these atrocities. Hopefully, one of us will make it to the on-in.
Sum Dum Chick and Sum Old Guy.
SIGN UP TODAY: February 9 TH , 2008 LBH3’s 23rd Annual Found’er Balls. At Sam’s Seafood in Sunset Beach ********** $50.00 until 1/20/08 $60.00 until 2/3/08 The Rat Pack guarantees that you will Have a swingin’ time.
Fueled by beer and patriotic anger, I picked up speed as I closed the gap between myself and what was surely a platoon of retreating Communists. There would be no more fun for Red Rider, it was time to salt the tail of the red canary once and for all. The trail led through what looked like a hastily abandoned base camp. They must have been in a hurry because they left their personal belongings behind. The ground was littered with civilian clothing, empty vodka bottles, and copies of Proletariat Boy, the Russian nudie magazine that covers up all of the good stuff with red stars. They were headed toward the 605 Freeway, but we were closing in fast. Run, Red Rover, Run. The trail led down into another tunnel that emptied out into a yard full of Caterpillar tractors and into the cross hairs of a waiting security guard. Blocking my path was an overweight, flop sweating moron with a bad haircut who was stuffed into a uniform at least two sizes too small. He reeked of human grease and failure. “Hey you, get over here”, he grunted. His sausagelike fingers fumbled for the pepper spray he kept in his gun holster. I quickly sized up the situation: badge – nope, gun – nope, hmmmmmmm, looks like I’ve got me a live one here. I decided to have some fun with this Dickless Tracy. In my best James Cagney voice, I yelled, “ You’ll never take me alive, copper!’ I almost spilled my beer from laughing because as he tried to free his pepper spray from it’s holster. It went off, soaking the hulking misanthropist’s pants with it’s scorching red contents. With his pants now fully engulfed in a 4-alarm chemical fire, I made my escape through a hole in the fence and picked up trail that led across the road, through some brush and into the on-in. For the Communists, it was back to Red Square one. We hadn’t captured any, but now there was nowhere left for them to hide. For the hash, it had been a damn good fight. We got dirty; we got drunk, we got wet. We faced snakes, security guards, and a whole sea of red herrings, but it was worth it.
Just say NYET to Russian beer.
Well, 4H – it looks like you’ve kept us free to hash and drink American beer – and safe from the red menace.
As I gazed out at the expansive beauty of the Whittier Narrows, I realized what a good job we had done. The place was finally safe for all the western decadence that makes us who we are. Gangsters could now strafe each other with impunity. Dope smoking stoners and boozeheads could lie on the riverbanks at night and count stars until the sun comes up, and horny teenagers could safely hide in the bushes and grind it out in a nightly orgy of unprotected sex. Smiling proudly, I opened a beer the celebrate … some things are worth drinking for. MERRY CHRISTMASDR. HUNTER S. SUPERSCAR
EIGHT FOREIGN TERMS FOR ‘HANGOVER” 1. Katzenjammer: German for “the wailing of cats” 2. stonato: Italian for “out of tune” 3. la gueule de bois: French for “woody snout” 4. Resaca: Spanish for “surf of the sea” 5. jeg har tommermann: Norwegian for “ workmen in my head” 6. ont i haret: Swedish for “pain in the roots of my hair” 7. irie Rasta coco ganja: Jamaican for “stoned Rastafarian trying to split my coconut” 8. so to gi ko-ho: Vietnamese for “water buffalo plowing inside my head”.
So THAT’s the mystery tagger!
Micro and ESL just hanging out. “We don’t know that guy!”
THIS DATE IN HASH HISTORY Run # 480 Date: 12/19/1993 Place: Westminster/Huntington Beach Hares: WET FURRY THING, POPSICKLE, TORT TART Miles: 6 ½ or 12 ½ Attendance: 71 This run celebrated the December birthdays of the hares. It began at College Park, just off of McFadden in Huntington Beach. EZ GOIN’ arrived after the hares took off and reported that the 2 female hares (WFT and TT) were headed east on a freeway overpass. REAR ADMIRAL arrived around the same time and reported that he saw trail heading in the opposite direction. When the pack took off, shortcutters SMALL, NUT N’ HONEY and others opted to go in the direction that WFT and TT had gone. After the first check, hashers were scattered everywhere. ALOUETTE, JOE ISUZU, SCABBY HAYES and about half the pack were hopelessly lost on Beach Blvd. They finally found some hash graffiti on the road that said “WHOPPER/FOOD.” This led back to the trail and someone yelling “ On On Hasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, on Vixens, on Vomit on Stupid, on Down-Downs on Blisters.” What a maze the hares put us through – and still no beer check! After trail led thru a Vietnamese Mall, the beer check was finally found. Trail then led past some soccer games, over a fence, under the freeway, past another shopping center, and up to Old World Village, where hashers were disappearing inside. Trail ended in the Beer Garden. AT & T was the incumbent hashit, and tried desperately to get rid of it to the likes of BOOBFOCALS, POOR AIM, SCOOTER and O.F.F., but she ended up with it for one more week due to weak nominations. DICKOREATER committed a hash crime by trying to snare shoppers that he thought were the hares. The on-on was right there in the Beer Garden, and a good time, bratwurst and birthday cake was had by all.
Deadline for maps, write-ups, etc is Wednesday at 5 PM: e-mail to: [email protected]
And now, a few words from ALOUETTE, our intrepid On Disk: “please be sure that I have your correct name, address, e-mail, stats etc. on file as we are getting ready to print the new 2008 LBH3 Directories. Check with me at checkin. If you don’t want your info published, let me know also!”
RECEDING HARELINE 12/23 1256 FISH LIPS Long Beach 12/30 1257 POOR AIMY & Blondes – Yorba Linda 1/6 1258 TBD – OC Marathon Orange Co. 1/13 1259 MARQUIS DE SADE Los Angeles 1/20 1260 DAMIAN & BOYZ Odd Couple Run 1/27 1261 Blojack 2/3 1262 Super Bowl Sunday – HI SPEED Sta Ana 2/10 1263 Outgoing GM’s Run Sunset Beach RESULTS OF LBH3 Run # 1254 DATE: 12/9/2007 PLACE: Whitter Narrows – Capital St. HARES: 4H Miles: 5.5 Attendance: 78 New Boots: Tracy Beck Returners: ACHEY BREAKY FART, AFTERBIRTH, AMELIA AIE FART, ASS THE OTHER, COCK RIDER, DANCING QUEEN, LAST TRAIN, MORNING COCKTAIL, NEVER ENOUGH BEAVER, NICE HAIR FAG, NIPPLE SCHNITZEL, PP LONGSUCKING, THIS IS A BUST Visitors: shaggy dog – Legos, Liberia, WHITE ELEPHANT - OC New Names: none Patches: BEN DOVER – 469, DICKOREATER – 169, TISSUE TITS - 25 Hashit: BROOMHILDA – for pawning her 900 Run jacket On-On: Casa Jimenez – Rosemead & Beverly Run Notes: Lots of shiggy, sometimes knee deep tunnels, RR tracks, paint ball war zone
MISMANAGEMENT COMMITTEE Grandmasters: Eddie “Pinky” Scott (714) 756-BYOB Laura “Hi Speed Copulator” Gaber (562) 902-2443 Hash Cash: John “He’s So Sweet” Kotlarski (562) 420-1221 Anne “Low Beams” Lattime (562) 439-2031 On Sec: Susanne “Broomhilda” Gilmore (562) 423-6149 Bernice “Special Head” Banares (562) 522-8774 mail to: [email protected] On Disk: Neva “Alouette” Higgins (714) 526-7823 Dick “Poor Aim” Ames (714) 734-6979 Brewmeisters: Steve “Head & Shoulders” Cantril (562) 400-1099 Bill “Last Train”Nord (714) SLIMEUP Munchmeister: Diane “Kammonawannaleia” Eisner (714) 658-2595 Trailmaster: Joel “Sin D Bare” (310) 544-5223 Hash Pushers: Victoria “Geezer Teaser” Rivera (714) 756-2962 Songmeister: Debbie “Corn Hole Hussie” Cantril (562) 400-1099 Hash Flash: Jaime “Buster Hymen” Ybarra (310) 872-6638 Ramona “Moan N’” Tucker (310) 378-6453 Webmeister: “HomoSAXual” – [email protected] Webmeister – Snooze: [email protected]
NEXT LONG BEACH HASH RUN # 1256 Sunday December 23, 2007, 10:00 AM Hare: FISH LIPS Location: Belmont Olympic Pool, Long Beach Thomas Guide: somewhere in LA County Cost: $4
For all you hashers (read: losers) who didn’t get away for Christmas, I have special plan for you on this holiday. Better than even something to get stuck in my dryer, but I tell you about that some time when we are on the beach in sunny Mexico or running a marathon on sleeping pills instead of Tylenol.
Alouette Neva Higgins 707 Nancy Lane Fullerton, CA 92381
December 16, 2007
What do you mean, this isn’t a BOHICA hash?
POOP FICTION: THE RAID ON RED RIVER The year was 1968. With dense coastal fog as a cover, a Soviet submarine dropped off a boatload of operatives at the mouth of the San Gabriel River, who then made their way upstream to Whittier Narrows where they set up camp. Their mission was to infiltrate American society and slowly but surely taint the fabric of democracy with the pink stain of Communism. Strange, coded radio transmissions have been intercepted coming from the Narrows for years, but they were dismissed as static from LAX flight control stations …. So nothing was ever done, and the infection continued to spread. Richard Nixon tried. He sent the Army into the Narrows, but Kremlin operatives in the state department intercepted the orders and then had Nixon framed for a bad plumbing job at the Watergate Hotel. And the infection continued to spread … until today. Several weeks ago, the ghost of Richard Nixon came to 4H in a dream disguised as a hasher named ‘TRICKY DICK”. He said, “brother hasher, we’ve got to chance the red herrings out of Whittier Narrows once and for all. They pose a great danger to all that we hold dear, things like four dollar hashes, unprotected sex, and an endless supply of cheap, cold, American beer …..” 4H’s dream blew up like a speeding train center punching a gasoline tanker. He knew what he had to do. No one can go through shiggy like a bunch of hashers looking for beer. If we could capture even one red herring, their whole iron curtain operation would fall apart like a cheap, leadpainted Chinese Christmas present.
Aw, blow it out your tunnel, pal! Try hashing sometime.
www.lbh3.org
Dr. Superscar. imbedded journalist at large.
The morning of December 9th greeted the hash with a cold, unforgiving wind that came over the snow covered mountains to the north. Today’s hash had been clouded in secrecy. We knew something was up, but we didn’t have any idea. Our only orders were to bring extra dry clothing and our balls. Dry clothing and balls? What the hell was he talking about? We would soon find out. At precisely 10 AM, 4H jumped into the bed of the beer truck to give instructions, “All right, listen up”. 4H was would tighter than the mainspring of a two-dollar watch. He looked like he was about to come unraveled at any moment, (either that or he had gotten into THE OTHER’s medical supplies). He continued, “Two beer checks, a turkey/eagle split, and if you see any Communists, kick their ass! TRICKY DICK from the DC Hash told me that they’re planning to put saltpeter in our beer supplies, you know what that means, don’t you, beer that tastes like shit, no more drunken sex, and soon no more hashing”. I wasn’t sure how all of this is tied together, but it didn’t matter as my thoughts were drowned out by the shouting and screaming of the hash gone mad. 4H was off in a cloud of flour, followed 15 minutes later by FRB’s HOWDY, CUM NAIL ME, DANCING QUEEN and SIN D BARE. The pack resembled a whirling buzz saw as they rounded the first corner directed by HARD DRIVE, OH ENEMA, BROOMHILDA, ALOUETTE and JOCK.
Sparky bites off more than he can chew!
The trail led to a rocky climb and the flood gates of the Whittier dam. We were dwarfed by the massive structure as we tiptoed through the gentle water that flowed under the gate, knowing that at any moment we could be killed by the flood waters that strained behind it’s cold gray walls. Now joined by KAMMANA. WHITE ELEPHANT, NICE HAIR and POOR AIM, we sped into the first beer check, scared shitless but safe. I quickly shotgunned a couple of good, cold American beers and jumped onto the eagle trail that led down into the brush. I was loaded and ready to kick some big fat Communist ass!
As we rounded another corner, onto a street that led to some railroad tracks, I could see MR RAT, HOZER, SID and BEN DOVER ahead of me. I turned onto the railroad tracks led by BLOJACK, FAGGEDY ANDY, BACK DOOR and TAKE A #. The tracks led to the first of what turned out to be a network of concrete tunnels filled with mud and reeking of Communist activity. They knew we were on to them. The tunnel led to a long, single-track trail lined with willow trees. I ran hard with WHALEBONER, TISSUE TITS and WILD BILL. As we sped through the willows’ curtain-like limbs, they eerily whispered to us of the danger that lie ahead. The trail soon led to a clearing. As we entered the clearing, I could see the telltale remnants of what had been a raging gun battle. Shell casings by the thousands lay on the ground. Here is where they honed their evil trade. Just then, I saw movement in the brush on the other side of the clearing. Fearing we were about to be ambushed and shot like rats in a trap, we hauled ass to safety in the dense foliage at the end of the clearing.
Doesn’t feel like tissues to me!
Good old Santa – he’s so sweet to everyone, even baby crack whores.
I caught up with FRUIT, who was bustin’ through the brush like a human bulldozer. Thrashing and crashing, we ate up shiggy at a suicidal pace, but how long could we maintain it? There was nowhere left to go but down, and down we went into the San Gabriel River. As we clawed our way out of the river, I saw the cover of a small, red book lying on the riverbank. Heathen bastard savages! I knew they were here! As we ran, I could hear in the brush what sounded like an army in full retreat. Was it the Communists, or hashers bustin’ trail in front of us. We continued to gnaw down shiggy like a pair of rabid beavers until we reached beer check number two. Beer check # 2 was held in the cold shadows of an abandoned bullring. Here I was joined by YULL JACKOFF, HORNEY TOAD, TWEEDLE, BABY CRACK WHORE, SPREAD ‘EM, SPARKY, SEAMAN SAVER, just ZACK, HE’S SO SWEET, FUNGUS, PINKY, ALWAYS JUICY and PMS. Even though the bullring was empty, you could still hear the sadistic roar of the heathen socialists as they butchered live animals for their entertainment. As we ran past the bullring, I saw the most disturbing sight of the entire campaign, a full size replica of the Liberty Bell encircled in a cold steel prison, it’s image imprisoned and it’s voice silenced. I’m glad that MOAN N’, the other journalist on the campaign, was here to document these atrocities. Hopefully, one of us will make it to the on-in.
Sum Dum Chick and Sum Old Guy.
SIGN UP TODAY: February 9 TH , 2008 LBH3’s 23rd Annual Found’er Balls. At Sam’s Seafood in Sunset Beach ********** $50.00 until 1/20/08 $60.00 until 2/3/08 The Rat Pack guarantees that you will Have a swingin’ time.
Fueled by beer and patriotic anger, I picked up speed as I closed the gap between myself and what was surely a platoon of retreating Communists. There would be no more fun for Red Rider, it was time to salt the tail of the red canary once and for all. The trail led through what looked like a hastily abandoned base camp. They must have been in a hurry because they left their personal belongings behind. The ground was littered with civilian clothing, empty vodka bottles, and copies of Proletariat Boy, the Russian nudie magazine that covers up all of the good stuff with red stars. They were headed toward the 605 Freeway, but we were closing in fast. Run, Red Rover, Run. The trail led down into another tunnel that emptied out into a yard full of Caterpillar tractors and into the cross hairs of a waiting security guard. Blocking my path was an overweight, flop sweating moron with a bad haircut who was stuffed into a uniform at least two sizes too small. He reeked of human grease and failure. “Hey you, get over here”, he grunted. His sausagelike fingers fumbled for the pepper spray he kept in his gun holster. I quickly sized up the situation: badge – nope, gun – nope, hmmmmmmm, looks like I’ve got me a live one here. I decided to have some fun with this Dickless Tracy. In my best James Cagney voice, I yelled, “ You’ll never take me alive, copper!’ I almost spilled my beer from laughing because as he tried to free his pepper spray from it’s holster. It went off, soaking the hulking misanthropist’s pants with it’s scorching red contents. With his pants now fully engulfed in a 4-alarm chemical fire, I made my escape through a hole in the fence and picked up trail that led across the road, through some brush and into the on-in. For the Communists, it was back to Red Square one. We hadn’t captured any, but now there was nowhere left for them to hide. For the hash, it had been a damn good fight. We got dirty; we got drunk, we got wet. We faced snakes, security guards, and a whole sea of red herrings, but it was worth it.
Just say NYET to Russian beer.
Well, 4H – it looks like you’ve kept us free to hash and drink American beer – and safe from the red menace.
As I gazed out at the expansive beauty of the Whittier Narrows, I realized what a good job we had done. The place was finally safe for all the western decadence that makes us who we are. Gangsters could now strafe each other with impunity. Dope smoking stoners and boozeheads could lie on the riverbanks at night and count stars until the sun comes up, and horny teenagers could safely hide in the bushes and grind it out in a nightly orgy of unprotected sex. Smiling proudly, I opened a beer the celebrate … some things are worth drinking for. MERRY CHRISTMASDR. HUNTER S. SUPERSCAR
EIGHT FOREIGN TERMS FOR ‘HANGOVER” 1. Katzenjammer: German for “the wailing of cats” 2. stonato: Italian for “out of tune” 3. la gueule de bois: French for “woody snout” 4. Resaca: Spanish for “surf of the sea” 5. jeg har tommermann: Norwegian for “ workmen in my head” 6. ont i haret: Swedish for “pain in the roots of my hair” 7. irie Rasta coco ganja: Jamaican for “stoned Rastafarian trying to split my coconut” 8. so to gi ko-ho: Vietnamese for “water buffalo plowing inside my head”.
So THAT’s the mystery tagger!
Micro and ESL just hanging out. “We don’t know that guy!”
THIS DATE IN HASH HISTORY Run # 480 Date: 12/19/1993 Place: Westminster/Huntington Beach Hares: WET FURRY THING, POPSICKLE, TORT TART Miles: 6 ½ or 12 ½ Attendance: 71 This run celebrated the December birthdays of the hares. It began at College Park, just off of McFadden in Huntington Beach. EZ GOIN’ arrived after the hares took off and reported that the 2 female hares (WFT and TT) were headed east on a freeway overpass. REAR ADMIRAL arrived around the same time and reported that he saw trail heading in the opposite direction. When the pack took off, shortcutters SMALL, NUT N’ HONEY and others opted to go in the direction that WFT and TT had gone. After the first check, hashers were scattered everywhere. ALOUETTE, JOE ISUZU, SCABBY HAYES and about half the pack were hopelessly lost on Beach Blvd. They finally found some hash graffiti on the road that said “WHOPPER/FOOD.” This led back to the trail and someone yelling “ On On Hasher, on Dancer, on Prancer, on Vixens, on Vomit on Stupid, on Down-Downs on Blisters.” What a maze the hares put us through – and still no beer check! After trail led thru a Vietnamese Mall, the beer check was finally found. Trail then led past some soccer games, over a fence, under the freeway, past another shopping center, and up to Old World Village, where hashers were disappearing inside. Trail ended in the Beer Garden. AT & T was the incumbent hashit, and tried desperately to get rid of it to the likes of BOOBFOCALS, POOR AIM, SCOOTER and O.F.F., but she ended up with it for one more week due to weak nominations. DICKOREATER committed a hash crime by trying to snare shoppers that he thought were the hares. The on-on was right there in the Beer Garden, and a good time, bratwurst and birthday cake was had by all.
Deadline for maps, write-ups, etc is Wednesday at 5 PM: e-mail to: [email protected]
And now, a few words from ALOUETTE, our intrepid On Disk: “please be sure that I have your correct name, address, e-mail, stats etc. on file as we are getting ready to print the new 2008 LBH3 Directories. Check with me at checkin. If you don’t want your info published, let me know also!”
RECEDING HARELINE 12/23 1256 FISH LIPS Long Beach 12/30 1257 POOR AIMY & Blondes – Yorba Linda 1/6 1258 TBD – OC Marathon Orange Co. 1/13 1259 MARQUIS DE SADE Los Angeles 1/20 1260 DAMIAN & BOYZ Odd Couple Run 1/27 1261 Blojack 2/3 1262 Super Bowl Sunday – HI SPEED Sta Ana 2/10 1263 Outgoing GM’s Run Sunset Beach RESULTS OF LBH3 Run # 1254 DATE: 12/9/2007 PLACE: Whitter Narrows – Capital St. HARES: 4H Miles: 5.5 Attendance: 78 New Boots: Tracy Beck Returners: ACHEY BREAKY FART, AFTERBIRTH, AMELIA AIE FART, ASS THE OTHER, COCK RIDER, DANCING QUEEN, LAST TRAIN, MORNING COCKTAIL, NEVER ENOUGH BEAVER, NICE HAIR FAG, NIPPLE SCHNITZEL, PP LONGSUCKING, THIS IS A BUST Visitors: shaggy dog – Legos, Liberia, WHITE ELEPHANT - OC New Names: none Patches: BEN DOVER – 469, DICKOREATER – 169, TISSUE TITS - 25 Hashit: BROOMHILDA – for pawning her 900 Run jacket On-On: Casa Jimenez – Rosemead & Beverly Run Notes: Lots of shiggy, sometimes knee deep tunnels, RR tracks, paint ball war zone
MISMANAGEMENT COMMITTEE Grandmasters: Eddie “Pinky” Scott (714) 756-BYOB Laura “Hi Speed Copulator” Gaber (562) 902-2443 Hash Cash: John “He’s So Sweet” Kotlarski (562) 420-1221 Anne “Low Beams” Lattime (562) 439-2031 On Sec: Susanne “Broomhilda” Gilmore (562) 423-6149 Bernice “Special Head” Banares (562) 522-8774 mail to: [email protected] On Disk: Neva “Alouette” Higgins (714) 526-7823 Dick “Poor Aim” Ames (714) 734-6979 Brewmeisters: Steve “Head & Shoulders” Cantril (562) 400-1099 Bill “Last Train”Nord (714) SLIMEUP Munchmeister: Diane “Kammonawannaleia” Eisner (714) 658-2595 Trailmaster: Joel “Sin D Bare” (310) 544-5223 Hash Pushers: Victoria “Geezer Teaser” Rivera (714) 756-2962 Songmeister: Debbie “Corn Hole Hussie” Cantril (562) 400-1099 Hash Flash: Jaime “Buster Hymen” Ybarra (310) 872-6638 Ramona “Moan N’” Tucker (310) 378-6453 Webmeister: “HomoSAXual” – [email protected] Webmeister – Snooze: [email protected]
NEXT LONG BEACH HASH RUN # 1256 Sunday December 23, 2007, 10:00 AM Hare: FISH LIPS Location: Belmont Olympic Pool, Long Beach Thomas Guide: somewhere in LA County Cost: $4
For all you hashers (read: losers) who didn’t get away for Christmas, I have special plan for you on this holiday. Better than even something to get stuck in my dryer, but I tell you about that some time when we are on the beach in sunny Mexico or running a marathon on sleeping pills instead of Tylenol.
Alouette Neva Higgins 707 Nancy Lane Fullerton, CA 92381
