Hash Trash, Red Dress Hash, 2/11/12
It was a hash of epic proportions.
Every Goodwill and Salvation Army Store within 60 miles of the Quad Cities was out of red dresses. Mysterious piles of flour littered the town of Rock Island. Paparazzi were in full force.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
Fifty (give or take) hearty soles gathered in the Daiquri Factory, all adorned in beautiful red dresses – and varying degreess of layers, depending on their intelligence/toughness… you make the call. Coochie, Raw Deal, and Her Bait staged a press conference in an attempt to explain the concept of a ‘hash run’ to the media – no easy feat.
The clock struck On-On O’Clock, and Alpha Raw Deal led the hashers outside for the first circle. After a quick Hash Tutorial, Coochie and Her Bait ran off in terror, knowing the scores of hounds that would be after them. Raw Deal, who knows not to run with strangers, demanded that all present introduce themselves. We were graced with a vertiable army of virgins ready to be sacrified, along with hashers from the Quad Cities and the deparved denizens of Cedar Falls. Anticipating the horror that was to await us, Raw Deal taught the group the hash hymn “S-H-I-T-T-Y T-R-A-I-L.” So that Rear View, a mere slip of a lass who gets cold easily would not kick his ass, Raw Deal then led us inside to have a pre-run beer.
Faster than you can say, “I’ll have another,” it was ON-ON, and a swarm of red dresses took to the streets of Rock Island. Her Bait and Coochie need not have worried that the hounds would catch them, as we got lost approximately two blocks outside of the bar.
We proceeded through the streets of Rock Island, listening for whistles and cries of “on on” and finally found the lovely Sherpa and the first circle. The crowd of reporters was another clue we were on the right track. Sherpa demanded that we jump rope for heart and passed out the world’s tiniest jump ropes. Senor Rambo had an impressive vertical leap as he attempted to clear it, while Junk In the Trunk considered the compromise of jumping over a red scarf instead.
Jumping complete, we hit the streets again. Funky Feet encountered a woman with an empty baby carriage and yelled back to the hashers, “WE ARE MISSING A BABY! EVERYBODY, LOOK FOR A BABY!”
As we all anticipated, the trail led us up a very steep hill, where the FRB had to blow up balloons, which he naturally stuffed into his dress.
We neared the Augstana campus, and several frozen hashers went into Kavanaugh’s, hoping in vain that cold beer and warm beer awaited us. No such luck.
Just as we were about to freeze to death, we found Pretzel waiting for us next to a giant rock, armed with The Champagne of Beers, and better still, Tequila Rose. I myself have never had this particular beverage before. The first shot tasted like a delightful combination of Strawberry Quick and booze, so I had another to make sure that was accurate. Tight and Bright theorized that Tequila Rose is, in fact, amoxicilian, which is great news for all of the hashers who contracted ear infections running in the frigid cold. Then, we joined hands and passed a hula hoop around the circle. The two virgins in the matching red prom dressses took the final pass of the hoop and… ON-ON! As for the Tequila Rose, Ivana Runalot forced me to take another shot with the stern and convincing argument of “You should have another one.”
Down the hill we ran, and many red dresses passed the crowded parking lot of the Quad City Expo Center. Those people didn’t know what hit them.
The winds picked up, and it was so cold that my face hurt, though I probably should not complain, because at least I wasn’t wearing a short strapless dress like many of the well dressed gentlemen of the group were.
Before we knew it, it was time to stop once more to visit Twistin’ Bangs, who had lovely pink boas for the FRBs, one of which my son’s stuffed tiger is now wearing as a tutu. Cars drove by and honked at us, and Strap On responded by lifting his dress and showing off the good china. Bangs played a tribute to our wardrobe with the song “The Lady in Red.” Rear View was so moved by the beauty of the song that she responded by freaking Funky Feet. It was very romantic.
Our hearts were full of love and our bellies were full of beer as we ran on, sure we were headed to the bar adn to heat.
Now, this part of the hash is a tad fuzzy for me. Several of us wound up on the bike path by the river, and technically, we might have been off trail, but I will choose to think that we were totally in the right place and that the arctic winds siimply blew away the four. It’s possible, right?
At last, we returned to the bar, where Coochie and Her Bait happily awaited us, but more importantly, so did the booze. We circled up, congratulated the hares on their SH-I-T-T-Y T-R-A-I-L, toasted the FRB, the DFLs, and those of us guilty of on-trail violations (such as, for example, ditching the trail and runnign to the bar) and voted on the best dressed hasher. Senor Rambo won in a landslide, and was presented a bouquet of roses by Funky Feet. And the lovely Sailor Moon introduced us to Jello shots’ calcium rich cousin, puddin’ shots.
Along the way, we racked up a literal basket full of cash for the American Heart Association, coated the city of Rock Island with flour, and introduced a passel of virgins to the wonders of hashing. Not bad for an afternoon’s run.