Alcoholics with a Running Problem

So my friend Redhead Running sent out an email today with the awesome news that she and her running buddy (both fellow bloggers) are starting a new adventure into journalism with the possibility of getting paid for their ramblings on this site called Creative Loafing (check it out). I went to check out their first story and was totally stoked to learn they both will be deviling into the world of Hashing soon!

In honor of their upcoming soon to be crazy night of hashing and perhaps a new addiction for both of them I've decided to post a blog I wrote from my old Myspace blogging days last year about my experience in the world of the Daytona Beach Hash House Harriers!

Have fun hashing girls and be careful! You're about to be sucked into a world of running like you've never experienced before! :-) On On!

(Originally Posted on Myspace Blog, June 12, 2008)

It's been a long-drawn out day and I'm in a strange mood. My friend calls me up and asks if I want to go to the Daytona Beach Hash House Harriers event tonight because it is happening in New Smyrna Beach. I've only gone once before and it was nearly two years ago. She asks me to go all the time, but I usually come up with an excuse. This time is different. I need to hang out with some new people. I need something different; something to take my mind off things for a few hours.

"Sure," I say, "Why not?"

Since the hash starting point is about 6 miles from our houses we decide to ride our bikes there, do the hash and ride back. Erin (Rolling Hooters) is training for a triathlon and this will be good practice. The ride over is fine. It's hot as hell and we are both covered in sweat when we arrive, but that's okay because we're greeted with two cold beers. The starting point is at Semen Hole's house on 17^th Avenue and although Rolling Hooters and I are 20 minutes early there's already 10 people sitting in the front yard dressed in Catholic school girl uniforms all drinking beer out of a party ball of Bud Light. The theme tonight is Catholic school girls. Rolling Hooters has on a short pleated skirt that she has rolled up to make shorter because it was "not proper hash dress" to begin with. Her outfit is complete with a white "wife beater" tank top that is super tight, some knee high socks, pony tails and bright yellow tinted glasses. Being last minute and not having a skirt on-hand I opted for a school boy look with dark blue trousers and a light blue dress shirt.

A couple of the hashers actually remember me from two years ago. Fecal Fucker remembers me and so does Semen Hole. I recognize a few of them, but their names are what stick out in my head the most. I mean really? How crazy is it that they give themselves these super vulgar names and for the most part I don't even know their real names?

More beer is passed around and more hashers arrive. Got Crabs shows up with his wife Dildo. One woman introduces herself to me as Cums a lot and then I immediately meet another woman named Cums on Time. An older gentleman named Gilligan parks right in the middle of the front yard. Semen Hole stands up and yells about how hard he works to keep the yard nice at Gilligan. The yard is deader than Death Valley. At the party ball I'm filling my beer and a young kid asks me my name. My name is Sylvan since I haven't gone to enough hash events to be "named" yet. The kid says he is Blake and this is his first time. For the rest of the night they call him Virgin Blake. A few others arrive, including one named Porcelain Pussy.

"Harriers away!" Semen Hole screams.

Cums on Time and another girl take off running down the street in their catholic school girl uniforms, one of them carrying a bag of flower and the other carrying a small dog.

The drinking continues for about 10 minutes and Semen Hole screams "Walkers away!"

Rolling Hooters and I agree that walking is easier than running after drinking enough beer to get properly buzzed so we join in with the majority of the hashers, about 20 or so.

We follow white piles of flower on the ground every 50 feet or so until coming to a double arrow drawn with flower at the corner of Saxon and 17^th. This means the trail could go either way and we have to figure it out. Scout hashers go each way until one finds a new trail. A whistle is blown and the words, "On On" are heard from a distance. We follow the sound of the new trail. This continues for about ¾ mile until we end up at another hasher's house. As we walk by she hands us another drink. It's some kind of raspberry flavored wine cooler. Rolling Hooters and I share it and soon we are walking south on the beach. I look back and it's a truly strange sight. Thirty or 40 people, mostly drunk, walking down the beach with open containers and glass, both illegal, all wearing Catholic school girl outfits!

Another mile goes by and we end up at Dildo and Got Crabs house for the halfway point. More beer is to be had by all along with many bags of cheese puffs and tortilla chips, just what is needed for a good workout.

After a fare share of beer is consumed the same process is repeated with the harriers taking off ahead of the walkers and runners. This time we end up on a nature trail and it's getting dark. Soon we're off the trail and pretty much in the woods with no trail. I've got a good buzz going and my height seems to be perfect for collecting spider webs on my face.

We stumble out into a clearing. It's a place that in all my years in New Smyrna Beach I never knew existed. There is marsh grass that is about knee high and mangroves off in the distance. Blotches of toilet paper mark the trail. The ground is soggy and has a squashy feel. As we walk further and further, the ground gets softer and mud soon begins to stick to my tennis shoes. I start to notice that my calves are covered in beach sand and now they are collecting a nice layer of mud over the beach sand. We come to a tidal creek that is dry, or so it appears to be in our drunken state. A man named NASA jumps across and tries to help Porcelin Pussy across, but she slips and soon has mud on both her Catholic school girl knees. Rolling Hooters decides she can make it, but one foot lands just short of the bank and sinks so deep in mud that her shoe comes off deep in the hole. NASA reaches in and grabs the shoe. Soon there is a bottle neck of Hashers all trying to get across the mud hole. Everyone is falling, slipping, sliding in the mud. There are all kinds of cursing, laughing, screaming, you name it. I walk about 30 feet down and find a log that has been placed across the mud creek. Walking a straight line is hard enough while drunk, let along balancing a log. I make it across and look back as very large guy is approaching. He's about as tall as me, but probably has 150 pounds on me. He doesn't have a name yet, but everyone has been calling him Douchebag so I assume that's his name. He totally slips across the log and falls into the mud sinking up to his waste. Just then, Fecal Fucker runs by laughing and yelling, "fat man stuck in the mud!" He pulls himself out of the mud and we continue through the salt marsh.

Finally, we end in a clearing where two collapsed tents are on the ground. There's a fire pit and lots of empty beer bottles, broken flash lights and other camping gear either used by teenagers or homeless people.

Of course there is more beer ready for the drinking.

The hashers waste no time filling their cups. A circle is formed. Remembering my experience two years ago, I know the drill: Don't have more beer in your cup then you can slam or you have to dump it on your head. Soon, individual hashers are called out to the center of the circle for various reasons such as falling in the mud, or not coming for two years, or being a virgin, or being a harrier or whatever drunken reason they can come up with to get the person in the center. The hasher in the center must slam their beer and if they take a breath or remove it from their lips they much turn it upside down on top of their head. To encourage the drinking everyone sings vulgar songs such as this one:

Zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-day,
My oh my oh, what a miserable lay.

Chorus
Haring is great but,
Beerings the best,
Time for your down-down,
Put ice on the chest.

Slap your ass cheeks 'round that ice hole,
It's a fact,
It's irrefutable,
It's cold right on your pubicals.
Zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-day,
Down-downs are better than your miserable lay.

Mr. Blue Balls formed an icicle
He's all cold,
And furry too,
Better find something to screw.
Oh, zip-a-dee-do-dah, zip-a-dee-day,
Hope you like ice,
'Cause that's where you'll stay.
Drinking down, down, down, down,
Down, down, down, down,
Down, down, down, down . . .

For about 30 minutes this continues along with the binge drinking. There are probably a dozen songs known by all and screamed by all. The hashers decide to name two people tonight. Once you've been to four or five hashes you get named. Basically everyone yells out any dirt they have on you until a vulgar hash name is selected and voted upon by a bunch of screaming fools!

The guy they have been calling douchebag is about to be named Geriatric Douche Nozzle. Just the thought of this name makes me laugh, but at the last minute someone says he should be named Nurse Scratch It because he is a nurse and he likes to scratch his balls and sniff his hands. Nurse Scratch it sticks. The next guy is a rugby player originally from England and he gets named Bloody Fecal Cum or something close to that, it's hard to tell with all the drunken screaming and yelling and singing.

Finally we head back to Semen Hole's house where a water fight is started with a hose as people try to wash the mud off. Rolling Hooters and Toe Sucker strip down to their underwear and walk across A1A to the beach to wash off. Rolling Hooters comes back soaking wet and not worried at all that she's dressed in a white tank top and white underwear! They are all going to Flagler Tavern to eat and drink more. I decide it's probably best if I ride my bike home, in the dark, drunk instead of making myself completely sorry the next day at work with a horrible hangover. We say farewell and I head home. It was an interesting ride home. The night air is hot and muggy and I sweat the alcohol off. What a night! Completely random and different. Just want I needed!