Drunk old sots,


With that greeting, Ma Del is already thinking "Poor old sot... you see... 
it's only... me...", but I'm actually referring to those of you who 
attended the drunkfest that was the last BFHHH hash event, or those who 
missed it, but were drinking with us in spirit, for here is your recap.


A murder of hounds (or was it a gaggle?) broke into an apparently empty 
college rental on Evans in Boulder last Saturday afternoon, where they 
discovered the kegurator tapped.  Fortunately, Deep fetched a few American 
lagers from his just-in-case, and hare and house-dweller Blows His Own Horn 
returned to discover a hash had broken out in his living room.  Chucky 
broke out a classic pornographic Cheeks t-shirt design, which the crowd 
admired and examined at, er, length, while the stragglers turned up, two by 
two.  Blows and his lovely co-hare, Peep Show, without the Little Bo, 
eventually wandered out, without chalk, and squandered precious moments to 
return to collect some.


The rowdy pack set off in hot pursuit not long after, and found themselves 
wandering through classic terrain near Colorado and Foothills.  The trail 
was pleasantly twisty and gnarled, enough to turn veteran wankers 
Chacockqua and Deep around so severely that they followed a section 
backwards, and marked up a DP accordingly.  Making the best of the 
situation, they set out on two separate, but equally brilliant shortcuts, 
as they cut some mammoth switchbacks and made their way across hill, dale 
and bike path toward the 30th bridge over Boulder Creek.  Ma Del made the 
best shortcut of all, leaving herself wet, and a little bothered, but at 
the finish as a FRSCB.  Little Head, that glorious hunk of man-flesh, 
stayed faithful to trail, bellowing his way across Potts Field, while Pod 
allowed himself a little shortcut, and Deep showed Shit how to make a big 
one, these latter two nipping at the heals of a devious, uncooperative, but 
hare-snaring Chacockqua on the left bank of the mighty creek.  The rest of 
the pack dribbled in, and enjoyed a few Rolling Rock Lights, which make 
Natty Light seem like exquisite nectar, at a finish that was to be a beer 
check before one of the hares awoke with fever and hallucinations.  No, 
Blows, that was just a blow-up doll.


A quick shuttle returned the jolly group to Hash House #1, whose thirsty 
carpet has been replaced with tile.  Still, it was a balmy November 
afternoon, so down-downs ensued in the back yard, as they are want to.  A 
visitor with a serious case of the grabasses applied himself to a bevy of 
cheeks, while Cheeks pontificated and hares from both this hash and the 
"Incident at Flatirons Crossing" were roundly powdered.  Pig Pimp was 
volunteered to bitch some beer, "Other"-hash style, while a trio of 
harriettes drank themselves silly.  When we found ourselves polishing off 
microbrews for down-downs, the down-down beer already consumed, we called 
and end to things and retired downstairs for pocket pool, Chucky's 
air-bass, shaving Pod's parts, and raiding the house bar.  The festivities 
concluded with near-virgin Linda (unnamed) passed out on the couch.  At 
Beav's place.  We hope she made it out in one piece.  Has anyone heard from 
her since?


Next hash is the infamous 6th Anal Tuwkey Twat, hared by me and Shit To Be 
Thai'd, I think.  Next Saturday.  Don't miss it.


On-on,
Deep