Gobble gobble,


The 6th Anal BFHHH Tuwkey Twat this past Saturday was epic.  Too epic for 
some, just epic enough for others, but, without a doubt, epic.  And by 
epic, I really just mean long.


A handsome pack, replete with comely lasses, gathered at Stazio ballfields 
at hash time, and the hares, Deep and Shit, set out into some deep 
shit.  True trail (TT) turned north along the RR tracks, then west across 
hill, dale, and deep, ice-encrusted fens, which was reported to have caused 
some difficulty among the hounds.  A map was sniffed out on the back side 
of a stone obelisk, and the trail followed to the south along and old RR 
grade, by those who weren't shortcutting wildly through the business park 
to the west.  The pack blundered its way south, then east into the vicinity 
of 63rd and Arapahoe, where they picked up the scent of Deep, and his 
well-manicured powders, which, in stark contrast to Shit's alternating 
giant powder explosions and miniature "Cheetah" droppings, were easily 
followed across parking lots, through ditches, along a CB 17, and 
eventually up one (1) hill to the first beer check at Legion Park.  As the 
pack straggled in, the hares bolted across a ridgeline on the south side of 
Arapahoe, then down through suburbia into another ditch, where Deep drew 
most of the pack to a YBF and a pile of dumped powder.  Double D, not 
understanding Flatlander protocol, seemed to think they'd snared a hare, 
but the rest of the savvy, but hapless, FRBs knew better, and set about 
tracking down Deep's speedy partner, who'd since taken off down nearby 
Baseline Rd.  The pack was showing signs of breaking at this point, but 
MaDel's autowanking fly-by rallied the sullen hounds, and they set off with 
renewed vigor across the bridge into open space west of Dimmit Rd, then 
north to the beer check at the southeast corner of the golf course.  A bit 
of hot chocolate spiked with creme de menthe warmed hearts, but tongues 
remained sharp, as the pack divided squarely into walkers and near-walkers 
for the remaining third of trail.  The sun slipped behind the Flatirons as 
the pack wobbled its way generally westward along the corridor of the bike 
path toward Chacockqua's house, where a YBF was laid, Shit dumped, and the 
secret hare, Spermes, cleverly sprung himself.  It took some elaborate 
deception to send the FRBs off and deter the DFLs, but Spermes managed to 
grab his bag and dart westward over the pedestrian bridge across Foothills 
and to the Hash House #1 finish.  The Beav expressed disbelief that the 
hares, including Deep, would have laid such an insanely long trail, and 
only A Boy Named Sue was still running by the time the pack reached this 
classic finale, leaving notable overachievers 2Holes and Cum Silent beaten 
and broken, but 3 Taquitos and a 6-pack of Hamms changed their tunes in 
short order.  A not-so-quick shuttle was quickly followed by down-downs, 
which ensued, as they are want to.


A long trail calls for an even longer circle in this hash, and we were not 
disappointed.  Songs were sung, shockingly in key, with alarming harmony, 
which is certainly not necessary at a hash, but made easier by Little 
Head's absence, such was the consensus at the time.  Limp/Ripsalot maligned 
our variable, mercurial tempo, but hash songs were delivered with gusto, 
and possibly verve.  Even Chacockqua never sounded so sweet (which is 
symptomatic of the ears after pounding four cases of canned beer).  The 
award was awared to Spermes, and 4Stroke's sister, formerly Chris 
(unnamed), now answers, in these parts, to "Fourteener".  Well done, 
4x4.  Many thanks to Shit, Spermes, Cum Silent, Cummy Pinko, 4Stroke, 
4Teener, the Beav, Beaver, A Boy Named Sue, Limpalot, Mr Grab-ass-tic, 
Chacockqua, Night Rider, Pig Pimp, Pod, Matt (unnamed), Sinbad, Morticia, 
MaDel, 2Holes, Port, Art o' Choke, Sir Piston, Katie (unnamed), Double D, 
Homeless (and lost?) and anybody else I've forgotten for an excellent hash.


Next hash is #100, also the Winter Solstice hash, also the "Shortest" hash, 
on Sat Dec 13 at 2pm.  There will be shirts.  100 songs, no 
repeats?  Hmmm... maybe 100 beers instead.  With repeats.


On-on,
Deep