Hash 142: The Dawning of the Age of Aquarius Hash

I tried to make this caption amusing, but it just kept being seksi.

When the moon is in the Seventh House
and Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
and love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the Age of Aquarius
The Age of Aquarius
Aquarius! A-quar-i-us!

Howdy hermosos hashers! February first found us back at our favorite park: the only park you can drink booze at in Santiago! May Jupiter and the moon and all of the precious number sevens and every house throughout all of the world bless you wherever you may be in your various forms of decomposition, Padre Alberto Hurtado. We thank you for your splendid park in La Reina.

Our hosts were Just Mario on his naming hash and Thunder Down Under, and our hares were (1) Sir Turtle Head (on his ultimate hash before he leaves us to go get laid in Colombia), who taught (2) Arquisexual Dancewhore and (3) Last to Cum everything there is to know about setting a special trail.

Returning hasher and former SHHH Grand Master Sir Canuck Puck welcomed us to the park and to hash number 143 because our current Grand Master Sir Sump Pump was fashionably, fabulously late. And, because it was his last hash, Sir Turtle Head warmed us up in the ancient ways of Father Abraham. 

Virgin Raul has no fuckin idea what he's signed up for.

You do the ho-o-o-, ki - poky! You do the ho-o-o-, ki - poky!

Synchronization is not a strength of sober hashers.

And then we stamped our hands and emerged from the park into the nearby streets of La Reina for running and walking. Nota bien: one of the founding principles of the hash house harriers is the promotion of physical fitness.

Jesus Comes Twice arrived quite hungover after her Chinese New Year celebrations, and asked Just-Enzo to carry her, but like a football, not like a purse. You know. The manly way.

So I said to the Lord / "You promised me Lord / that if I followed you / you would walk with me always. / But I have noticed that during / the most trying periods of my life / there have only been one / set of footprints in the sand. / Why, when I needed you most / you have not been there for me?" / The Lord replied, ¨bugger off, crybaby."

The walkers bought cigarettes, debated taking another detour to a McDonald's, and then lost the trail. They eventually returned to the park, downtrodden and depressed.

The runners, as runners tend to do, had more fun.

Children are good at being displaced.

Sir Canuck Puck clenches his ass in anticipation.

We've lost so many virgins this way. Shame.

Sir Lady Bug knows he knows how to do this.

This is an image I can carry with me always.

We engaged in some relaxing before, or after, the circle. Who the hell can tell? No one numbers these pictures.  People just upload them to Facebook, and then I steal them, and then try to tell a story with an approachable narrative arch.

So anyway, we stood around and drank beer.

French Polisher excels at making friends.

While we stood, we touched each other's shoulders, and

Y'all, Just Jose, Prune and Arquisexual DanceWhore make me so glad I didn't move to some country with ugly people. Ugly people are the worst.

Just Marcia: another example of Chilean loveliness. Ugh, I can never return to the fatties in the USA.

we rubbed each other's tummies.

Mira: the cold, hard evidence.

We also prepared ourselves for the circle and the namings, knowing that only we can influence our attitudes and our behaviors and how we feel about the shitty names that other hashers give us. It's up to us to love ourselves, despite what people call us.

This is not the face of a man who will be intimidated by his hash name.

So with Sir Sump Pump finally at the helm, we circled and went about our boisterous business. We attracted new faces, and those under the age of twelve were squirted away by Octopussy, who really wishes someone had gotten a picture of her squirting water at the chest of some Chilean kid, instead of just yelling at her that you shouldn't do that sort of thing. She knows that. What she doesn't know is HOW AMAZING that picture would have been.

Oh well.

We thanked the hares for their fabulous trail laying.  

The middle of a facial expression is THE BEST PART.

We gave beers of pity to all of the folks who had missed out on the last hash.

Memorize these faces and asses, kids. There are the faces and asses of the unfortunate few who missed out of the Treasure Hunt Brewery Hash. Unleash all the pity.

We sang songs, and punished the Chileans for some misplaced grievance likely stemming from one MULTIPLE unsatisfactory customer service experiences.

Chilean people, or simply Chileans, are the native citizens and long-term immigrants of Chile, which is the country where we live.

We then punished every man over the age of 49 for being older than seven sevens, all Age of Aquarius style.

Sir Canuck Puck, Multiple Entry, and Sir Ladybug are all old-school in their manners of down-downing, but y'all, check out Sir Sump Pump's head snap. It is damn diva-enviable.

He's coming for you, Beyonce.

Halfway through the circle, we greeted Thermal Do Me when she showed up in biz-cazh apparel and pelted her escort with not one but two down-downs of envy.

Whatever you do, honey, don't look up.

We then got on our hands and knees in prayer.

Sir Canuck Puck shows Sir Lady Bug and Just Enzo the ways Peru can change a man.

  And, as is our custom, we praised beer and repeated after French Polisher words, words, so many little, difficult words.

Sleeping Beauty tries to think of less emasculating hash names; Crack My Ass wonders truly, how we all knew. He was so good at hiding it.

Then it was time for the namings! French Polisher released his rabid energy onto Sir Canuck Puck for the baptisms of beer, and he immediately ordered that Stroke My Bono and Thunder Down Under be watered for talking during the circle.

Stroke My Bono returned promptly to piss pouring in Sir Acting Semen's absence, but Thunder Down Under took her participation in the circle to a shiny new level. She joined the inner circle and refused to leave. In keeping with the hash's non-violent, but moist, ethics, a beer was poured on her head. 

Meek Canadian men have no idea how to respond to moist Aussie women.

But beer was little deterrent. Remaining in the inner circle for people receiving names, she offered wisdom and urged violence.

Some women can pull off anything, Just Dirk notes.

Eventually, Sir Turtle Head escorted her from the inner circle, making even the most formidable wrist-hold look friendly and supportive because he is such an awesome guy and we're going to miss him so hard and the hash will never be the same until he returns.

ALL YOU ASSHOLES, YOU NOW OWE ME SOME FAVORS.

We then proceeded with the namings.

We had many suggestions of the themes of being a pilot for dear Mario, but, as per usual, the most crass won out. Steve's closed-lips policy encouraged us to focus on his geographic salience.

Welcome to this strange family, Maxipad WITH WINGS and Poolboy Shagger!

Beer! It's so wet! So fabulously wet!

No lie, this is easily one of my favorite hash photos ever. Welcome, you two. I'm sorry your names suck.

Also, I'd know that crotch anywhere.

We then remembered it was Sir Turtle Head's last hash and he required ice on his bare ass!

Peru has taught him so much.

That'll teach you to leave us. Jerk.

We resumed our standing and touching and drinking. We did this long past the 6pm park curfew because the park raised the price from 3.500 pesos for a quincho to 5.000, and so there was spite in our hearts.

Also, it is because we had nowhere better to be.

Why do we drink with our right hands?

Around 11 we reconvened at Elfo's for unpleasantly and surprisingly shitty beer and an even worse selection of karaoke songs than at Flannery´s. Which is too bad, because Elfo's used to be cool. Just Marcia sang two songs twice apiece, and it was magical.

Not pictured: hashers rocking it at Don't Stop Believin'

Thank you, lovely people for a wonderful Saturday welcoming in the Age of Aquarius, especially Thunder Down Under and Maxipad WITH WINGS for hosting, Sir Turtle Head, Arquisexual DanceWhore and Last to Cum for haring, and Sir Canuck Puck for coming down here and getting all up in our faces!

Best of luck to you on your new adventures, Sir Turtle Head!

Our Annual Red Dress Run

DATE: Saturday, February 15

TIME: 4pm
HOSTS: Multiple Entry y No Cuntry for Old Men
HARES: Something Suckler educating Strip, Minor y Southern Exposure in the gentle ways of the hare


ADDRESS: El Fanal 6627, Vitacura
METRO OPTIONS: 
1) LINEA 1: get off at Escuela Militar, take C14 to Camino La Bodega / Av. Santa María
2) LINEA 1: get off at Manquehue, walk to either the bus stops for C7 until Rotonda Lo Curro or the bus stop for C14 to Camino La Bodega / Av. Santa María Manquehue

 
COST: $3.000
BRING: Red dress/swimsuit/sun screen y booze/flesh/salad/snacks to share for the after circle asado 

Mismanagement Committee Positions

Then get you some, child.

Email SantiagoHashHouse@gmail.com with the color of your underwear, and your interests in ascending order. These positions are alphabetically arranged.

BEERMEISTER or BEER MISTRESS: These are unquestionably the most important positions in the hash. The Beermeister and Beer Mistress share the weighty responsibility of making sure that the lifeblood of hashing is available at each and every hash event. They keep constant vigilance to find the cheapest spirituous fermenti available, always have coolers in the trunks of their cars, cases of beer in their bodegas, and reliably return the empties between hashes. This job requires a strong back and a weak mind.

GRAND MASTER: The guiding light. The GM is not simply a figure head for the hash; rather, she personifies the hash’s character (or lack thereof). She leads with a dynamic strength that permeates the fabric of the organization. Both directly, and through her mismanagement officers, she gives inspiration, direction, and vision to all. This position ranks only below Beermeister, Hare Raiser, Hash Cash, and Hash Geek in real importance to the hash.

HARE RAISER: This hasher makes sure that there are hares for each hash, and that the start location is known to the Hash Geek well in advance of hash day for publicity purposes. The Hare Raiser IS the hare if she can’t find anyone else to do it.

HASH CASH: The holder of the purse-strings. Someone needs to dash about the start of each hash begging for money. Someone has to keep track of what comes in and what goes out. These generally unappreciated duties fall on the shoulders of the Hash Cash. This trustworthy soul must withstand the whining of the Hares who have over-spent, the whimpering of those who forgot their fees, and the interrogations of those who mistakenly think there should be some sort of accounting for hash funds.

HASH FLASH: The person who captures on film for posterity all embarrassing hash moments. The hash flash must have an acute sense of the absurd to know what to take photos of, and also a small degree of reliability to bring a camera, take pictures, upload, and put only the finest thereof into the sacred photo album of the internet. Should be on at least speaking terms with Hash Geek.

HASH GEEK: This position is a masochist’s wet dream. She struggles with piles of papers, miles of computer wire, and attempts to occasionally produce a Hash Trash to keep the hash members reasonably informed. She is the official representative on the internet, maintaining the Web Site, email lists, Facebook group, MeetUp group, and other such forms nonsense. This Hasher also maintains the hash membership data base. Boring stuff to say the least.

HASH HABERDASHER: This hasher can speak Chilean, and has access to a car. Her responsibilities include procuring and selling items of apparel to the hash.

HASH HUSH: Do you love discipline and getting others moist? Do you enjoy the pebbling of nipples? CAN YOU HANDLE THE SHRIEKS? Apply within to wield a water gun in the hopes of getting other hashers to shut the fuck up.

PECKER INSPECTOR: This hasher was like Mother Theresa and Gandhi and Princess Diana all rolled into one in her past lifetimes. In this most selfless reincarnation, she gets to look at penises to verify the colours of underwear for reticent spies and virgins. Because there's nothing the hash hates more than someone WHO MAKES STUFF UP.

PISS POURER: This hasher is one whose eyes and hands may have betrayed her before, but who keeps fighting, and because of that Herculean effort, can pour beer into cups. Repeatedly.

RELIGIOUS ADVISOR: Keeper of the faith. Enforcer of the scriptures. This is the hasher who has seen the light (but not Bud light) and can taste in her soul the true spirit of Hashing. The religious advisor spreads the word and inspires the zest and zeal of the hash in all participants. Any hasher found transgressing the spirit of hashing is disciplined by the RA. She is the keeper of the sacred Laws of Hashing and comes up with sufficiently plausible lies to cover any serious questions of propriety of actions within the hash.

SONGMEISTER or SONG MISTRESS: This is a hasher with no self respect. She never lacks for a song suitable to the occasion. Her songs are risqué, lewd, and vulgar. The Songmeister or Song Mistress speaks with other hashers and hashes to acquire songs to add to the hash hymnal. The mission is to explore new tunes and new celebrations. To boldly go where no Songmeister has gone before (pardon the split infinitive.)

SUPPLY HASHER: This perfect specimen of a hasher has seen it all before, and can help out during periods of absence of other members of the Santiago Hash House Harriers mismanagement committee. 

Hash 141: Treasure Hunt Brewery Camping Hash

Gaaaaaah guys, last hash was pretty much perfect. Kegs of delicious beer, trails of treasure hunts for alcoholic prizes, singing songs in Spanish (póngale!), and campfire guitar strumming all made for a relaxed evening in the greenery surrounding Santiago. For those of you who missed out, here's what you missed:

We arrived a bit before 4pm hash start time to set up tents and eye each other's hasher dashery.

Stroke My Bono and Spank My Schnitzel know to wrap it up, every time.

Approximately fifteen tents were foisted upon the hospitality of Mickey Gin and his brewery of delicious Tubinger beer, nestled in the foothills of the Andes in Pirque.  

Behold, the palatial tent of Virgin Marcia! For reals, impressive.

Once we'd set up camp, we circled to welcome the Virgins, called out our adorable hash names, and listened carefully and with great dignity and sobriety as Prune and Home Schooled cautioned us that this run would be more interactive than your normal pavement pound. Mickey Gin then led us in a rousing warm up of Father Abraham, and we readied to run.

Butts, butts, glorious butts

So, in this hasher's humble opinion, it's a rare hash in which the run outpaces the drunken shitshow of the circle that follows the run. But this run, Dear Reader, ooooo this run. THIS run, and its less-sexy-kinda-homely-stepchild walking counterpart, SUCCEEDED.

While some hashers choose to read the clue, Just Mark and Sir Turtle Head elect to dance the cueca around it for greater cosmic understanding. Equally valid options.

Por que, as Prune and Home Schooled had promised, the trail was a treasure hunt, and the treasures were alcoholic.

There once was a man, discontent
Whose wanker was so long it bent
He found it such trouble
He kept it folded double
And instead of coming, he went

Poems and other clues were spotted throughout the trail to help the hashers identify and locate precious, precious beer. 

I've only ever been in love with a beer bottle and a mirror.

We climbed trees, and then:

WE NEVER SAY NEVER

we found beer!

Well, Stain Pants found two cans of beer under a rock, but they immediately exploded! So he shared the love, generous lover that he is.

Splooging all the glory

  Runners remained in high spirits,

Hey guys! Guys! Look! We're TWINS!

because they walked! Later every single runner would be called into the circle for punishment. Each and every one of them chose to traipse through the stones rather than risk a rolled ankle and INFINITE GLORY from running a running trail in its entirety.

And then I said, "Rectum? damn near killed 'em!"

The walkers split into two groups in order to look for a two liter bottle that covered beer, or some other thing, hidden in a cryptic and mysterious way. The ones who turned left eventually returned early, discouraged and a little dirty from picking up every bit of trash for a kilometer, hoping beer would be secreted behind it.

The second, more industrious and slightly cleaner group, actually followed the trail correctly and without incident. They, too also made it back before the runners, and helped out with the onerous job of downing the first keg of beer and then piss pouring.

This is where the magic happens.

Back at the brewery, Mickey Gin led us on a delightful tour through paradise.

And then we circled up for pleasure laced with pain.

Sir Acting Semen acted as Grand Master in Sir Sump Pump's absence. Our virgins this hash were very international, hailing from all over Europe and South America. Is it just me, or do the virgins keep getting more attractive?

Spy Sleeping Beauty approves of Chilean beer and fabulous hats.

We sang songs, downed down-downs, kept our right hands pure and untouched by evil alcohol, and did circle things.

Octopussy maintains order. Last to Cum maintains his mouth-vomit.

No me wueveen, Chilenos: ¿WHERE'D YOU HIDE THE MANJAR?

Hares Prune and Home Schooled keep fluorescent fashion alive.

Muffler Sucker and French Polisher man the beer table.

All the runners, all the shame they have brought upon their families

Then, Dear Reader, then something beautiful happened. Drinking songs were sang in Spanish! Twice! It was gorgeous. True story.

Here are the songs again for appreciation and memorization purposes:

Ese farol no alumbra, no alumbra ese farol

Ese farol no alumbra, no alumbra ese farol

Póngale parafina, que alumbrará mejor

¡Y!; Póngale póngale, póngale, póngale, póngale…. (póngale = drink it down)

Tome tome compañero

Tome tome compañero

Si mi compañero toma, nosotros le cantaremos

Aloeeeee, aloeeeee, aloeeeee, aloe

Aloeeeee, aloeeeee, aloeeeee, aloe

¡Y!; Póngale póngale, póngale, póngale, póngale….

Thanks, Bi-Weekly Deposits and Sir Turtle Head for the introductions!

Finally, the circle was declared fucked, and then folks broke into groups to cook food, distribute meat, drink more, smoke things, play soccer, sigh methodologically, touch each other intimately, whatever. NOT YOUR BUSINESS.

Action shot!

This is one of the few images that can finally put to rest the false claim that Just Mark and Octopussy are in fact the same person.

 Night fell, and we circled a fire because that's what people do in the movies. 

Pirque: home to the purplest fires ON EARTH.

We sang plaintively and with vigor, depending. Just Mario busted out some supreme Sublime classics, and then, as a finale, tossed a wine cup into the fire after finishing it, just liked you'd how expect a FUCKIN ROCK STAR to behave.

Music! Sweet, sweet music, and the joy it brings everyone but the deaf.

Beauty is everywhere.

Big thanks to Mickey Gin for hosting us, and to Prune and Home Schooled for setting a titillating trail!

Dawning of the Age of Aquarius Hash

Damnit, we will miss this guy. :-(

Join us for a jaunt around Padre Parque Hurtado, up to three namings, an after-trotar asado, and a super sendoff to one of our favorite hashers, SIR Turtle Head!

DATE: Saturday, February 1 

TIME: 2pm (park closes at 6pm!)

HOSTS: Thunder Down Under y Just Mario (on his naming hash!)
HARES: SIR Turtle Head  (on his last hash!) con los hermanos sexys Arquisexual DanceWhore y Last to Cum

ADDRESS:  Table 57 at the end of the park inside Bilbao 8105, La Reina, Parque Padre Hurtado - http://www.parquesanalbertohurtado.cl/

METRO: Manquehue or Francisco Bilbao, then local bus or collectivo.

MEET: Look for the flour beginning inside the main gate at Bilbao 8105, La Reina. Note: If you pay to go in, get a stamp on your way out so you can return.

COST: $3.000

ENTRANCE FEE: $500 pesos for people entering on foot or bike, or $3.000 for a car with up to 5 people.

BRING: Booze/flesh/salad/snacks to share for the after circle asado 

Hash 140: Texas Pool Party Massacre

Early January brought us back to the tree-lined streets of northern Providencia for our first hash of the year. Hares No Cuntry for Old Men and Multiple Entry demonstrated the finer points of flour aesthetics. As you probably recall, the English word for "flour" is originally a variant of the word "flower." Both derive from the French word for fleur, which had the literal meaning "blossom," and a figurative meaning "the finest." Also, flour is so very beautiful. 

Virgin Cormac's pose summons all the goodwill of Vanilla Ice.

 We warmed up to Button Factory, led by hosts Octopussy and Stained Pants.

Circle the nipples of the air ever more gently, my friends. Do it slowly.

 And then we were off! There were multiple feats of strength, none of which were captured. Every runner save Stain Pants skipped the initial limbo test and was punished soundly afterwards.

By the way, we need a new Hash Flash. Someone please volunteer for this prestigious post.

Have you seen my Uncle Fester impression? It's legit.

Speaking of stuff the runners missed: They ran by the most perfect, humanity-redeeming painting of Michael Jackson! Viewable only as you head East, the walkers basked in its glory.

Check out the painted gate to the left of the green wall. 

"I just wish I could understand my father."

I just wish I could understand my father.
Read more at http://www.brainyquote.com/quotes/authors/m/michael_jackson.html#3aPgH83DGVKzLDKH.99

 It's Michael Jackson!

Young Michael Jackson, sure, but likely his least controversial. We few who love MJ even post-Presley marriage are... rare. The slats facing west are uniquely painted to render MJ in all his glory. As you get closer, the image distorts.

"You're a vegetable!"

God bless you, weirdo homeowners of El Cerro 1973.

The runners had the excellent Sir Ladybug with them, so they took photographic evidence of their trotar-ing through the gross smoke that rolled in from the forests of the Valparaiso region. Remember it? It blanketed the city around 2:30pm, just in time to get in all our lungs.

Have you met Crack My Ass's invisible overweight girlfriend? She's not real.

"The poisonous fog is slow-acting!," celebrate the runners.

That man has the sekksiest calves.

After the run, in which some of the walkers stopped for conos of shame from McDonalds, we returned to Edificio Parque Constanero, home to the most annoying neighbors who complain about parties at 6pm in the afternoon, for circle time.

Couch Stain rubs Bi-Weekly Deposit's belly for luck. Octopussy makes unfortunate fashion choices.

 Sump Pump welcomed the virgins, including Pussy Wagon's sister Paula, and invited them into the hash family.

Just remember kids, always masturbate with your RIGHT hand. Keep your left hand pure for the drinking.

 Then our abusive neighbors started harassing the conserjes and we were asked to move sides of the building. The circle continued, and once again, Sewage foisted on us the silver bedpan of hash shame, for one lucky hasher to drink or wear, as fitting her crime. Octopussy was selected for failing to keep order in the circle.

Sewage struts the cat walk of the inner circle as if he were born to it.

The circle continued and many sins were punished. As there were no namings, we traded insults and beery goodness. Also, three people actually got in the pool.

Strip, Minor! always keeps a brave face when administering beer.

 For some unrecalled grievance, one Chilean was identified for a down down. Of course, no one can drink alone. So when one Chilean drinks, they all drink!

And they're off, ladies and gentlemen! Cuban Nipple Crisis is off to an early lead, but Sir Turtle Head, Prune, Pussy Wagon, and Multiple Entry are right on his tail! Bi-Weekly Deposit appears to be spitting into his cup, for an even larger thirst to quench! The rarely-enjoyed Cunning Linguist and Mariachi Masturbator close their eyes and dig down deep for the home stretch! Strip, Minor can't handle the pressure!

 The circle was declared fucked, and then we moved to the quincho space for grilling. Reverse Cowgirl brought a hula hoop, which was a huge hash hit.

Last to Cum and Just-Mario think hula-hoops are A-okay!

Awkward poses make the night go by more slowly

 The party then retreated to Flannery's for karaoke fun times and bar dancing.

Mutual grooming is THE BEST

Fabulous hash, chicos!