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!

Hash #139: Ho Ho Ho Christmas Hash

Happy holidays, hashers! Our late December hash in the festive barrio of El Quisco Norte hath passed and we are a little nicer and naughtier for having experienced it.

Prune's brother Virgin Christian monitors his phone, and his sexuality

Hashers arrived in El Quisco via caravan, party bus, three-wise-men-style camels, and on foot. Rumor has it some people even live out there, flush against the cerulean blue Pacific Ocean, and actually commute the 100+ kilometers to Santiago every other weekend. True story. But probably a lie.

We warmed up to Father Abraham, commencing the hash for-possibly-the-first-time-ever EARLY, with Sir Turtlehead, Octopussy, Stain Pants and Virgin Lisa rolling into the serenade of the last stanza. Without sufficiently warming up, they all cramped only minutes into the run, and then they perished from the earth.

Other hashers survived the run by not dying of death. They celebrated life by performing feats of strength, and magical mind-blowing. Below is a demonstration of a camera, or something, suspended before K Y Not? and behold it is WITHOUT STRINGS and WITHOUT MIRRORS.  

IT IS A CHRISTMAS MIRACLE

Rejoice!

But anyway, the run was LOVELY.

After the glorious beer check, we returned to the All-Dogs-Go-To-Heaven ranch and attempted to make the most perfect and Platonic shape our human brains can comprehend, the circle.

Prune and Stroke My Bono prepare their dancing legs.

Visiting-cum-returned hasher Sewage introduced us to multiple implements of phallic shame like how they do in Papua New Guinea.

The vacuous penis and testicle vessel giveth to you, but in a BAD TOUCH way. 

Sir Acting Semen selflessly takes unto himself the first SHHH imbibing of a bed pan coveted and then stolen from a venereal disease clinic in Manila.

So many questions about the successful marketing of the eye mask with bonus phallus, so little time.

REJOICE

The circle was unruly and the many were squirteth upon by Octopussy in her failed attempts to keep order.

This is possibly the best picture taken of her ever. And, y'all, No Country for Old Men looks so groovy in this picture. It's like war and peace have become drinking friends.

Eventually Prune assisted by dousing everyone in black beer with the biggest squirter ever known to these here parts.

Pussy Wagon and Spank My Schnitzel pay homage to her huge green shaft of thirstiness, and Arquisexual DanceWhore wonders just how damned he's become by joining the hash.

Acting-Religious Advisor Sewage gathered us to call out the concealment of sin, and righteously punished those who hash in sandals. Shame on you, Multiple Entry!

Mmm. Tastes like hostility.

He then led us in prayer and baptized the lovely German-cum-Chileno Alexander, hereforth known as G.P.Ass. Welcome, G.P.Ass!

Blessed are the moist.

The gringos commanded the deliverance of inheritance of crap novelties through the game of White Elephant / Nasty Santa, and there was much rejoicing.

REJOICE

The Hebrew word tum'ah (טָמְאָה) describes a state of ritual impurity. Y'ALL WE ARE AMAZEBALLS AT THIS FUN HEBREW WORD.

REJOICE

Easily the most popular gifts were the red thong underwear OF TEMPTATION AND DAMNATION, the orgasming chicken OF LAUGHTER AND TRIUMPH, and a sweet mechanical dog that rollicked mechanically from the oversight of not having been given knees. 

Stroke My Bono hath never seen anything so glorious.

Virgin Adrian fights all the feelings.

Pussy Wagon and NAMBLA love cheerful toy dogs. Home Schooled loves making eye contact.

K Y Not's transition from ingénue to methlab lord begins today.

Fact: the Biebs has four arms but only one sleeve.

We then enjoyed meats and drinks and rapped terrible songs from the 1990s until the party bus did turn back to Santiago. Many thanks and blessings to Sir Sump Pump and Sewage for the joint sacrifice of hosting and haring! We love you. You guys are the best!

REJOICE