Date: Sunday, May 30, 2004
Place: 87 Prospect
Weather: Sunny cicadan
Hare: Wheapea
Hounds: Skaar Tissue, Discomfort, Jan Kaiser, Brain Injury Volunteer, Hey YO!
Paully,
Soft Bottom, Bruce Hancock, Ed Zysik, Polish Twin C, Jimmy Ruckfutgers, Tim
Edmunds,
Premature Graduation, Bjorn Dork, Salsa Bitch

Not a bad turn out this year-- certainly better than last year, where Lady
Macbeth's Family and Bjorn's father couldn't help the pitifully few hashers
finish the spread Oieepee put on. The trail, limited to the Princeton environs
couldn't leave much to the imagination. Do we go clockwise around campus or
counterclockwise? Counterclockwise it is! Despite the no-brainer of a trail,
several hashers did end up losing the pack, with HYP and Tim making notable late
rejoinders at the on-in (I thought we had a name for Tim by now-- wasn't he
Chest-Deep or Iceburg Lettuce or something?). High points included a trespass
through the soon-to-be-finished library construction site, and... well... I
guess that was the only high point. Oh, the pack did make the acquaintance of a
distinguished reasearcher-jogger out by the Institute-- who happened to have
hashed a few times in England. Will this gentleman try to elbow Geezer out of
his spot as PHH's elder statesman? Only the summ
er season shall tell. The on-in included an excellent salsa that the hare made
himself. Numerous requests for the recipe were made. Salsa Bitch made a few
new friends, and regaled the group with his tales of a semmester spent trying to
make it as a Sherpa on Everest. A no lesser feat was his appearance on the hash
itself, on the Sunday morning after a serious Reunion Bachanaal (similar props
to the Runners--Bruce and Ed, BIV, the New Brunswick Crowd, and I suspect Scar
Tissue-- back for a visit from Harvard Sucks!). In fact, was anyone not
hung-over that morning (and yes, I know Discomfort ran with us)? Numerous Jumbo
hotdogs and even slabs of a Christmas sausage were grilled and eaten with relish
(the adverb?) at the Gazeebo overlooking the soccer fields. A mass orgy of
cicadas was created out of/in PTC's shoes by unnamed hounds, and fun was had by
all.

After the hash a few unrealizing souls braved sure death by the Wife of
Geezer, and tried to visit him in his house where he lay nursing a pulled/torn?
Brad Pitt tendon. Oipee wisely held to the back of the group as we pushed into
the kitchen. I suspect only the presence of Discomfort saved myself and PG, and
Geezer was in fact allowed to see us (where we waited in the kitchen-- on orders
not to step a foot further into the house; and ladies and gentlemen, PG who
actually has gone through Marine Boot Camp would agree with me that those orders
were the kind at which mortals quake).