Cinqo de Mayo Hash

Cinco de Mayo Fool Moon Hash

May 3, 2007 - Hare: Moon

So, okay. I get it. I've been an absentee hasher lately and I am truly sorry for my neglect, but I have legitimate excuses. First, I had to go visit my parents for a weekend, then I had to go to Nemacolin (to recover from the weekend with my parents) where smelly lotions and oils were rubbed all over my body by people to whom it was okay to say "it's not okay for you to speak while you're doing this." I had a terrible cold the weekend Doppelwanker was in town. Finally, it was raining one weekend and I am water-soluble. So. There. There are my excuses. What's your excuse for missing Moon's Cinco de Mayo Fool Moon hash? The weather was too nice? The location too convenient? Final exams? As the hare you were too good for us? Whatever your excuse, you are forgiven.

This is going to be the first time I will be able to recount with accuracy the individual hashers present for this delightful spring evening hash. I can also recall the order in which we arrived. First, I was there. Noah was second to arrive wearing a very strange hat which I couldn't stop staring at. He was followed by out-of-towner 4FU from Hershey. Death Marchal arrived next. Manstruation appeared and last, and possibly least, Pound Puppy arrived. I had never met him before but, within minutes, he asked if he could see my tits, so I knew he was the type of man I like being around.

Manstruation had been given an envelope from Moon via Death Marchal. The envelope was sealed and top secret. Do you believe that nobody was curious enough (or at all) to open it? I began to salivate. It was, in part, because of the secrecy of the envelope, so I tore it open and what were its contents? Another envelope! How fucking clever! The envelope read "good for one free beer if returned unopened." We did not open it.

Finally, someone got bored and we were on trail. Being the only girl, slow, and generally lazy person there, I headed off to the South Side Works for a quick jog while looking for super cute shoes. Eventually, we all ended up back at Big Jim's where down downs were not led.

We mashed some tables together and Death Marchal got bitch-slapped by our waitress who was furious at his excitement to order a fish sandwich. She admonished him to "wait [his] turn."

I observed the men as they ate as though I were invisible. Here were the topics of conversation and this is not fiction: Sex and the City repeats/best moments; how old men's dicks are like silly putty; Japanese films translated into Chinese; slimming down in six weeks; "skinny jeans;" and how to please your man. Oops, I accidentally started copying the cover of my May issue of Glamour. In any event, their conversation was pretty fucking gay. Pretty fucking gay until somebody asked 4FU about his time in Vietnam.

This part scared the hell out of me and I'd rather not go through the entire story, but basically, 4FU lit a previously-smoked cigar stub and the moan of a morose cello began to wail in the background. Smoke curled around his face as he shifted his weight and began his tale. He spoke of mutilated babies and grand tapestries in a single breath. He reminisced about a soldier nicknamed Bones and that's what became of him. And her. He spoke of his girlfriend who smelled of lotus blossom water, whose smile warmed him to the core, and whom, after a solid year of spilled blood and war, softened only by her tender kisses, he abandoned. He never spoke to her again. A solitary tear rolled down his cheek and 4FU lowered his head and wept. Meanwhile, Noah who was not paying attention mentioned silly putty again and we had soon forgotten that 4FU was there at all.

Since I've been slaving over this newsletter for days (read: the past ten minutes), and I have not come up with a cute way to conclude, I'll just say, the end.

On On,

Hypnotits