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March 14, 1999

R*n #17:
Captain's Deck bar on Howard St
Hares: Dainty

Dinty Pulls the Finger of God

After STRUGGLING through an aborted attempted long run that morning, cursing all the while at the wind, I purchased beer to fill the hash cooler and set sail for the Captain's Deck.  Inside I ran into EZ Sunday and Specklebird, drinking beers in one of the darkest dives I've ever darkened the door of.  I got a beer and pizza from our toothless server and watched the many millions walk in, replete with such irregulars as In & Out, Wet & Wild, Meister, and Good Swallow, as well as visiting hasher Continental Something-or-Other and just transplanted to town 8-Ball.

The hare went through standard mark details and sent the pack r*nning.  Meanwhile, I delivered beer to the final destination ( Dainty's abode), then did my best to catch up to the pack.  I heard folks across a major type street, going through fences and the like, so I attempted to short-cut to my left and eventually picked up trail.  Soon Pole Pounder, Wild Man and, Yer Anus were front running with me through the beastly wind-blown mall.  Trail was tricky enough, and the head-wind (I'll take some of that) rugged enough, that soon we were in the company of such good folk as In & Out and Gaseous Clay.  Trail continued through some shiggy and railroad tracks and so forth, proceeding to a split.  I, of course, went the wrong way, as Wild Menendez went searching for little boys and found trail instead.  Before long we were galavanting towards the Dainty-mobile for our beer stop.

Molson (not Cap'n) Golden was served to one and all, much to our delight.  Much to our displeasure was the odor wafting, no, make that whistling in our direction.  Those aforementioned wicked winds were now carrying airborn fecal matter and all other manner of unmentionable things from the adjacent sewage treatment plant.  It didn't help that Bloody Thighs found the bathrooms locked and relieved herself in the great outdoors.  The most plausible explanation for the foul odors and incredible gale-force gusts was that the Lord himself was passing gas.  It was thus summarily concluded that our beloved haress, who had blessed us with such fine beer and trail, had been tricked into pulling God's finger.

Eventually Cap'n Golden huffed and puffed his way in, and told us that the rest of the pack was on their way, so off we went.  While the remainder of the pack was sniffing out westward, Wild Man found trail to the north.  We followed.  Trail proceeded through some side streets towards the Skokie Swift line, but not onto it.  We went through a fence at some school, through a number of industrial type areas and waggled our way to the finish.  Though Wild Man had led most of the way, along with Pole Pounder and 8-Ball, he was summarily passed at the end, as the marks in the street had been erased by passing traffic. 

We were ushered into Dainty's home, after removing shoes and socks like good little boys and girls, where we found Rear Guard and Buffalo Nuts waiting for us, as well as visiting hasher GIGO

Post-hash treats included Nutter Butters (the official snack food of the 2nd City hash), ranch flavored 3-D Doritos (taken off the grocery list after tasting) and all the Old Milwaukee and American beer we could drink.  This turned out to be not much, as American was not greeted with the resounding cheers that I had hoped for.

Pretty soon down-downs got underway, with nothing too memorable.  I don't even remember any ambiguously gay comments from Yer Anus.  I'm pretty sure Panty `Ho must have gotten DFL, as she came in about an hour after the rest of us, claiming some sort of church deal.  Soon Dainty and GIGO were seen protesting against American Beer by hugging the fridge and drinking whatever tasty morsels they could find therein.

As the evening wore on, so did we, and Dainty seemed eager to get rid of her old pals, perhaps needing to converse withe the Lord regarding the good wind that blew everyone ill.  Suggestions of food ordering were all met with a slight whimper and subtle suggestions that we find food elsewhere.  So Yer Anus packed up the bounteous remaining beer, and the last 4 of us trekked into Evanston in search of Buffalo Joe's (not Nuts) for chicken wings.  Sadly, only Panty, Speckie, and Soary made it , as Cap'n Golden was once again lost in space.  Food was devoured, beer was drunk, and so were we.

All in all, pretty darn good trail, especially considering the hare was too gimpy to run, and must have set it while walking.  In fact, I recall that we didn't even sing the old ``Hare Still Sucks" song for her down-down.  Excellent beer stop beer and plenty of low quality beer at the end.  Lots of folks showed up, including Full Term and EZ Sunday, whom I've failed to mention adequately.  Only trouble was that God-awful wind.  This was, in fact the second straight Dainty hash with bad weather (see last issue's ``Dainty, Skokie, Rain, and Football"), so let's make sure she's not up for RA. 


 - Soar Balls rating is two balls, medium. 

Editorial Note:  It was brought to my attention after the hash, that some folks didn't appreciate the fine $7/per case American beer.  When confronted about this, I hadn't been taking my medication and was suffering from the old paranoid delusions and went on to deny everything.  More reasoned reflection has brought me back to one of the founding principles of this hash, to try to downplay the cheap drunk aspect a bit in favor of better runs and a higher quality of hash experience.  In trying to save the hash money, I fell back into old habits of making sure there was plenty of beer for all at a reasonable price.  Well, we should have American beer for the duration of the summer, so I will try to make sure better beer is always available in the future, and I encourage others to do the same.

Your pal,

Uncle Soar Balls

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