Dear Doctor Down-Down,
I have this inexplicable desire to hash in Vladivostock (the “Vulva of Siberia”), home to Russia’s Pacific Fleet. I heard that the nearest night club is in Japan! Maybe I wouldn’t get into trouble for singing “Hello Penis, My Old Friend”! I daren’t talk about these feelings with my wife — she she has an Amex Plat and isn’t afraid to use it. There would be flights to Vlad booked in no time. Who can I turn to?
Ashamedly from Austin
Yeah, that sounds like a guy thing, and I wouldn’t want my wife tagging along either. Well, if your heart’s not totally set on Vulvagrad, you’re in luck. Fellow hasher Automatic Balls is putting together a men-only hash travel tour. If your wife’s cool with the men-only thing, you’re golden. If she isn’t, just do what I always do: set up the trip in secret, pay for everything in cash, disappear when it’s time to go, tell her you have amnesia when you get back.
You know those Swedish tours, where they take men with low self-esteem and poor social skills to the Philippines to get laid? This’ll be a sex tour with hashing. It starts and ends with pre- and post-lubes in Frankfurt a.m., Germany (the “Scrotum of Hesse”). Along the way you’ll sample the hashing and venereal delights of Pecs, Hungary (the “Urethra of Southern Transdanubia”); Kamyanets Podilsky, Russia (the “Mons Pubis of Khmelnytsky Oblast”); Izmir, Turkey (the “Perineum of the Aegean”); Ljubljana, Slovenia (the “Clitoris of the Pannonian Plain”); and Krakow, Poland (the “Glans of the Vistula”).
Automatic Balls says most of the harriers who’ve signed up so far are wallflower types like Elephant Dick and Flying Booger, so he’s more than willing to make space for a stud like you, as long as you agree to be songmeister on the bus. Good luck!
Dear Dr. Down-Down,
Is there a title for senior hashers, like the really old guys who started hashing back in the 1950s or whatever? I never know what to call them . . . hash gods, ancestral harriers, supreme hashers? Help!
Honorifically Stumped in Sydney
I’ve heard old-timers called senior hashmen, which conjures up images of colonial days and men-only kennels. I’ve also heard them called elder hashers.
A lot of hashers think that giving people grand titles and such runs against the grain of hashing, and most of the senior hashers I know would be embarrassed if you singled them out for special attention. Bill Panton likes to be called Bill, or Tumbling Bill, and Ian Cumming likes to be called Ian. If you asked them what they were, they’d say “we’re hashers.”
That’s not to say hash veterans shouldn’t be venerated. Personally, I think of them as hash gods. I just don’t call them that to their faces, because they’d think I was sucking up.
Dear Dr. Down-Down,
Do you ever find at times you have acquired way too much of a good thing? Hash t-shirts, for instance — don’t we all have enough already? When I was doing laundry the other day I discovered I had way too many beige panties. How the hell did I get them? They’re pretty darn boring.
Pay Per View
Dear Ms. View,
Panties boring? Your panties? Perish the thought! Pack ‘em up and send ‘em to me at the clinic, and I’ll pay for the shipping. A-henh!
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