The residents at the corner of Plymouth Place and Reading Boulevard were once again blessed with a group of drunk idiots assembling in front of their homes. “Must be anal time!”, they thought, probably. Not a single virgin in sight, apparently they are scared of anal? After a not-brief-enough history lesson from Bad Semen (which included some photos that he printed out of his fax machine), Any Crack’ll Do was out of site and the rest of the degens decided it was time to go find him. On-On! One would think 39 years of stumbling through the same area would yield efficient results. But, as the checks appeared, the group split up more and more, as if they didn’t know where this was going. A few brave souls entered a tunnel, while the less-dumber folks patiently waited for them to inevitably turn around and re-emerge minutes or days later, with permanent spine misalignment. Carrying on through Wyo, drunk and confused, the group worked together in the hopes of finding a happy ending. Finally, a beer near! It only required stepping over a tiny creek. Not surprisingly, more than one uncoordinated half-wit managed to face plant themselves in the three inches of mighty Wyo whitewater rapids, showing up to the BN dripping in Reading waste water runoff and shame. After mocking one another over a fine beverage, we proceeded on to finish this shit show. Through the dense and uninhabitable forest, we were finally “rewarded” with the H’s. The reward part was questionable, as there were no beers in site. You had one job Crack… Anyway, more hashers trickled in, beer eventually showed up, and a circle was formed after a bit of discussion about leaving Bad Semen wondering out in the woods like a senile old man. Since that’s what he does every other day anyway, the circle commenced. Optopussy threatened the FRB with a drug test yet again (maybe someone should drug test HER?) Two of our finest members were named, Just Mark became Screams Like a Bitch, and Just Curtis became 50 Cent Coitus. Songs were sung mostly correctly, and the group departed the woods, only to regather at Oakbrook Brewing after cleaning themselves up from the evenings shameful activities. ‘Til next year, Plymouth & Reading!
Just Justin
RH3 #1125 Life’s A Beach Hash
The group of degenerates gather at Brentwood for Just Mark’s virgin haring with the help of Nasty Panties. Directions were given. The hares made sure we knew that, although Tofu wasn’t haring, the rain gods still wreaked their havoc and they had to lay trail twice. The group split up as soon as we parted ways. So much for thinking that being laid twice in one day would make the trail easier than a fifth street whore. We wrapped through Alvernia. I’m not sure if Dances and Crack were looking for beer or coeds as they blew past a few checks and passed the first beer near. The rest of us found the delicious beer of Jaws… Narragansett. Did I mention Just Mark almost became shark chum the previous week due to a surf board incident? After whetting our whistles we were off again. Next beer near was in Schlegel park where the FRB pack could watch the walkers all roll in like zombies in search of beer. Back to the SRT for a nice flat finish to circle. A few type A’s (Nut Nibbler- no surprise there and Breaststroker- under duress of the possibility of Legal whipping him if he doesn’t get his daily steps) walked past circle to complete their daily mileage. Songs were paired with a beautiful sunset. Short and sweet before we were left in the dark and told to head to Paolo’s for Apres.
Optopussy
RH3 #1124 RIBBED…For Your Pleasure Hash
The band of degens circled up in front of Excitement Video. No virgins in sight, typical of Shillington. A dick-off broke out, Vanna had the shortest and was handsomely rewarded. Decoy appeared to give directions, however, no-one could hear him over his music.
Some assholes were eager to go, but Opto reigned them in for introductions. On-On, we gone.
Soon a creek crossing, a jungle like path, checks a plenty. Then in a random back alley, yells of “beer near, shot near”. Finally a cold Hamm’s! What could be better? How about a blowjob, some cheesy meat, salty balls and dangerous flames.
Then another creek crossing and hills. Us “local legends” from the glorious decades of the ’80’s and ’90’s yearned for a delicious meal from Dempsey’s (AKA Dumpster’s”). Instead, we got more f’ing hills.
Finally we circled up in the beautiful Fawn Hill hop yard, many thanks to honorary new members Just Jeff and Just Destiny. Songs, shiny headed men, accusations, a drug test, GM’s and down-downs. An almost angelic rendering of Swing Low, then off to Paolo’s for pizza, wings and beer.
On-On, Just Shawn
The fabulous hash Float! The on-on began on a strange street, with lots of curious neighbors, peeking out their windows, and pretending to pull weeds as they stared us down. We circled up on this strange street to start #1123 ironically at 11:23. Weird.
We started our jaunt roaming around some streets. Heading through some old trails that we hashed once before had a beer stop at a beer stop that we had before. I know original, right. We ran some more and then we arrived at a parking lot, where Cougar was so nice to give us all blow jobs.
With most of our inflatables, nice and hard, we circled up. Songs were sung, drinks were drank, two people were called out for sitting down at the hash circle, imagine that. Then we all headed towards the water. The glorious water, on a glorious day! the float ❤️ just so worth it. Our little flotilla stayed together, drinks we enjoyed. Vanna’s smoke kept the insects away. Just Jeremy raided an island party to curb his munchies. Foot, Schmamazon and Breast had a threesome. Choo choo worked her herding skills. Cougar Baited a ton of fish. We couldn’t ask for a better day.
We all exited up a bushy slope that was over grown and thick like the snatch of yesteryear. When a bush was a bush.
We gathered at the Apres for more beer, more beer, more beer and a lil bit of pizza,
As always the float NEVER disappoints.
Love u longtime !
Choo Choo
RH3 #1122 The Dog Days of Summer Hash
The evening started out pleasant enough, the temperature was mild, the humidity non-existent, there were dogs to pet, fellow hashers to chat and of course beer to guzzle. Just Brittni and Nut Nibbler led off introductions, unfortunately there were no virgins in attendance. The Hares proceeded to explain the trail markers, and right away we could tell something was up with the flour. There were rumors floating around that an expensive rice flour was used, more on that later. Off went the half wits blazing through the backyards of Blandon. On one, one two, ON-ON was cried out into the sweet summer air. Trail was easy enough to follow until it all went to shit. Half of the group was split up by an oncoming locomotive on the Reading railroad. This would lay the groundwork for the confusion that ensued. After the train passed the group continued on, much to our surprise the group ahead of the train was not able locate trail, what the hell. On and on we went searching for the coveted BN. Somehow, probably by miss reading a check, we stumbled on Nut Nibbler hunkered down in the bushes with a cooler of adult beverages. We were offered beers and we took them. Down in Front sounded the horn, and so we waited for our fellow hashers to join us for libations . However, our fellow hashers were no where to be seen! Zip, zilch, nada. The only souls that responded to the sound of the horn were some horses chilling on the farm across the street, they must have been old derby horses or something. From there the “elite 8” as the group was dubbed, continued to press on, much to our dismay we had a difficult time locating the trail, that was until a late arrival pointed us in the right direction of true trail, thank you brother! Most of the pack believed the expensive rice flour was to blame, it could have been, or could have just been the beer talking. Anyways, the trail led us into a creek, and everyone rejoiced when SN was spotted in the distance underneath the bridge. Pickle-jalapeño whiskey shots and peach ring gummy bear shots were enjoyed by the aforementioned elite 8. Being the half wits we are we did not realize we had to mix the whiskey in with the pickle juice, oh lord! However, we were successful on the second shot attempt. After shots were consumed, we found the trail leading us out of the creek and back to civilization. We started to get the impression that the other group of hashers had created their own trail back to HHH. Seriously not a bad idea. Up the hill we walked and as we passed the Blandon water tower we knew we were near the end, thank god because my beer buzz was starting to fade. We arrived back to Just Brittni’s house for HHH and the circle jerk. Songs were sung, accusations were made and bald guys drank. Everyone enjoyed the remainder of the evening relaxing in the back yard, drinking IPA’s, Hamm’s, homemade margaritas and eating square pizza. Some of the luckier ones even left with a bushel of vegetables from Just Brittni’s impressive garden.
Just Pat
All the halfwits gathered on a hot, humid Monday evening in the parking lot of the former Gold’s gym for Trail #1121 (almost half way Opto). A nice crowd for a Monday evening hash. Two virgins graced us with their presence – Just J female and Just J male (I don’t recall their actual names but I do remember their initial – car bomb’s do things to one’s memory center in the brain). After tennis ball bouncing instructions and introductions of the pack went. Cougar and NFB vying for the lead. From this point forward I have no idea where the pack went or how things turned because I was very hot and sore from the Rogue North (Dancing Fool) hash the day prior, thus I hashed smarter with Foot, Schmamazon, Just Mims, and Swamp at a much more “Ginger” pace. We arrived at the lot of Van Scoy (address 1121 – coincidence? Conspiracy? What does 1121 mean?) after a treacherous 0.1 mile uphill climb to wait for all the running folk for Beer Near #1. PBR’s flowed; lots of water was drank – I guess people were sweating a lot. We were not. Off the pack went. This time the runners beat us to the garage at Down in Front Ginger homestead in the beautiful borough of Wyomissing. Even the alleys are nice there. Back to Ginger’s place again for HHH and circle. Beer bitch duties were “partially” done by Partial Erection or partially shitty. Lots of good songs from Tour, plenty of PBR, bald guys, GM’s, and Opto got swing low correct – what a great circle. Where is the apres? THE HOOD!!! Decarlo’s – our diverse friends missed us from Penn St. Tavern at Red Dress and Santa in December. Ginger and Down in Front were gracious hosts with wings, fries, and green stuff for the healthy folks. Plenty of beer. Foot had some green drink with a red bull -this made Schmamazon happy until …. Car Bombs then she was ecstatic. Great to see Shrinkage, Cougar, Dumb and Dumber as well as all the drunks that regularly attend these events to take us away from real life. Thank you to Ginger and Down in Front for your trail, short-cut, and the generous apres. See you drunk bastards at the next sauna fest – don’t forget the float coming up!!
Breast Stroaker
RH3 #1120 July 4th Hash
Hares: Decoy, Toefu, Foot Fairy, Flamer
430 am alarm goes off and groans of hashers can be heard all over Berks… why am I getting up sooo early?!? Well because it’s one of the best days of the year for a Reading hasher!! The Fourth of July Hash! We all managed to find the new start location since gate closures and blow jobs rendered our previous fire tower start unusable. So behind the old Captains Cove we welcomed four virgins (just Ethan, just sheri, just jeremy? And just someone else). We circled to sweet sounds of prideful American songs while we sipped PBRs, all as the sun was rising. On- on: Of course we hit the fire tower where there were no blow jobs but a cooler of sweet PBR. Then on to the Pagoda for a champagne near which was more like an orange juice near because Flamer thought two bottles of champagne would be enough for 50 people. Finally we wound down past the Liederkrantz and apparently missed a shot near. Probably due to a good mixture of part drunk and part still asleep. We finally circled back at the cove parking lot. Virgins were called out. Accusations were made: ruckasacking type A shit, Flamers inability to buy enough champagne, blood on trail, bald things, grandmasters, “Karen’s”. We took a moment to honor our veterans with a down down and even then Foot said circle needed to go longer. So how does a GM extend circle??? You ask Deathwish to sing a song. Soo about an hour later we made it to Reifton Fire Company for apres. 🚗💣, breakfast and beers all before 9 am. How, as a hasher, can you not love this day?
On-on
Optopussy
This edition of hash trash was written by a robot. Only names were changed by One Knee Wonder to incriminate the identities of the guilty. Cheers!
Once upon a time in a peculiar town called Reading that had a knack for eccentricities, there existed a running group known as RH3. They were an odd bunch, fueled by both their passion for running and their love for a particular golden elixir – beer. This merry band of runners gathered every week, combining their love for fitness and indulgence in a way only they understood.
Led by an enigmatic character named Optopussy, and with the help of Horn of Plenty and Two in the Pink, the hashers embarked on runs like no other. They would assemble at the edge of a dense forest, staring into the wilderness with a mixture of curiosity and excitement. You see, they didn't have a pre-planned route. Instead, they relied on a trail of flour scattered by a mysterious hare, whose identity was forever concealed.
With a boisterous cry of "On-On!" echoing through the trees, the hashers would venture into the unknown. They navigated the labyrinth of foliage, following the white trails of flour as if it were a lifeline, guiding them deeper into the heart of nature's embrace.
However, they were not without their quirks. Among them were a few hashers who possessed an uncanny ability to locate shortcuts, which often resulted in mixed outcomes. Some hailed these hashers as geniuses, while others questioned their sanity. These self-proclaimed intellectual adventurers believed they could outsmart the trail and reach the beer quicker.
And so it happened, on a fateful run, the smartest (or perhaps the dumbest) of these hashers discovered a secret path through the undergrowth. They sprinted, cutting their distance in half, convinced they had outwitted both the hare and their fellow halfwits. But as they emerged onto a clearing, they realized their mistake. They had only found half the beer.
Confused and slightly disappointed, the hashers regrouped in a circle known as the "circle of trust." They formed a bond forged by their shared adventures, cracking jokes, swapping tales, and indulging in a peculiar tradition. Each hasher munched on orange crunchy snacks, a symbol of camaraderie, while raising their beer-filled vessels for down-downs. Laughter and merriment filled the air as they toasted their endeavors.
After their ritual was complete, they migrated to a local watering hole affectionately called Bertie's, or sometimes referred to as "bird titties" in their own whimsical slang. It was a haven where stories were woven like intricate tapestries, where both truth and fiction intermingled freely.
Inside Bertie's, they gathered around a table, their eyes wide with anticipation, ready to listen to the tales shared by their eccentric compatriots. On that particular night, a peculiar story was whispered, originating from an outsider known only as the Wanderer. With a twinkle in his eye and an air of mystery, he spoke of forbidden desires and grand obsessions. In hushed tones, he divulged the enigmatic tale of "Bad Semen" and his insatiable longing for a monumental symbol, an overwhelming desire for a "big cock" that surpassed even the fear of death itself.
As the night unfolded, the hashers reveled in the absurdity of the tale, finding solace in the fact that their running escapades were not the only oddities in this whimsical world they called home. And so, with laughter echoing through the walls of Bertie's, they embraced the quirkiness that bound them together, their running group intertwined with the spirit of forever chasing trails, laughter, and the promise of beer.
One Knee Wonder
RH3 #1118 The Love Hash
Was a splendid night for a gathering of RH3’s finest as well as some out of towners and two virgins. While we waited for our hares, Hot for Teacher and Any Crack’ll Do to cum, we were awed by the creativity of some halfwit who utilized every last brain cell to lay out the remnants of previous hashes into a beautiful “1118” in the dusty lot. Finally, our hares arrived, and we circled up as Decoy led the way. Evidently, our GM decided she would rather not associate with this heinous crew and was unacceptably absent from the festivities. Introductions were made, Crack provided instructions and we were on our way.
The motley crew meandered through the Flying Hills Village searching for the white stuff. Alas we were “On-on.” Our hares had us chasing each other in circles as we searched for the 1st BN. Across the golf course we galloped with unsuspecting spectators witnessing the spectacle. As sweat, or the previous night’s endeavors seeped from our pores, we trudged up the hill to a welcome sight…BN! We gathered in the woods momentarily to down, down some of the “good” stuff. After a few moments of jovial convening, we were on our way again.
We followed the trail through woods and fields to reach the next BN or maybe BF (beer far). As the crew trudged up the hill, through the high grass (and what may have been saw blades), the black backpack full of liquid delightfulness was in sight. The only thing better than the view from the top of the mountain was listening to Vanna exclaim her disdain for her less than stellar sucking skills.
Back down the hill, through the field of screams and On to trail. Next task at hand was following the powder across Philadelphia Ave. while our sphincters puckered as speeding cars barreled past. Initial thought was our hares were trying to thin the RH3 herd. Being that 80% of the herd never made it to this point, our hares were unsuccessful in their endeavors. As we stumbled over the unsuspecting homeless under the bridge, we reached the H’s. Many beers were drank waiting for the rest of the half minds to arrive at circle. “Why are we waiting!!!” Their less-than-ideal decision-making skills hampered by over consumption at the 2nd BN, had them make a right on trail, instead of a left and ended up going back to their cars.
Once the derelicts returned in their vehicles, circle was formed, songs were sung, down downs were had, announcements were made, and everyone swung low. It was then on to Teacher and Crack’s place for further festivities.
On-On
Just Mark
69'd to the finish line. Started off packed with beers and celebrating messed up Mondays with a cheer! Everyone went Hamm, some deciding to run up hill not fearing the unknown. Wobbly rocky terrain with no pain no gain. The thirsty goers were quenched with 3 boobies near (BN). Seeing the squirting water tower. But it was no match for Cougar Bait, as he slayed the climb to get on top. 4 virgins were sacrificed to the lambs. Just Jeremy, Just Lea, Just Jule and Just Mike. No PN stop but that doesn't stop the unlimited PN locations for alone time. Ending with a nice slide home right inside Swampy. Testing endurance, stamina and the orgastic adventures of life. Until the next cum sesh.
Vanna Blackout
RH3 #1116: Red Dress
A very good turnout of at least 50 Hashers showed up for this years Red Dress Run (Save the Boobies Fundraiser) being held back at West Reading Fire Department Social Quarters.
We were greeted by Beulah serving up some tasty prelube beverages. It's an especially great start to this hash with Papussy & Indian Queef in attendance and not to mention Fudgy & In U end O being able to make the long trek back to Reading for this event.
Next up was a short walk to where Circle was going to be held, our ball sack showing hare, Breast, giving the detalls of what flour markings we would be searching for. Opto, our beautiful GM, called the lone virgin Just Colton into Circle for some last final instructions. The introductions were made and then we were off search for trail.
Once found, trail led us across the Buttonwood Street Bridge and into the city searching for our first BN located at Grill then Chill, but what's this, our very first BN false. Im guessing this was due to the fact that Grill then Chill wasn't even open at this time of the day. Nice research hares.
The pack continued on, but was slightly derailed for a few minutes due to what appeared to be some local having an adverse reaction to some previously ingested drugs. Two ambulances showed up to deal with this poor fellow, which allowed the hashers to continue on trail where our first legit BN was found, which pretty much just happened to be in the middle of the 8th and Oley intersection. At least we had beer this time. Beers were drank, a few photos were taken before the pack was back on the move again.
After just a few short blocks on trail beers were flowing again at our next BN stop Puerta del Sol. Pretty sure this was everyones first visit to this fine establishment. Next up, trail brought us to the Penn Street Tavern, where we celebrated, along with their great regular patrons, the grand opening of their brand new outdoor patio. A few lucky hashers actually even came away with some beautiful plastic flowers.
Next it was back across the river, where trail led us to the HHHs, located underneath the billboard entering West Reading. Down Downs were drank a few accusations were made, Stink Finger proceeded to climb the billboard for one
last photo and then it was off to the Apres.
This year’s auction was held with Swamp being assisted by the very entertaining Just Chris, who, at the conclusion, earned her the aptly naming of Vanna
Blackout.
Another great Red Dress Run is in the books, Thanks to Beulah and Rainbow for getting us just a little boozed up and to the hares Breast, Swamp and Hotlips for putting on such a great hash event!!
On
On
OLD News
RH3 #1115 Cheaper By The Dozen Bakery Bash
We gathered under leaden skies in a gravel lot in Blandon. A curious blend of chocolate chip cookie and mushroom shit permeated the air. Hares Stupid Brother and Dry Dolly had been working diligently, laying a trail consisting of tiny pinches of a powdery substance. Since our GM was absent (skewed priorities…in my opinion), the Queen of the Hash, Horn A’Plenty graced us with her divine leadership. The usual assortment of reprobates struggled in vain to assemble anything approximating a circle. Instructions were given, introductions made and we saddled up.
Our first challenge was to cross Park Rd alive, which to the best of my knowledge, we all accomplished. We wove between houses, then ended up traversing a series of backyards. Thanks to the weekend downpours, it was like riding on loose sand, punctuated by dodging the occasional boggy sinkhole. Terre eventually firmed up and we scurried through neighborhood byways, ending up at our first driveway BN of the night. As we approached our stop, the skies felt it was high time to urinate on our Motley Crew. Temporarily quenched, we rolled by rows of perfectly edged lawns and the occasional garden gnome until marks grew puzzling. They were ON…we were ON?? Who cares…2nd BN! There, we were treated to a viewing of Breast’s technicolor ass, compliments of a recent cycling reacquaintment with Mother Earth.
Ponying up…the usual FCBs led us thru several more roadkill zones and back to the blessed HHHs.
Circle was mercifully short…owing to the fact that we old GM fucks have forgotten most of the songs and shit. Well…that, and we just wanted to drink.
We adjourned to the Panderia (that’s bakery to all of you unilingual folks) for pizza, cookies, beer…and more beer.
Cycle On, Garth!
ToeFU
A larger than expected group of half minds gathered near The Highlands on our first Monday night of the season, not to turn in our early reservations for future diaper changing care, but to pound a quick Hamm’s and listen to Swamp relive his glory days of being GM in circle. It was finally time for Just Curtis to put down his training wheels and lay some trail with the best sidekick out there, Peeter on a Skeeter! (I may be slightly biased!)
After slightly introducing the virgin to marks and allowing our hares about 36.9 minutes to get a head start, we set out to catch those bastards. Wyomissing Park played a beautiful backdrop for our adventure. I don’t know that I’ve heard it called Narnia before, but it certainly was a night for lions, witches and matching Cougar’s 50th hash wardrobes from our twinning hares.
Compared to many hashes there was ample flour laid and the number of checks made me take my shoes off to use my toes to help count. There was a creek crossing that some of us in the back successfully avoided while others trudged their way through it on the way to BN #1.
Trail had a striking backwards resemblance to a recent analversary with BN #2 safely tucked off the side of 222 where the sound barriers kept us safe from the imminent danger of Reading drivers.
As dusk quickly approached we all circled up on the hill in the woods behind the school bus lot. We declared the shittiness of the trail, scared the virgin with questions and, wait for it, made Foot drink for RUNNING UP HILL! Like Halley’s Comet, it’s an event we probably won’t see for another 76 years. Sorry to those who missed such a sight!!
Aprés was pizza and brews at Paolo’s where Decoy and Stink graced our presence and made guest appearances.
Hashfully yours,
Pretty When I’m Drunk
RH3 #1113 Erin Go Bragh-less Hash
On one of the last winter mornings we all gathered by a patch of trees just beyond a quarry of despair. Car back rang out over and over.
Circle was formed. Hot for Teacher's virgin was introduced having been convinced to come out after a night of drinking. Smart choices!
The hares Stink Finger and Ricky Dobby gave us instructions (well some) and off we went. We all quickly ignored the clear false and On-On rang out along the valley. After a quick jaunt through a field we quickly reached the Beer-Shot-Near. Irish Car Bombs were drunk minus the curdling.
Trail was quickly picked up as we fought off Mother Natures brutal bid to blow us. After a bit of road pounding we were pleased to find Beer Near. The contents of a trash bag in the creek were procured. Old beer was drank and discussions of bad hash habits levied.
Onward into Mother Natures stiff breeze. Whats this? Two True Trail markings, no just too much to drink the night before. The Turkey and Eagle split was upon us. Most decided to console their previous nights actions by taking Turkey. A quick venture through the neighborhood. Four too drunk to read souls took to Eagle. The local neighbors yelled out encouragement and praise of their stupidity. A false was checked and Eagle quickly joined back up with Turkey.
More roads but this time with the wind at our assholes. Is that HHH in the distance? No one wanting to be DFL a slow sprint ensued. All were pleasantly rewarded with a suckle of Roids nipple. Circle was formed. The virgin was asked if she had learned anything, she had not. Her teacher was slacking. Many accusations were formed as too much beer (not enough?) was poured. Songs were sung and the hash came to an end.
On-Out
Just David
RH3 #1112: Your Comfort Is Our Primary Concern Hash
The Hash gathered on the shores of beautiful Antietam lake with some proudly displaying new hab that was not at all trademark infringement of a local brewery. Decoytis Interruptus provided instructions, we only half listened. Flamer and Roadkill assured us that the trail had been designed for our comfort and safety. Quickly we dispersed, and after several minutes of general confusion and silence “ON ONE” rang through the woods and off we went, the trail only went one way…Up, then up and then up some more.
Soon we found reprieve with the sound of “Beer Near” and fortified ourselves with glorious room temperature PBR. Off we went again and soon left the trail and found some shiggy, then shiggy with rocks, then shiggy in a swamp, then uphill and then uphill with shiggy and rocks. Some of us nearly lost shoes, others were beginning to lose our nerve when ‘Shot near’ was called out! We stood in the shadow of the mythical Mt. Penn beer vault (unsealed contrary to local news reporting) and drank comforting shots that would fuel us on the rest of our journey.
Some false trails were followed, but eventually we found the glorious HHH. Our reward was hoagies and more beer (some of which was brewed during the first Obama administration). We attempted to make a circle but were hindered by still more shiggy. Songs were song, accusations were had, announcements were made, and everyone swung low.
On Out
Just Brittni
RH3 #1111: Living on Easy Stroke Hash
A beautiful, pleasantly warm February afternoon greeted the half minds, as they met behind a Middle School in Western Berks County, meeting up with the hares, a doctor and a lawyer. It had all the ingredients for a wonderful afternoon.
Under the watchful eye of the school security cameras, about 30 half minds circled up, including Casting Couch’s virgin, to see the marks the hares had laid for us…on their Christmas tree board, so as to not leave any marks on school property. We were soon given a general erection out of the school property and into the neighborhood. After a short jaunt, the pack came around a corner, to find the hares, waiting for us, and the open back gate of a U-Haul. The pack all obediently climbed into the truck, and not one person asked a question about what exactly was happening.
Our dark ride quickly gave way to the reality that we were headed uphill. Long, winding turns led to a bumpy conclusion. As the door flew open, we exited the truck like migrants on a long journey to freedom. We found ourselves in the middle of the woods with a “Good Luck”, we were off.
We quickly came to a Turkey/Eagle split. The pack split into two, almost equal halves. The turkey trail was a short-ish, roughly 1/2 mile loop in the woods, returning us back to that fateful truck, where we were greeted with a beer, and some good news/bad news. While the turkey trail was shorter, we would load back into the truck and be dropped off farther down the trail. The turkey truck drop off led us right to the shot stop, where we were treated to a very festive holiday whiskey libation from Breast’s stash of goodies.
Meanwhile, on the Eagle trail we ran about a mile on a wooded trail and were quickly rewarded for our hard work with a nice cold beer. Had we made good choices? Then, down we went through some pretty fun trails and past a small body of water. We found a SN near a creek crossing but after hours of searching with no avail we finally moved on parched. We were met with some more ups and downs and then finally a paved road! It felt like we might have run all the way to Womelsdorf! But no we were back “safely” in Robesonia and saw some of our Turkey cohorts as we passed them on the way to Falco’s.
After trekking into the Robesonia borough limits, the Turkey group was first to arrive at the finest drinking establishment on 422, Falco’s Tavern, where cold pitchers of PBR and Miller Lite awaited. But this was only a BN, as the hares decided to wait for us there, and allow the entire pack to once again roam together.
A few minutes later, the Eagles began to arrive. The mystery of the missing SN was solved, as it was mistakenly taken with the Turkey tribe, so prevent any non-hashers from consuming the treasure.
After what seemed like an eternity, Legal Easy set out to finish the live haring of the trail. Meandering through alleys and side streets, we ended circle in the backyard of one of the hare’s friends. It takes a good friend to allow a large pack of half minds to consume beer and orange crunchy stuff, and sing vulgar songs on their property. And that’s just what we did!
On-On!
Peeter On A Skeeter and the Eagle-running ExCoGi
RH3 #1110: History Repeats Itself Hash
After an eventful morning full of accusation undertones of Type A runners marking a course on supposedly “fresh trails”, the Reading Hash House Harriers gathered in local MTB cruising spot…Bamba Lot. 30+ strong took time to introduce themselves as themselves or others and some pre-lube beers were finished and Hash Hab pint koozies were stored as hares, Foot Fairy and Horn Of Plenty, directed the group to general erection.
Quickly, everyone spread out searching for the first mark. On 1, On 2, and On 3 were called and the hunt for further trail was ON. A short distance later and the first BN was found as the group gathered on the side of the road. Beers were shared, stories were told, and on-out was had again. Through the woods and avoiding said fresh trails was successfully accomplished…who said hashers don’t listen? Round and round and round we went through twisting, winding, muddy, and quite frankly pointless trails. Where was the shiggy and the straight lines through the woods…on the plus side, we did find a SN of some sort of cinnamon whiskey. After watching Just Curtis and Stupid Brother hit the earth harder than Bukkake on a Saturday night, we made our way to Antietam Lake avoiding cars, hikers, and seemingly many other hashers who were to be found at the next BN. Up the worst driveway in Berks we went to Polly Has Tits’ house. Again, beers were shared, stories were told, and everyone took time to recover.
Down the driveway we went to the world’s largest Check. Up and up and up the road we traveled (many ran), until we reached the exaggerated HHH, marking the final resting spot of the 8th? annual Groundhog’s Day Hash. Songs were song, accusations were had, announcements were made, and everyone swung low.
On-out,
Stink Finger
RH3 #1109 Swipe Right Hash
Circling up, we learned that our hares One Knee Wonder and Just Mark met via a “right swipe”. Instructions were given, warnings levied and off we went. Deciphering week old flower from fresh powder the majority of the group followed the trail through Albright campus and up the hill to the base of Mt Penn where it wasn’t long until a very “Reading” cooler filled with refreshing Hamms. Pushing on we came upon very large flower arrows pointing up the hill into the woods. Comments were made about “they really wanted us to go this way” very quickly the trail disappeared. It is rumored that Deathwish may or may not have been the voice of reason to return to the last know check. It will continue to be debated but soon we were back on the white powder trail. Back into town we soon ended up along the tracks where a mixture of a white substance was now falling from the skies and a second black trash bag cache was located along with our hares. Pressing on we encountered a young security guard “just doing his duty” and a few hashers who had opted to hash the trail from a Marie’s barstool. “Smarter not harder” is a phrase that comes to mind. HHH’s were found; circle formed songs were sung & accusations made. The skies showered us with a wet ending. Off to Shirley’s for food and drinks.
Just Curtis
RH3 #1108 Farewell to the Taproom Hash
When I was but a lad of 12, my parents took me on a ride on one of the last passenger rail rides from Reading to Philadelphia. I couldn’t appreciate it at the time, but they were encouraging me to experience a part of what it meant to live in Reading – something iconic, but also something soon to be a thing of the past.
For those who have lived and worked in Reading for the past 40 years, the NorthEast Tap Room was a similar iconic experience that is – unfortunately -- also now a thing of the past.
Everyone has their own Tap Room story, and we could make this trash all about those… but let’s talk about what the Tap Room meant to the hash. For those of you old enough to remember what an answering machine is/was, the back closet at the Tap Room once hosted the “Hash Hotline”. Instead of receiving an email or a Facebook notification about the where/when of the next hash, you’d call a phone number, and in the week prior to the hash, the hare (or trailmaster) would visit the Tap Room and record the who/what/where/when of the next hash event.
In those years (let’s call them the ‘Pete’ years) you could find a framed printed hash trash written by our very own Bad Semen for the “Hill Street Brews” hash – the hash where Dogbreath (aka ‘Santa Dog’) was named. The Tap Room was host to various Hash events – from beer checks and apres to (in recent years) Mis-Spelling bees and Beer Wars.
And all the while, the beat of time went on, and the Tap Room didn’t much change as evolve over time. Unfortunately the era of neighborhood bars has changed – A bar that has a well-stocked cooler and eclectic beers on tap is not the oddity that it was 25 years ago, and patrons are more concerned with where they’re going to find a secure parking spot than a pint of Old Peculiar or a bottle of Corsendonk.
And so it was on a cold and blustery afternoon that the hash met to give the old girl a proper sending off. Our hares, Casting Couch, ExCoGi, and Bukkake met us in the parking lot of Northeast Middle School with fresh 30-packs of Hamms. A pack of (eventually) about 28 hashers joined them including a visitor from Pittsburgh and a new boot, and then headed off into the city for a hashy good time.
The hares promised some new checks -including a leapfrog check, a salmon check, and a naughty check. Those were all dispensed of in/around the Albright campus, before we headed up through the rapey woods behind the campus in search of beer, shiggy, and whatever detritus we could find. Crossing Hampden by the old Elks Club, we found instead the hares with a beer check. From there the pack headed South– some mistakenly went up the hill into the woods to find the circle at a pavilion paved with glass shards and used condoms.
The wise among us headed back down to our cars and made for the warm confines of the Tap Room. There we found some of the olds (Swamp, Flamer) who were too wise to hash when a warm room with cold beer was an option, and we were joined by some autohashers and bike hashers all there to honor the last day of the Tap Room. The hares were kind enough to buy us 13 pizzas, plus some apps and cupcakes. Glasses were raised, stories were told, and cash went flying across the bartop with the rapidity of the Los Angeles River sucking trash into the ocean.
So. Goodbye to the Tap Room. Goodbye to an institution that has been there for generations. We now focus on what’s next. Maybe not what’s next for the NETR, but what’s next for Reading, and the Hashers that call it home. We will have our downtown divebars (Tophers, Nicks etc) and we still have our suburban hash houses (Liberty, etc) but where do we find a place that’s as warm and comfortable as the Tap Room. Not sure that place is out there quite yet, but we have a good model to start from.
Thanks to the hares (Couch, Excogi, and Bukkake) for a good trail and for great memories.
ON-ON
Decoy
RH3 #1107 New Year’s Hash
Out with 2022 and in with 2023. Started out a beautiful warm day and as soon as it was time to hash it became cold and breezy. But at least no rain, way to go toh! Opto started circle and thennnn Just Karin and Toh were hares so off they went to do their live trail while we froze our underdressed asses off. I remember went through some neighborhoods then up a stupidly long winding up hill with some goats to the witches hat where we were blessed with champagne, I had two glasses because champagne is my jam. But I hate jam… anyway, from there we ran some trails to the bottom where we found the HHH! Down downs were had, some accusations were made, it was a small and quaint mellow circle likely due to festivities the evening prior. Thennnn we were off to Apre at Liberty taproom and here they had a neighborhood discount on shots… Beer and pizza were had and eagles were watched andddd our very own hare Just Karin became forever known as Nut Nibbler as she downed some kind of strong beer/cider thing like a champ. She was feeling herself that day. Happy new years fuckers. Better late than never…
on-on,
Delicious Head
RH3 #1106 / Rogue North #61
Trinity and Beulah came together to offer a Rogue North/ Reading HHH trail. It was a day meant for laying on the couch and tending to the hangover that Santa delivered the night before at the Santa Fucks the Hash. Instead a few of us eager beavers put our hangover aside and showed up ready to damage the liver all over again. And damage the liver we did. Did I mention it was cold and wet. It seemed like Tofu should have been haring.
After chalk talk, where three marks were familiar to RH3 and 84 other marks were Rogue North approved, trail set off towards the hospital.
The type A who wanted to warm up took the eagle trail. The Turkey trail went right down Penn Ave to the row of warm bars and restaurants. After hitting a back check 3,069 the Eagle group found the turkeys in Barley Mow. This wasn’t even a beer near, but just the first bar that trail ventured near, the first of several that we hit along Penn Ave. There were photo stops, fire company stops and sightings of little Fudgie at the Spruce, another non BN that necessitated a stop. Eventually we found our way back to the Sly Fox parking lot for circle. Fun and hilarity ensued. Thanks to the North for the hand warmers and company of Yolanda!!
Optopussy
RH3 #1105 Santa F*cks The Hash
After pissing on us the night before, Santa returned for our annual f*cking, courtesy of NFB and Dog Breath. A large group of half minds gathered on a bright, sunny, brisk December day, at the vast field next to Trooper Thorns. We had some visitors from the North in town for a triple header weekend. And our hare provided us with some great new cranium hab for the occasion. After a few quick instructions, we were off!
It only took a block for the entire pack to struggle to find marks, but we soon stumbled upon a check, sending us down towards the railroad tracks and Alvernia. Passing through the baseball field, the pack arrived at a parking lot and everyone searching for marks. An indoor track meet inside the building, led to track participants milling about outside the door, encouraging the half minds to “get after it” and “keep going”, completely unaware of the debauchery. Each successive check led to more aimless searching as we wound our way through the Alvernia campus, the flour changing colors with each check. As we continued through Saint Mary Cemetery and headed towards Oakbrook, the pack began to stir. Would we be stopping at the Little Brown Jug for a much needed BN? As the pack approached, a young lady employed by the fine establishment was outside the door, prompting Decoy to ask “Are you expecting us?” The wide-eyed look on her face told us everything we needed to know. We continued on, headed towards Berks Catholic High School. Trail took us down the power lines, and into thick shiggy, right to a vertical drop onto the railroad tracks below. The pack slowly descended down the steep slippery hillside. Hash horns went flying. The hash brick came careening down the hill, after an urgent “Look out!” shouted by Down In Front. I didn’t have “getting hit by a flying brick” on my hash bingo card for the day, but every hare loves when there’s some blood on their trail. After crossing the tracks, we stumbled upon (finally) a Beverage Near, with some warm, spiked apple cider. After warming up and gathering the pack, we headed straight back the SRT to our beginning point, where we circled up and did our down downs and our songs, before heading to DeCarlo’s, for Santa’s arrival. Laps were sat on, gayly wrapped gifts were open, car bombs were ordered and much to the horror of the birthday party booked on the other side of the bar, songs were sung.
Merry Hashmas!
Peeter on a Skeeter
RH3 #1104 Here Pisses Santa Hash
Livin’ it Up,
Just Karin
Free beer for all the hashers! Jesus saves! Jesus saves! Jesus saves! There was no foam. No inappropriate touching. No pulsating bodies covered in fluorescent paint. It was clean. Very clean. So clean, in fact, Dancing Fool found very little and I actually got to chat with him a bit. Happy birthday to his mom!! ( I believe he said 100! ) At the first beer check, I noticed Choo Choo and myself are both wearing top notch double entendre shirts that screamed for a hash flash. ( speaking of hash flash….whatever happened to Not Twat?) Off the pack goes to more uphills and down to our next beer near. We are positive the hares did not lay this trail. Is there a rent-a-hare company we weren’t told about? We then head back to the HHH, sang some songs, celebrated birthdays and analversaries, made the accused drink it down down down down, sang Swing Low, then followed up this shitty trail at Cocalico Tavern. 
RH3 #1084 The Old Fashioned Hash, pt. 3
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