AHHH Fourth Annual Red Dress Hash

Valentine’s Day (near enough) 13th February 2005

Hares: Dwarf Blower and FU Gasper

What is hashing for? Why do we do it? What’s it all about? Where is the beer? – common enough questions on the hash, but only the latter was resolved by running the busy streets of Kifissia on a sunny Sunday morning in February whilst wearing women’s clothing.

Thwarted by the Greek rail system in our attempt to join Thessaloniki, the dedicated half-minds of AH3 met at Kefalari Square in Kifissia.

Glorious but lonely splashes of red converged to a ruddy blob in the centre of the park. Brave souls supped Red Icelandic Vodka prior to the run. Civilians gawped at the style and elegance of the outfits. Off we set with a walker’s trail closely following the runner’s. The first event of significance was on crossing Kifissias Avenue where one of the hares, FU Gasper, stopped traffic by singing "Stop in the name of love…" Drivers on this busy road were either stunned and wanted to hear more (unlikely) or were dazzled by the cheeky bare midriff of his designer outfit. Either way the AH3 stopped traffic on the main Kifissia Highway.

A check soon caused us to wander aimlessly around the railway station like lost chickens (lost chickens in red dresses) before we re-grouped and headed back to the centre. During this bit Rim Job met a friend and disappeared (for a coffee?) he later turned up at the drink stop. I think he was pretending not to be with us.

Dwarf Blower and FU Gasper had prepared a classic drinks stop with real French champagne and chocolates. This gave the walkers and Rim Job chance to catch up. And Dwarfie produced and sang some new songs. Something about tits going squishy. Triffic.

After a bit more running we re-gained the park and began our circle. Interestingly, although we were on a major thoroughfare, no one came near us. Funny that.

Punishments included:

Improper dress (infringements were few; most people enjoying the chance to get in touch with their feminine side).

Shit of the Week – Pop-Up (shared by Gregor the Coke dealer, for not adding to the trophy)
Rim Job – coffee offences

Shiva – Latecoming

Up and Cuming – lurking

Kevin no name – proved that he is no substitute for All Day Sucker by telling his very best joke

Self-service checked the horn-muting quality of all the breasts present (and Clit’s cheeks – but they were too big)

We sang Hashy Birthday to Mad Dog who has promised us a party next week.

Where was Oxymoron? What’s wrong big boy? Scared of being thought a cross-dressing poofter?


On In: to Piggies for a splendid Souvlaki; they had wisely given us the lower room (the hash ghetto) to ourselves so we could make as much noise as we liked. We sang hashy birthday to Spanish Fly who was 42, or was that her bra size? Then we drank more champagne.

FU Gasper was delayed on arrival by the most minor of car scrapes. The other party – a greek guy – apparently argued straight-faced with our hare, and FU Gasper still in full dress and wig gave back as good as he got – while his passengers collapsed with laughter at this unlikely scene.

By the end of the day and having drunk fine wines, beers and champagne we were no nearer to answering the questions posed at the top of this trash, but we were mostly past caring.

On On to Mountain Goat’s hash next week.


Scribe: Strawberry Foreskin

Which harriette is hanging on to the black penis?