CALL ME ISHMAIL.

No, don’t call me Ishmail. Call me “Dura-Sal.”

This is the Hash name with which I was christened during a trip to northern Spain’s Asturias region with the Madrid Hash House Harriers last weekend.

The naming ceremony—which involved me kneeling on the ground and being covered from head to toe in flour and beer—was a brief yet touching affair.

But why the name “Dura-Sal?” Well…as with so many Hash names, the explanation is a testament to the convoluted way in which the collective brain of a group of drunkards tends to function.

The story goes as follows. During my first Hash, a woman named “Ever Ready” spent hours trying to sell me a CD of parody songs that was produced and performed by members of the group. But with a price tag of 15€, the chastity belt around my wallet held as firmly as a Burmese python. Finally, in exasperation, she cried, “Your name is Sal?! It should be Hard Sell!”

Then somebody noted that the Spanish word for “hard” is “dura.” Then somebody noticed that when you place “dura-sell” together, it sounds like the battery. Then somebody had the brilliant idea of replacing “sell” with “Sal,” and thus…“Dura-Sal” was born.

Quite honestly, I preferred the name “Pulled Pork”—which is what some members were unofficially calling me during the prior weeks. Why “Pulled Pork?” Because I brought 7 lbs. of barbequed pulled pork to a Hash picnic last month and the crowd—despite being utterly confused about what it was and how to eat it—seemed to love it.

But that’s neither here nor there. Dura-Sal is the name that I was given, and I’m not complaining.

Besides, it could’ve been much worse. There’s one member of the group named “Rat with a Sweet Snatch.” Try explaining that one to your grandmother.