BFMH3-05 (Girly Man!)
Posted on March 25, 2004
25 March 04: Tonight the weather was dry, the flour was white, and the hare was Just Bill. Bill is a Collegeville refugee who now lives in Old City, Philadelphia, which is the location of Paddy’s, the unofficial bar of the BFM, and the A of tonight’s A to A hash.
A tiny group of Just Bill, Bastard Child, and Cunting Season (a White House Hash transplant) waiting at the bar at 7:30 grew into a small mob as other miscreants found their way inside, including Winky, Lunar Digit, Tastes Like Chicken, and Just Tom, who some may recall had sported a one piece mini at the Green Dress. Others may recall Cunting Season, who graced the Green Dress regaled in a tutu. Sticky Fingers also made it, but she was determined to auto hash.
Just Bill pulled the short straw from Winky’s hand, and so his fate was sealed and he left the bar for this, his virgin hare. He was lucky, because the hash gave him extra time as it waited for Tastes Like Chicken, fresh out of work, to strip out of her civilian clothes and put on sneaks. Once she was ready, the mob was off to try and catch the hare.
Just Bill’s trail looped through, in, and around the many alleys of Old City. Hashers had déjà vu over and over again as they tried to navigate Just Bill’s maze like bloodhounds with nose colds. Watchwords for the night: “Weren’t we just here?” No doubt Just Bill is intimate with these alleys, where evidently he spends a lot of time, walking, eating, drinking, sleeping…
During the run, a group of aimless youths hanging out in a doorway must have seen the hare laying trail, because they accused the mob of following the Johnny Apple Seed of Anthrax and tried to steer us in the wrong direction. The little bastids. Later, Bastard Child was spotted chatting with a few bike cops, who said to the mob as it ran by, “You guys must have something better to do than this!”
Since we didn’t, we followed the trail to its end at Paddy’s, where additional auto hashers appeared, including Phil McCracken (sp?), Sly Fox, and a friend of Tastes Like Chicken whose name may have been Ashley. In time, and just in time, Cause for Blindness came through the door and was handed a beer for the troubles she suffered through while finding parking and finding the bar itself. The location of the bar, she said, is apparently available only on a “need to know basis.” But she made it, and she joined the rest in beer.
Winky took the increasingly drunken mob to the alley outside for a circle, where the mob made damn sure the BFM virgins and the hare did their duty. During the proceedings, a stranger appeared in the circle, apparently at the invitation of Tastes Like Chicken. He said he ran earlier in the day, and he was drinking now, so he figured he belonged in the circle. Cause for Blindness pointed at his drink (not beer), which was garnished with a lime, and which he held with his pinky out, and called him a “Girly Man,” and the hash roared with laughter, and it was good.
And thus a man who has never run a hash, who until tonight has never heard of a hash, was named “Girly Man,” whether he wanted to be or not. Winky, sensing that the hash had spoken, named him as such, and Girly Man did his first ever down down in a back alley of Old City surrounded by a bunch of drunken strangers. He’s expected to actually run next week, as he willingly gave up his e-mail and telephone information. Now he, too, can wait until next Wednesday night/Thursday morning for Winky to tell us where next Thursday night’s hash will be.
As the evening wound down, a very late Just Minh (`h’ is supposedly silent) showed up with her friend who had just flown in from Atlanta. As one left Paddy’s, one had the sense that the BFM is becoming an even bigger f***ing mess, and that’s a good thing.
On on.
BFMH3-04 (Wolfman Jackoff Plays Tic-Tac-Toe)
Posted on March 18, 2004
18 March 04: Wolfman Jackoff pulled the short straw tonight, winning the dishonor of laying live trail. With a bag of flour supplied by Winky in his paws, the Wolfman set off. Five minutes later, the mob stumbled out of Tattooed Mom’s and wandered among South Street freaks, looking for trail. Trail appeared around the corner and the on on was on.
The Wolfman led the mob on a hairy chase south, dropping flour under cloudy skies. He laid big, thick easy-to-see checks, and lots of them. So many checks, in fact, that he might have been playing super sized tic-tac-toe on the blocks of Philadelphia. That didn’t stop Tastes Like Chicken from finding trail and FRBing like a damned FRB.
Near one of his checks the Wolfman laid another big, thick pile of flour at the bottom of steps leading into a subway concourse, where the trailed died. This was the same trick Winky used last week, but that didn’t stop your’s truly from falling for it once again. Mmm, nothing like the reek of subway urine when you’re breathing hard. % $#&*@
The trail ran coherently south, west, and then east. But eventually, the Wolfman got tired of laying trail that led in a particular direction, so he scattered flour in all directions inside Washington Square. Self Service found trail but it disappeared. As the mob roamed the square aimlessly, Self Service found true trail on the square’s far side and led the way on in.
What started as an A to A ended as an A to B when the auto hashing Sly Fox hailed the mob into Manny Brown’s, a 1/2 block down from Tattooed Mom’s. Inside the bar, there was the hare, waiting patiently with beer in hand. Keeping him company was Phil McCracken (sp?), another auto hasher. Sly Fox trafficked the rest of the mob inside, where she supplied incriminating photos of the misdeeds and debauchery of last weekend’s Green Dress Run.
The auto hash roster grew as Lunar Digit found his way into the bar about a ½ hour later. Like a real Sherlock, he looked for bars advertising cheap beer, figuring that’s where the hash would be. And he was right. Soon after Cause for Blindness and Just Minh were retrieved from Tattooed Mom’s, where they were waiting for the hash to return. They could have been waiting a very long time. Serves them right for auto hashing. (Minh said the `h’ in her name is silent, though there were doubts about that.)
Though the hash did not do a circle, we sat in a circle around a table, and there was beer. And that’s about the way it was. Shitty trail, shitty bars (both of them). And the BFM continues…
On on.
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BFMH3-03 (Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw?)
Posted on March 11, 2004
11 March 04: The sad absence of its religious advisor did not stop the Ben Franklin Mob Hash from losing its way while tracking the flour droppings of Little F*****ing Winky, who this week celebrates his birthday. Happy birthday, you bastid. Winky was lucky enough to draw the short straw from the hand of Urban Terrorist and thus lay a trail live. (For those of you keeping score: that’s Urban Terrorist aka Yeast Affection aka Snow Blows aka Yeast Infection). The BFM gave Winky five minutes to get his ass down the street and make a trail, so he left.
Smack in front of the door of Bonner’s, 23rd near Chestnut, Winky left his first heaping spoonful. Since it was out of that door that the BFM emerged five minutes later, that heaping spoonful was as helpful as a heaping pile of you know what. But soon enough the BFM found true trail, heading west.
And head west the BFM did, never once spotting the live hare, who laid a clever marathon trail, and a trio of stray sheep. So tricky was this trail that most of the time whistleblowing Chick Repellant and straw-woman Urban Terrorist were FRBs, but Sly Fox spotted Cause for Blindness also committing the same offence. It was a tricky trail. How about a false trail down subway stairs? The bastid did that. Also, as Cause caustically noted, there were `almost enough checks’ (about as many as there were beers inhaled later). The bastid.
Complicating matters was FRB Chick Repellant’s whistle, which he blew to sound off the on on. But other people in Philadelphia also blow whistles, like cops. Mixing whistles, FRBs, and Philly’s finest leads only to confusion, but the mob persevered. Through Drexel and Penn the mob ran, across bridges, around corners, through civilian crowds, and eventually back to Bonner’s.
Back at Bonner’s the mob threw down hash cash and picked up pitchers and got busy. The circle heaped humiliation on the hare, his Minnesota buddy - Just Brian, BFM virgin Chick Repellant, Bastard Child’s friend (name unknown right now - too much beer), as well as on Phillip (sp?) McKracken (sp?), who showed up after the run but drank like he ran the trail three times.
It got ugly when the bar began Keraoke. Your’s truly was forced to sing “I Can’t Fight This Feeling Anymore” – a moment from which I am counting on Alzheimer’s to some day rescue me – followed by a triumphant Mob-wide rendition of “Why Don’t We Get Drunk And Screw?” While watching this sorry spectacle, the bar regulars’ gnarled faces registered the kind of horror you see only on train wreck survivors. Bastard Child’s friend’s rendition of “Add It Up” and Winky’s crooning of “Paint It Black” did nothing to lessen the bartenders’ desperate hope that we would all peaceably vacate the premises. Incriminating photos are available in the photo section of this BF Yahoo group.
Shitty trail, shitty bar, really shitty singing. God help us all.
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