BFM #45
Posted on December 30, 2004
30 December 2004: In the waning hours of 2004, 19:30 hours 30 December to be exact, faithful Ben Franklin Mobsters met at Manny Brown’s at 5th and South, in anticipation of a quick trail and $1.50 pints of lager to begin the New Year’s weekend celebrations. Grand F*cking Winkie and the ravishing Rash were entertaining themselves with Savage Love … in the City Paper when I arrived - on time due to a sweet space on South. Lunar Digit arrived, then Dances with Bum’s Urine and Wolfman J. and we moved our mugs to a booth in the back, awaiting the rest of the throng. They came in ones and twos until a quorum was announced and straws were chosen. For once, Winkie went first without wieldin the worst. It was I who plucked the sucker. Winkie again offered a 10-minute (who said) head start to which E=My Cock^2 replied "Give her two and a half minutes, then let’s have a real hare." (Okay, which is scarier, Cause with flour, or E? On South Street. In the dark.) Armed with several pounds of flour, the hare made her hasty exit into the night.
Trail led the pack north for a while, with Rash finding the orange mounds, through parking lots and alleystreets. While the hare pondered how soon to just get back to the bar, she left checks and marks zig-zagging a trail east, eventually to Front street, past Penn’s Landing, to Delancey or Pine, through a small quiet park, back to South around 3rd and back in, arriving unaccosted by man or beast. (Yes! 2 for 2!) Cheap Show was still guarding our belongings, now accompanied by Virgin Ashley * and the ever-auto-hashing Just Tyler. Skin Fiddle arrived safely after the start and joined the happy little crowd.
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BFM #44
Posted on December 23, 2004
23 December 2004: Imagine the brain: a group of noodles, which, stuck together by unknown forces, make it all work. Imagine now those noodles unstuck, floating freely in brain juice, composed mostly of alcohol. Given how cold and rainy it was all day Thursday, there’s no explanation for why people showed up for the BFM, except that their brains are structured just so.
Thursday’s arrivals included Wolfman Jackoff, Strap On, E=MC2, Tongue Twister, Sasquatch, Bastard Child, your correspondent, Wing Nuts, and Everqueer, the visitor from Atlanta. With one or two exceptions, everyone present was a marathon veteran, which guaranteed a fast hash. Wing Nuts volunteered to hare, which guaranteed a long hash.
Compounding the situation, Wing Nuts told us there’d be no checks on trail. No checks means that every intersection and side alley entrance is a check. D’bastid.
But the Mob had the will and dementia to follow the hare. Usually it wasn’t long before someone found flour, which the hare, an artful minimalist, swiped on lamp posts and other protuberances - fire hydrants, trees, slow pedestrians. Most marks were at eye-level, allowing everyone to keep on-oning without letting up.
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BFM #43
Posted on December 16, 2004
16 December 2004: Thursday the Mob met at Doc Watson’s Pub, Eleventh Street near Walnut, despite the enervating cold. The constant Rash prepared the straws, leaving it to your correspondent for the presentation. It came down to two, and the lucky winner was an Atlanta visitor, Everqueer, who never hared live before, and who knew nothing about the geography of this city.
Not ten seconds later, Strap On and E=MC2 arrived, and E heroically and maniacally volunteered to co-hare with the southern stranger. With a loud ‘adieu’ they were off. The Mob followed five minutes later.
E’s much, much better half, Strap On, picked up trail heading west toward Broad. At a check south on Broad the Mob spread out, found a false, and eventually regrouped. The remainder numbered three: Strap On, your correspondent, and Little Red Riding Wood. The rest of the lot fell away and headed back to the bar. Us three traveled south, following the flour, which was a surprising iridescent green.
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BFM #42
Posted on December 9, 2004
9 December 2004: The rain didn’t go away, nor did the Mob. One-by-one mobbers trudged in from the all-day downpour to McGlinchey’s - 15th Street near Spruce - and kept company with the artists, drunks, and assorted freaks inside. It’s a bar with character, loaded with characters.
As is the Mob. The convalescing Bums’ Urine, presaging the next goatee craze, was there, as was She Man, who, along with Deep Flute, unfortunately for the Mob, will be moving to New Yawk State in mid-January.
Tonight there were two birthday babes: Rash and Oral Offender. Scooby Snatch and Master Baster, two chronic FRBs, made a return engagement. Mob stalwarts, Little Fucking Winkie, Wolfman Jackoff, and Cause for Blindness, were present. Cunting Season came. Strap On came, too, but only after the short straw was drawn.
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BFM #41
Posted on December 2, 2004
2 December 2004: Well, well, well: someone had a birthday on Thursday. That someone was Bastard Child, who was named for his damnable eruption from the loins of Philly Hashers, Bunyip and Magellen.
The Mob met Thursday at Player’s Pub, on Second Street near South. It was the first bar chosen by the Mob’s newly anointed Beer Mistress: Tastes Like Chicken. All agreed the choice was excellent.
Inside, an unusually mellow Mob passed time chatting until we remembered why we were there, so Wolfman Jackoff presented straws. Just Shelly pulled the short one, but she’s so new that Bastard Child heroically stepped up to co-hare.
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