Well, it’s that time of year again, time for The Rash’s semi-annual contribution to the trash. I would say that I’ve felt guilty for not showing up to the hash, or not hanging out with hashers, or not writing trash, but that would be lying. Frankly, I’ve been not giving a fuck so hard it’s burning calories. With that said, on to this weeks hash:

This week’s hash was held at that best place to hash in University City (Cavanaugh’s) at that best time of the year to hash in University City (when there are no Penn students around). Tonight’s Mob consisted of Son of Goat Fucker, Sternum & Rectum, He’s a Lesbian, Working Girl, Sleeps Around the Cock, Doo Daddy Too, Just Aliah (pronounced “I’ll Lay Ya”, so that’s one naming we can skip, at least), Just Ben, Baaaack Door, Where’s My Vagina, Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, S&M Man, Piss Cycle, Chef Boy-or-Horse, Up Her Ali, Broken Rod, Penis in My Ear, Uncle Bad Touch, Just Jason, One Inch In, Two Clump Chump, The Rash, and Rear Engineer.

Rear Engineer and myself (Mrs. Rear Engineer), and Uncle Bad Touch (Parolee #2507664), spent our time at the bar as we showed up late. He’s a Lesbian had been the lucky short straw recipient this week, and headed out to reprise his original first trail as a hasher, which involved overachieving and laying trail with a rock, if you’ll recall. And then he came right back and told us all about it and I took his notes so I could write the trash. He said a bunch of things about where they ran, but you don’t care, and honestly, neither do I. Apparently, though, there were two false beer checks right next to the actual beer check at the New Deck. Now, if you want to confuse and anger hashers, false beer checks is a great way to do it. It’s like when I dangle the fake bird toy too close to my cat and she gets angry and goes for my hand instead and then I need band-aids. Anyway, the Mob found the actual beer check, the apparently went to one of the fake beer checks (Blarney Stone) out of pure spite. Or alcoholism. Or something.

And then they came back, partially for more beer, but mostly because their housekeys were in the room downstairs. After a sound threatening for hash cash by Where’s My Vagina, the Mob wandered downstairs and proceeded to tie one on. Also arriving around this time was autohasher Dr. Squealgood.

This evening’s circle was notable for the larger than usual down-downs. These are actually the largest down-downs beers I’ve seen since the time we used full pints at St. Jacks and I had to excuse myself in the middle of circle because my stomach decided that it was over capacity and at least one of those beers needed to leave, and tout de suite. Good times. Anyway, the circle!

The Circle

Hares: He’s a Lesbian

Virgins: Just Alaih, via One Inch In

First In/Last In: Just Ben, Short Distance Rimmer

Autohashers: Rear Engineer, Dr. Squealgood, The Rash, Two Clump Chump, Uncle Bad Touch

Comes Latelies: Where’s My Vagina, S&M Man, Working Girl, Rear Engineer, Penis In My Ear, Broken Rod

Accusations:

Where’s My Vagina – for complaining that the beer was too cold

Rear Engineer – Foreplay in circle

He’s a Lesbian – For imagining Rear in a French maid outfit

Just Alaih – For making Uncle Bad Touch buy her a beer.

Short Distance Rimmer, for claiming to have a psychic connection to One Inch In

Short Distance Rimmer again, for using a phone booth as a urinal

Where’s My Vagina, for commenting on her own BO

Up Her Ali, for demanding He’s a Lesbian’s notes to write trash

Chef Boy-or-Horse – for…some damn thing or other.

Where’s My Vagina – for claiming the down down beers were “all so big!”

He’s a Lesbian – for not laying trail with a rock, and for his Camden t-shirt

Just Jason – for sprinting past the 2^nd beer check

First Down – for just walking in

Where’s My Vagina – for not dumping her cup on her head

Uncle Bad Touch – for being too well dressed for circle, and indeed, for being Uncle Bad Touch

Son of Goat Fucker – because his wife drank

He’s a Lesbian, for asking who SOGF’s wife is (First Down, btw)

Sternum & Rectum – on principle

Just Aliah – for something about her beer being heavy

S&M Man – for being responsible for the earthquake

Hold the Sausage, Doo Daddy Too, Penis In My Ear, Working Girl, – for not having been in circle yet

Son of Goat Fucker – for singing “Lost control of the circle!” like a nursery rhyme

He’s a Lesbian – for wearing more beer than he drank

Are you bored? I’m bored There are a lot more accusations like this. Apparently huge down-down beers means that hashers think they are hilarious and they just keep making accusations. When this happens, the next morning when you think about that accusation you thought was a total ten, it’s kind of a four. Maybe. And you feel shame.

And, because it a S&M Man‘s birthday, he was side-sided in fine fashion.

And then, because we were real drunk, we named Just Ben. There were a lot of options, because Just Ben appears to have a creepiness quotient that approaches if not surpasses Uncle Bad Touch. However, because it was revealed during intense interrogation (“Dude, just tell us”) that in his past he’s performed an act known on the Urban Dictionary website as the “Lemonade Stand” (seriously, this was one of the grosser names I’ve been party to), potential names were R Kelly, Amber Alert, and Races Like a Pisshorse, but he was ultimately named Urine Luck. Congratulations, YFF!

Announcements:

October 8^th Philadelphia H3 1750^th. GO TO THIS, they have way better shiggy than we do. Also better food, and generally, better beer. Sometimes better-looking people, too.

October 20^th – BFM 400^th. Who knew we could count that high?

Upcumming Red Dresses (look them up yourself; what am I, your mother?)

New York City Red Dress Run

DC Red Dress Run

Overheard at the Hash

He’s a Lesbian: “Why am I watching little boys playing baseball”?

Just Ben: “At least you’re not laying in the bushes watching them through binoculars. [pause] That made me sound creepy.”

Uncle Bad Touch: “You are creepy.”

Piss Cycle: “And before I know it, I’m licking my mouse.”

On On,

The Rash

Well, before I get good and started on the trash, I think it’s only fair to warn you that I’ve given up swearing for Lent. This means none of the big seven, none of the words you’re not allowed to say on the radio, and no use of four-letter slang terms for the naughty bits. This will be hard, because I have just discovered a fabulous new epithet (“c*ntwaffle”) which I cannot use for the next month and a half. But I assure you, this will in no way affect the high quality of trash that you’ve come to expect. I will be replacing swear words in print in several ways. 1. Asterisks. 2. Madlibs.  3. Euphemisms. 4. Sex and violence. 5. French.

Right, now with that little caveat out of the way, here’s who showed up to this week’s nonsense:

Sleeps Around the C*ck, Hold the Sausage, Tw*t of Darkness, Midnight Tr*nny to G**rgia, Post An*l Drip, otherwise known as “Mrs. Swollen C*ckpit”, along with Swollen C*ckpit, who is otherwise known as “Mrs. Swollen C*ckpit”, Attila the H*ng, Likes the H*rd One, rear Eng*neer, G*g Reflex, H*rny H*nds, Wing N*tz, C*nting Season, Mr. Snuffleupam*ff, Mayor Q*imby, St*n, Softcore An*lyst, Two Cl*mp Chump, J*bal, One*nch In, Major Piece of *ss, Big T*ckle, S*M Man, T*ts of Steel, 3 B*alls, Working G*rl, Chern*blow, Just Ch*ryl, Deep Fl*te, Bee Org*, Not In My H*ir, Short D*stance R*mmer, Seizure T*Ts, Son of GoatF*cker, P*ss Cycle, Just Ry*an, Just Andr*a, Bumble B*aver, Little R*d Riding Wood, Cause for B******ness, Flo*nder, Pen*s in His Ear, Where’s My V*gina, Just Fr*nk,Dr. Squealg**d, and You’re Not My D*addy.

Hasher’s stood milling around, bewildered by the classy new changes at Bonner’s.  Paint that isn’t pus-colored?  Bathrooms that you don’t have to perform acrobatic maneuvers on the toilet to get the stall door to close? What’s the world coming to?  Disgusted, the pack emptied out onto the sidewalk to pay half-hearted attention to chalk talk before trotting off into the night.  Trail headed off in the direction one of those big ramps off of Market Steret, then down to the Schuykill River Trail.  After a nice long stretch of check-free trail and lots of complaining, the pack came upon a check near the Art Museum.  Surely it led down to the river? Up to the gazebo?  Definitely not across the Spring Garden Bridge, right? Right?? Nope, into Powelton Village with a lovely view of the train yards.  Nervous, the FRBs kept sprinting, even after announcing a Shot Near.  The more sensible and slower of us, however, had no trouble noticing Two Clump Chump in full Dollar Store Leprechaun regalia (glittery hat AND glittery vest.  Like Liberace.  Or Cher.)  Anyway, the pack ambled over and proceeded to slurp down carbombs as if the police were after them.

Which they were.  After managing to finish all the booze, the pack wobbled off to be met directly with a police van. (Here’s a completely unrelated aside: In my elevator at work there’s a notice that if you stay too late in the building and set off the alarm, The Police will be called.  I want to try it once, just to see if Sting and the boys really do show up. Anyway.)  After a brief reassurance that we weren’t actively engaged in criminal activity right at that moment (No thanks to the dude in the green hair who gleefully announced “We just committed a robbery!” Seriously, don’t ever do that again. Ever. Just let an adult-looking person talk to the police.) the pack continued through the Drexel campus, mildly befuddling the already seriously-toasted student body.  Trail wound south through Penn’s campus, across the lovely new South Street bridge, past a rather annoyed couple who were clearly trying to have a Romantic Moment on the bridge, and to Callahan’s for a beer check.  Except that they were out of beer. Well done. Annoyed, the pack stormed back to Bonner’s, intent on getting drunk.  But not singing karaoke. In place of karaoke this evening was a man who looked like a tow rope operator from Teaneck, New Jersey, gamely DJ’ing for a bunch of drunk college students in green grinding on each other. Oh well. The Mob wandered into the back room instead (still delightfully tacky, thanks to the wallpaper border), and commenced circle.

The Circle

Hares: Two Clump Chump, Bumble Beaver, You’re Not My Daddy

Virgins: Just J*hn, coutersy of P*ss Cycle (We also picked up two virgins on trail, and promptly scared them off)

Visitors: Gomez, You’re Not My Daddy, Bee Orgy

First In/Last In: 3 Balls, Cause

Comes Latelies: P*ss Cycle, Mayor Quimby, Little Red Riding Wood, Horny Hands, Deep Flute, Attila the Hung, Not in My Hair, Tw*t of Darkness

Autohashers: Bonsai Bush

Accusations:

Tw*t of Darkness, for holding Softcore Analyst’s loofa for his shower later

Chernoblow, for Japan

Not in My Hair for something r*cist

P*ss Cycle, for buying lip gloss before the hash

Working Girl, for wearing a dress and looking better than the ladies, per usuale

Mayor Quimby for wearing a holey shirt, which he blamed on the Hold the Sausage for the increasing price of hash cash.

Then a lot of ‘When One GM Drinks”

For Philly Hash’s Saturday hares, preemptively,

And a bunch of other stuff, but nothing that I felt like writing down legibly, apparently.

Announcements:

Muff has foot magnets. $3, or maybe you work out your own special deal, I don’t ask questions.

Rear Engineer will be putting on a “3 In the Rear” hash in April.  Start limbering up now.

Overheard at the Hash

Hasher 1: “Are the police pulling that car over?”

hasher 2: ‘No, they’re pulling us over.”

On On

The R*sh

Guess who hijacked trash-writing tonight, b*tches?  That’s right, children, gather ’round while Mama Rash tells you what you missed if you didn’t come to the hash, or were drunk, didn’t pay attention, or were distracted by the man who kept setting his wallet on fire. (Didn’t see that? EXACTLY.) You also missed the same guy making balloon animals, hats, bicycles/ovaries, and a penis, as well as singing My First, My Last, My Everything  exactly like Barry White. Tonight, the hash convened at Westy’s in the Fairmount region of Philadelphia. Rear Engineer and I showed up with perfect timing, right after the short straw had been selected by Just Adam.  He and Mayor Quimby, who had generously agreed to help him out even though Just Adam is not, technically, a chick, were outside mixing flour with orange chalk under the watchful eye of Midnight Tranny to Georgia. After the traditional exchange of apropos-of-nothing statements  ("Did you know that a single dude can impregnate many females?"), we went inside to find the rest of the Mob staying warm and blocking the path to the men’s room.  Hanging around were Flounder, Cause for Blindness, Where’s My Vagina, DoggyStyle, Working Girl, Dr. Squealgood, Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Just Andy, Softcore Analyst, Just Carrie, Just Shelley, Just Liz (all virgins courtesy of Gag Reflex), Just Trish, a virgin courtesy of Bumble Beaver, and Deep Discunt. Pre-hash beer completed, the Mob ambled out onto the sidewalk so Midnight Tranny could give them what-for.  Or to explain the marks;  I certainly wasn’t paying attention.  After some blather and the obligatory Airing Out of the Crotches, (Really, people. Stop that. You are full-grown adults.  What are you going to do next, pull down your trousers to show me you big-boy underpants with the robots? Honestly.) the pack was off, running south to find: a check.  Immediately following this check was not mark, but: another check.  This would prove to be a theme for this hash, so in your spare time, Gentle Hashers, read the damn trail-laying guide that’s somewhere on this website.  Put some marks between your checks, fer Pete’s sake.  Anyway.  Trail wound on, with one check by the big nurses mural, and another at the Convention Center.  Running through the big Convention Center tunnel, the Mob turned left towards Reading Terminal to find: A Beer Near!  The hares had thoughtfully stopped at The Field House for a beer check.  After a round of pints and a spirited discussion about eating sheep rectums, the Mob had enough and burst out of The Field House and down the block into the night.  They headed south, then through a back alley where people like to urinate in broad daylight, then more heading south, then a quick right to discover: another beer check!  Giddily, hashers quickly shoehorned themselves into the Irish Pub in order to get a beer, dump flour on the floor, get kicked out, and finally banned for life.  Brilliant work.  I think that’s the fastest we’ve ever been kicked out of a place. The Mob took off again into the night, splitting in half, with one group zenning their own trail back to the bar, going through the North-South tunnels of City Hall, then across the courtyard that has that giant Parcheesi statue, then delightedly discovering actual trail back to the bar.  The other group followed actual trail, which ran through the East-West tunnel of City Hall, then through the Christmas Village thingy, then back to the back.  Coincidence? Believe it. Or not. Back at Westy’s, the Mob put on their sweatshirts and headed out to the parking lot, where a case of PBR brought autohashers running like cats to the sound of a can opener.  Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Seiz’er TiTs, Virgin Pimp, Little F*ckin Winkie, Sloppy Ho, Piss Cycle, S&M Man, Cleavage to Beaver, Heave Ho, Scooby Snatch, 2 Clump Chump, and Skin Fiddle all made their appearance and circle commenced. Circle Hares: Just Adam, Mayor Quimby Virgins: Just Carrie, Just Shelley, Just Liz, Just Trish First In/Last In: Gag Reflex, Dr. Squealgood [the song for this accusation was the Stan Song, which was enthusiastically sung by half the hash by replacing the words with "meows", like a very enthusiastic, inebriated  Meox Mix commercial. It was inspired. You had to be there.] Autohashers: Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Seiz’er TiTs, Virgin Pimp, Little F*ckin Winkie, Sloppy Ho, Piss Cycle, S&M Man, Cleavage to Beaver, Heave Ho, Scooby Snatch, 2 Clump Chump and Skin Fiddle Accusations: Scooby Snatch for forgetting Mayor Quimby’s sister on Valentine’s Day Virgin Pimp for accusing Mayor Quimby of a ridiculous accusation, which was ruled acceptable hash behavior Gag Reflex for not warning his virgins not to wear r*cist gear to a hash Midnight Tranny for dressing like Speed Racer Flounder for r*cist gloves Working Girl for wearing a skirt (which he bought full price at Lululemon.) And under the When One Person Wearing a Skirt Drinks Rule: Cleavage to Beaver and Just Trish, and under the When One Beaver Drinks rule, Bumble Beaver. Announcements: SUNDAY SUNDAY SUNDAY: Philly Marathon Beer check, come on out to hand out beer and look at the people. In front of the Manayunk Diner, at Mile 19 and mile STFU, just like last year. December 11: Rear Engineer is organizing a Paintball Excursion to Skirmish. $15 to get in,  $25 for paint.  Who wouldn’t want to shoot their friends?  Come on out. Contact Rear for details. FRIDAY FIRDAY FRIDAY the 19th. Philly Full Moon Hash! Something about prizes! You won’t know unless you go because I wasn’t paying attention so come on out! Overheard at the Hash Hasher: "Valentine’s Day? Wasn’t that way back in February?" Other hasher: "I think he means Orthodox Valentine’s Day." Midnight Tranny: "There is no fighting in the war room!" Deep Discunt: "Don’t mind the herpes!" On On, The Rash

Well, tonight was the most important night of the year at the Ben Franklin Mob. Yes, even more important than Prom and even more important than the night you backed that harriette who’d had one shot too many into a dark corner for a cheap feel: it was the AGM! (Annual General Meeting, for those who haven’t been paying attention.) The night where we forcibly wrest the reins of power away from the people who have proved themselves to be woefully incompetent and hand them off to other wankers of questionable competence who have either bribed or slept their way to power. If you weren’t there this evening, I want to extend my personal wishes that your dysentery clears up soon, because I can’t imagine any other reason that you would not have shown up to this.

Tonight brought out a whole host of BFMers, including some founding members we haven’t seen in a while because they went off and became responsible adults. They were: Bastard Child, Beers Sucks, Can You Hear Me Now?, Cause for Blindness, C*nting Season, Sly Fox, Scooby Snatch, The Rash, Up Her Ali, Hold the Sausage, Little Red Riding Wood, Dry Hump, Three Balls, Big Tackle, Son of Goat F*cker, Flounder, Two Clump Chump, Sleeps Around the C*ck, Fire Down Under, S&M Man, Cleavage to Beaver, Shefelta Fish, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Porn to Fail, Just Jose, Grab My Handlebars, Mediocre & Stupid, Tube C*ck, Bonsai Bush, Reginal Discharge, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, One Night Only, Rear Engineer, Rear Engineer’s Mustache, Where’s My Vagina, Goes Down Often, Post Anal Drip, Swollen C*ckpit, One Inch in, Deep Discunt, Short Distance Rimmer, Slutty When Wet, and Just Joanna.

The Mob milled around  Wooly Mammoth’s upstairs room before the hash, drinking beer and casting the occasional longing eye toward the tantalizing set up of chafing dishes at the far end of the room. "Food?" they asked, pleadingly. Hashers kept turning around quick and looking at the table hopefully, as if food had somehow sneaked in behind them as a surprise. "Food…now?" No, you impatient whiners. Trail first, then food. Sighing deeply and casting one last lingering glance at where they thought food might appear, the Mob trudged out into the snow for chalk talk, and to find the trail set as Rear Engineer’s final act of Phallocentric Tyranny.

Well, most of the Mob, anyway. The ancien régime of the BFM sensibly stayed at the bar where it wasn’t covered with ice and snow and caught up with each other. It was during this conversation that we discovered that even the combination of marriage and fatherhood has not changed Bastard Child in the least. According to his very patient wife Beer Sucks, he will still throw devil horns during church if so moved and sees absolutely nothing wrong with refering to his daughter as “carry-on luggage.” (This last bit I actually see nothing wrong with because I’ve been lobbying for all children ages 2 to 7 to be stowed in the overhead compartment.) You young whippersnappers who went out on trail, well I have no idea where you went. You were supposed to end up at Franklin Park, where Rear Engineer and Dry Hump had set up strategic stockpiles of snowballs with which to bombard you as inspired by this scene from The Patriot and apparently yinz decided to do something else. Perhaps a beer check? Maybe took in a movie? Got some grocery shopping done? No idea. At any rate, the Mob slowly trickled back to the bar and were ecstatic to find that food– which was for once not sad pasta and various lumps drenched in tomato sauce, but rather tasty little chicken, hamburger, and cheesy things– had appeared in their absence and thence proceeded to descend upon the spread like that scene in Gone With the Wind where Scarlett wolfs down the last radish in the garden then swears that as God as her witness she’ll never be hungry again.

Finally sated, circle began, easily the longest circle I’ve ever been a party to. It was like the extended dance remix of circles. Ridiculous. Plus, people wholly unrelated to the accusation kept leaping in the circle to drink. Bah. I only wrote down the interesting bits, so here you go:

Circle (Paul Oakenfold Extended Dance Remix)

Visitors (I guess since they live in Houston now): Bastard Child, who told a heartwarming joke about a man’s wife dying which earned him a boot to the groin (some things never change), and Beers Sucks who had to be reminded of a hash song to sing.

Hares: Rear Engineer, Rear Engineer’s Mustache

First In/Last In: Cause for Blindness, Midnight Tranny, Up Her Ali, and under the When One GM Drinks rule, the other 15 GMs in the room.

Comes Latelies: Dry Hump, Bastard Child, Beers Sucks, Three Balls, Can You Hear Me Now?, Little Red Riding Wood

Autohashers: Big Tackle, Deep Discunt, Bastard Child, Beers Sucks, Can You Hear Me Now, Little Red Riding Wood, Cunting Season, The Rash, Piss Cycle

Accusations (Get Comfortable This Will Take While 12" mix):

For not showering for a week: Mr. Snuffleupamuff

Primping on trail: Slutty When Wet

For running a sex blog: Goes Down Often (Scooby Snatch accused her of this, but called her Fire Down Under by accident, which earned him a kick to the nards and a down-down.)

For being around for BFM #1: Bastard Child, Beers Sucks, Cause for Blindness, Can You Hear Me Now?

(It’s interesting to note at this point, that Beer Sucks had been handing off her down-downs this whole time and Bastard Child was drinking for two.)

For drinking for two: Bastard Child

For asking to be accused: Two Clump Chump

For enthusiastically discussing non-sexual medical procedures: Hold the Sausage, S&M Man

All Current and former BFM GMs: The Rash, Cunting Season, Hold the Sausage, Up Her Ali, Rear Engineer

Goes Down Often for referring to Grab My Handlebars in print as "Hold My Handlebars." I’d just like to point out that this is minor, considering that once everyone has enough beers, they slur the “Grab My” so it sounds like “Grandma Handlebars.” Do with that what you will.

For not one but two hash crashes: Tube C*ck

For trying to make an accusation: Cause for Blindness

For naming an EWH3 hasher: Two Clump Chump

Mediocre & Stupid was accused of a whole bunch of things, but the only notable bit about that is that she had to do one down-down for being Mediocre, then a second one for being Stupid

Finally, the circle ended abruptly when Scooby unwisely attempted to make C*nting Season do a down down she didn’t want to do.

Awards (Instrumental Mix):

I personally wanted to give some random hasher a Witless Solipsism award, but that would’ve required the award to consist of a dictionary so that they could look up the word "solipsism." And also "witless." And "dictionary." And "word." But that seemed needlessly complicated, so here are the actual awards as compiled by Mismanagement:

Best Trail: 300th, as laid by Rear Engineer, Tube C*ck, Cleavage to Beaver, Cunting Season, Hold the Sausage, and S&M Man

Worst Trail: #261 laid by Jingle Balls and Fire Thighs, which was during the World Series. Only 15 people showed up, none of whom found the beer check.

Excellence in Hashing Award: For losing Stan, losing the Flabongo twice, and drinking out of no less than 6 pairs of new shoes, Mediocre & Stupid

The Little F*ckin Winkie Memorial Award for Dating the Most Girls in the Hash: Wresting this title away from 3-time winner Scooby Snatch, it was Two Clump Chump

The Drinking Special Olympics Award, or the "Up-Up": Scooby Snatch and Mr. Snuffleupamuff for their inspired boot-and-rally at the 300th.

Best Beer Near: Where’s My Vagina and Cleavage to Beaver, for being 10′ feet apart.

The Oo! Shiny! Award for abandoning the hash for a boyfriend: Goes Down Often

The Most Inappropriate Award: Goes Down Often for saying something so inappropriate that she couldn’t repeat it and I can’t even write it down.

Most Times as Hare: Two Clump Chump

All the winners were then invited to drink in the circle, and Rear will get them their awards from the Dollar Store once the snow melts, sometime around July.

Announcements (Phillies Tailgate Hooha remix)

There will be NO Phillies tailgate this August OR this July, as Cousin It is leaving town to become a Carmelite nun at a small convent in Moosejaw, Saskatchewan. Be sure to congratulate novice Sister Bernadette when you see him.

Namings and Renamings (DJ Ming & FS Drum N’ Base Mix)

Just Joanna: Because she went to Virginia Tech where apparently there is nothing to do for fun but cow-tipping, she was to be named "Just the Cow Tip." (I preferred "Porking at the Car Wash", but no one listens to me.) However, our illustrious GM was feeling the effects of all the "When ONE GM Drinks" down-downs, because he accidentally named her "Just the Brown Tip." Heh. Well, congrats, YFF, you’ve at least got a good story to tell.

Reginal Discharge: Originally, Reginal’s voted-upon name was deemed too offensive, even for the hash. Since that time, it’s has been decided that nothing is too offensive, and she was officially and properly renamed: Seize’er Tits (Or Seizure Tits, or Caesar Tits.You decide.)

E’rections (Old & Busted vs New Hotness mix)

Yes! New people who you can bitch to! The election was handily run by the efficient C*nting Season, and here are the results:
Haberdasher
Mr. Snuffleupamuff

Hash Cash
Where’s My Vagina
Mr. Snuffleupamuff

On Secs
Grab My Handlebars
Sloppy Ho
Mediocre and Stupid

RAs
S&M Man
Bonsai Bush

GM
Midnight Tranny to Georgia

This has been my last BFM hash trash probably ever, since I’ve written them for longer than many of you have been legal to drink. Or have been out of high school (…Just Tristan, I’m looking at you).  And so, in the immortal words of Groucho Marx, “I’ve had a perfectly wonderful evening. But this wasn’t it."

On On,
The Rash

Dear Penthouse Forum,

Well, I read your letters all the time, and I’ve always thought that those wild scenarios were made up. I never thought it would happen to me! But it did: I went to a hash in Manayunk, and for the first time ever, I wasn’t one of only 4 people who could be bothered to show up.

That’s right, a whole slew of people showed up to T Hogan’s tonight. Big Tackle, Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Rear Engineer, the Rash, Snap Off, Scooby Snatch, Two Clump Chump, Swollen Cockpit, Fire Down Under, Slutty When Wet, Just Joanna, Just Shannon, Dancing Fool, One Night Only, Whiskey Dick, One Inch In, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Sleeps Around the Cock, Just Jose, Grab My Handlebars, Tickle My Elmo, Mr, Snuffleupamuff, Raginal Discharge, Target, Mediocre & Stupid, Tube C*ck, Twat of Darkness, and lots and lots of virgins! Just Chris, Just Adam, Just Christian, Just Carrie, and Just Heather, plus a virgin that we picked up on trail, but more on that later.

The Mob wandered about taking serious advantage of mug night at T Hogan’s, and by “serious advantage”, I mean that we bought every single mug and still half the hash didn’t have one. Well, no matter, because there was a rumor going around that there were two(!) beer checks on trail. The Mob piled out of the bar for chalk talk. Suddenly, older hashers, hashers who had experienced the horror of the trail that Two Clump had laid years ago that earned him his renaming (he was previously Red Light School District, remember?) recoiled in terror at the marks on the sidewalk written out in dark blue chalk. “Did you lay trail at night in navy blue chalk AGAIN???” they, cried, despairing, ready to storm back in the bar and refill their mugs. No, no, that was just for chalk talk, calm down. The virgins took the moment to take off running. Apparently they needed to drop something in their car and Just Chris needed to Summon the Earl, but they trotted right back for explanation of the marks. But apparently having already printed out an explanation of hashing from the internet and bringing it with them the virgins thought they knew everything. Thus, they kept running off from the chalk talk trying to find trail until Scooby held them down and explained that it was not a race.

After the formalities, the Mob was finally off, half of them immediately taking off in the wrong direction. Righting themselves, they rejoined the Mob, and starting running uphill. One of the first checks was in front of a bar that already had placed its drunks outside to make helpful suggestions to the Mob. The Mob tried to ignore them as they busily engaged themselves in checking every wrong direction until Two Clump got frustrated and yelled “it’s THAT way, idiots!” Chastised, the Mob took off west, up and down hills. A check at the base of a set of stairs led to more trail through a set of backyards. Another parking lot, another check, and then the Mob came to a huge flight of stairs. Would there be a false at the top? Nope, not this time. The Mob continued up until they saw a BN chalked outside a playground. “Beer Near!!” they cheerfully shouted, and arrived at a dark parking lot and began swilling beer behind a van. Whiskey Dick took this time to explain that “Yahtzee” is actually Yiddish for the numbers one though six, all at the same time. But when would you ever use this? “I don’t know,” he confessed, “I’m not familiar with Yiddish mathematics.” Well, then. Also at this beer check, Just Shannon declared her fervent love of hills. “I love these hills! No, I do! I love running hills!!” Huh. We need to do something about that, y’all.

Full of beer and getting chilly, the Mob took off again, still heading west through Manayunk. Another check lurked at the top of a huge flight of stairs. The Mob peered down “You check.” “No, you check. I’m not giving up the high ground” Finally, Tube C*ck, showing the fortitude that made Canada great, trundled down the steps and reported that the trail just sort of petered out. Finally someone pulled themselves away from their checkhanging and found us some trail a block away. Where were we headed? Roxborough? East Falls? Andorra? Ohio? Nope, we were on our way to the next beer check at the abode of Swollen Cockpit, where Festering Beanie Baby and an injured Post-Anal Drip were waiting. (She had just been in a hockey fight. You should see the other guy.). The Mob gratefully poured into his backyard and swarmed eagerly around the beer first and around the giant freestanding outdoor heater second. After refilling themselves with beer, the Mob wanderded back out into the night, slightly lost and slightly drunk. Sensibly heading east, the Mob made their way back to T. Hogan’s. Oddly enough, the trail back seemed a lot shorter that the trail going out, so I’m going to blame either the neat shortcut at the end that went along the railroad tracks then alongside the abutment to Ridge and magically popped out right across the street from the Wissahickon station, or perhaps a booze-influenced perception of time.

Back at the bar, the Mob danced around excitedly while watching the bartender fill pitchers with beer. Jingle Ballzzz had arrived at the bar in the meantime. After a few of the pitchers had been distributed, Hold the Sausage and Snap Off called me over to let me know that Sausage had seen Snappy’s huge hairy pussy. Ok, then. Sometimes they lace the beer with sodium pentathol, who knew? Let’s see what came out in the circle.

The Circle

Hares: Two Clump Chump, Festering Beanie Baby, Swollen Cockpit

Virgins: Just Chris, Just Christian, Just Heather, Just Adam, Just Carrie, and Just Brad, who was picked up on trail. I missed the actual picking-up, but I did recognize him at the guy who had been staring at us while we ran by like the drunk circus had come to town.

First In/Last In: Short Distance Rimmer, Post Anal Drip, One Night Only

Comes Latelies: Festering Beanie Baby, Target

Autohashers: Jingle Ballzzz, Raginal Discharge, Mr. Shuffleupamuff, Post Anal Discharge

Accusations

For making a phone call on trail: Just Shannon

For doing online hash research for the wrong hash: All the virgins

Tech in circle: Whiskey Dick

For still wearing her race tag on her shoe: Snap Off

For having the biggest pussy that Sausage had ever seen: Snap Off

For leaving us to go to London: One Night Only

For prairie-dogging on trail: Rear Engineer

For wearing a cape: Festering Beanie Baby

And under the When One Hare Drinks rule: Two Clump, Swollen Cockpit, and under the When One Cock Drinks rule: Tube C*ck, Sleep Around the C*ck

For wearing compression tights: Snap Off

For giving Snap Off a ride all the way home: Twat of Darkness

For having a man-crush on Aston Kutcher: Mr. Snuffleupamuff

For some strange stream-of-consciousness accusation: Just Jose

For having a quickie in her car: Just Jose, Grab My Handlebars

For being jealous: Short Distance Rimmer

Announcements:

BUY A T-SHIRT FOR $10, DAMMIT. Raginal Discharge, who did all the work and fronted the money for them is being awfully nice about this, but I’ll find you and staple one on, so let’s do this the easy way and you come buy one from her or Muff. Now.

January 29^th, Philly Full Moon presents Do Shots Don’t Get Shot. Bring your own bail money and your own spare liver.

BFM Nominations real soon! Nominate your friends! Nominate your enemies! Nominate your friends’ enemies!

Cousin It, Phillies Tailgate, etc.

Overheard at the Hash

Snap Off: I’m going to drink out of my pants later

Short Distance Rimmer: My nipples are hard.

The Rash: All three?

Just Chris: I’m back! I got nervous and I had to puke.

On On,

The Rash

It’s finally dawned on me that we’re almost at the end of this year of Phallocentric Tyranny.  And you know what that means, right?  Elections!  So!  I know that lots of you complaining wankers think you can do it better so start thinking about what position you want a friend to nominate you for! Did you not like this year’s t-shirt?   Run for Hash Cash!  Did you ever long for the trash to come out on time? (Well, you and me both, but my trash-writing elves are union, so hey.) Run for Hash Trash! Don’t like the songs in circle?  Run for Religious Advisor! Do you think you can get the bars posted faster than Rear Engineer? Well, you probably can, so run for Grand Master/Mistress/Mattress!  And always remember: “Ask not what your hash can do for you, but what you can do to your hash.”

Right, now with that out of the way, this week’s hash was held at Westy’s in Fairmount.  I swear Westy’s used to be this terribly grotty little place where no one but grimy locals and off-duty hospital folk came.  Tonight it was stuffed with suited yuppie types and that was weird.  But! We eventually drove them off and took over the karaoke, so it all worked out.  Showing up tonight to menace the yuppies were Mr. Snuffleupamuff, One Inch In, his virgin Just Shannon, Dumpster, Twat of Darkness, Short Distance Rimmer, Son of Goat F*cker (Oh! Neat fact: his hash name is properly “Son of Goat F*cker”, not “Son of A Goat F*cker”, kind of like how it’s “Bride of Frankenstein” not “Bride of A Frankenstein”, but he’s been entirely too nice to tell us that we’ve been saying it wrong forever. So, just to clarify: Son of Goat F*cker. There.) Fire Down Under, Reginal Discharge, Rear Engineer, The Rash, Where’s My Vagina, Cleavage to Beaver, Just Christine, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, S&M Man, Sleeps Around the Cock, Swollen Cockpit, Just John, Two Clump Chump, Lick Hymen, Grab My Handlebars, Just Joanna, Just Karen, Holy F*ck, Just Tristan, Mediocre & Stupid, Bonsai Bush, Chernoblow, and Tube C*ck.

After some pre-hash beers, straws were pulled and Where’s My Vagina was the lucky hare.  Fire Down Under volunteered to go with her, and they were off.  Five minutes later Rear Engineer herded the Mob out into the cold to explain the marks, and to give everyone the apparently distressing news that because of having to coordinate running the Circle (not outside in the freezing cold parking lot this time) with the Karaoke Nazi, there would be no beer check.  Oh, the WHINING, you would’ve thought that that not only would there be no beer check, that it was going to be replaced with tetanus shots and puppy-kicking.  Sack up, wankers, a beer check on trail is a privilege, not a right.  Back in the early days of the BFM, there were no beer checks except on special occasions.  And usually you had to hash a six mile trail besides because E=My Cock Squared pulled the short straw and no one could catch him. Uphill.  Both ways.

Anyway. With the whining piercing the night air like a buzzsaw, the Mob was off to find trail.  Which they did.  The trail headed west, through the Community College, then up around the Eastern State Penitentiary and back.  This makes the trail sound short, but it really wasn’t, and was notable for two things: 1. The inordinate number of checks at every damn corner, and 2. The number of hashers who actually did not checkhang because it was too cold to stand still.  There was also a huge number of unlikely FRB’s for the same reason.  Heh.  So, the Mob hustled around the Penitentiary, then mysteriously split into three separate packs who all arrived back at Westy’s from three separate directions all at the exact same time.  Tada!

Back at the nice warm bar, beers were wrangled and the circle cranked right up, because there was karaoke to be had soon.  Rear Engineer managed to get the bartender to turn the jukebox volume down from 11, and we got started.

Circle

Hares: Where’s My Vagina, Fire Down Under

Virgins: Just Shannon, Just John (who claimed to be a technical virgin, but I didn’t really want details)

First In/Last In: Lick Hymen, Just Tristan, Just Karen

Autohashers: Post-Anal Drip, Big Tackle, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Hold the Sausage, Goes Down Often

Comes Lateies: Lick Hymen, Just Tristan, Just Karen

Accusations

For never trying that fist thing: Goes Down Often

For getting GDO wet with the lesbians: Hold the Sausage

For matching pink shirts: The Rash, Up Her Ali, Fire Down Under

For his neck foreskin: Rear Engineer

Alcohol Abuse: Mediocre & Stupid

Peeing his pants: Lick Hymen

False Advertising: Swollen Cockpit, and under the When One Cock Drinks rule, Tube C*ck and Sleeps Around the Cock

For Holding Hands and Skipping (not sure with whom): S&M Man

For not bringing Stan: Mediocre & Stupid

For dropping her lip gloss on trail, bending over to pick it up, and being identified via her ass: Just Joanna

For using the word “organized” in relation to the hash: Just Tristan

For just arriving: Nappy Headed Ho, Jingle Ballzzz

For late trail posting: Rear Engineer

For knowing where the golden penis is (not a euphemism): Two Clump Chump

For riding his bike into the circle like he was Meatloaf in the Rocky Horror Picture Show: Fruit of the Clue

And for, according to Swollen Cockpit, having the “curtains match the drapes”, or the napkins match the tablecloth, or the upholstery match the carpet or whatever the analogy should be: Post Anal Drip

Announcements:

Bay to Breakers is coming up, and a whole BFM crew usually goes.  Um…sign up, I guess.

Jingle Ballzzz is haring the Philly Hash this weekend, come on out.

Muff still has shirts!! For the low, low price of $10, but you could probably negotiate a better price cuz he seems to want to get them out of his life. See Muff.

Circle was closed, but quickly reopened again after Just Tristan thought he got out of his birthday side-side. Ha, no luck. Then Circle was closed, and the Mob signed up for lots of karaoke, including One In Inch singing a Led Zeppelin song so EXACTLY like Robert Plant that it was both awesome and creepy.

Overheard at the Hash

Rear Engineer:  “These pants make my package look big.”

Twat of Darkness: [Spinning around on pole] “What? Twat’s gotta have something to ride”

Cleavage to Beaver: “If you wait long enough, you can have a beard like those Amish lads”

On On,

The Rash

Ok, so the end of the night rolled around, and I had just about almost pretty much decided that I had had a great time especially because this is one of the prettiest and most relaxing hashes of the year, what with the lights and all, and I didn’t need to write a rant in this trash, and I was actually so content that I didn’t even feel sad about it. Until two things happened. One: Deep Discunt told me not to write one as she headed out the door, and ordering me to do anything is like waving a gigantic sign to do the exact opposite (see T. Rash vs. V. Pimp, Re: How About Putting a URL Linking the Trash in the Email Announcing That it’s Posted? How About "No."), and Two: Oh, you’ll see. Just wait.

So this week’s hash started at the South Philly Tap Room. Showing up this evening were Softcore Analyst, H2Hoe, Just Mike, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Rear Engineer, Deep Discunt, One Inch In, Flounder, Cause for Blindness, Sloppy Ho, Dancing Fool, Post Anal Discharge, Chernoblow, Reginal Discharge, The Rash, Sly Fox, Fruit of the Clue, WhiskeyDick, One Night Only, Cunting Season, Little Red Riding Wood, The Rash, Up Her Ali, Tube Cock, Snap Off, Naerosmith, Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, Just Pam, Bonsai Bush, Sleeps Around the Cock, Working Girl, Can You Hear Me Now, Sex Tonight, Denied!, Dublin Dick, Grab My Handlebars, Just Jose, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Just Kate, Just Lauren, Just Anne, Goes Down Often, Where’s My Vagina, Mediocre and Stupid, Scammin Ole Ladies, 2 Clump Chump, and Dr. Squealgood.

Little Red Riding Wood was the hare for the evening, as she is for this hash every year. Tonight she had pre-laid two(!) trails, one for the r*nners, and one for the slacker walker types who were either slow, injured, or had forgotten to bring r*nning clothes (Reginal Discharge) After the obligatory blather about marks, the Mob was off to find trail and to Oo! excitedly at the lights. Trail wound through the most festive neighborhoods in the city, under sparkling canopies of lights strung over entire streets, past a slowly and dramatically rotating Christmas tree, past every inflatable holiday lawn thingy known to man, and arrived at the beer check. The beer check was the Blue Suede Bar, which has a stunning amount of (guess what?) Elvis memorabilia, and also a mysterious game sort of like vertical pinball which was in reality totally boring but it was beer-themed, so hashers immediately surrounded it like insects to a porch light and tried to figure out if they could make it give them beer. Upon discovering that it would not, in fact, dispense beer, the Mob stormed off all hurty and back onto trail. (There was beer at the bar. Just to be clear.)

Back on trail, the Mob ran through most elaborately decorated block in the city by far, with motorized mailboxes and a waving Santa in a sleigh, and gobs of lights and music and more lights and figurines and inflatable things that sparked Mob discussion about who, exactly, organizes all of this, and what their PECO bill is. Impressed, but chilly and wanting more beer, the Mob hustled back the the Tap Room and proceeded to clamor for beer.

Once the beer and Mob were wrangling, the Circle was cranked up:

The Circle

Hares: Little Red Riding Wood

Virgins: Just Pam, via Bonsai Bush

Visitors: Naerosmith, who serenaded us with a heartfelt rendition of one of the filthiest songs I’ve ever heard, ever, and that’s saying something.

First In, Last In: Up Her Ali, Whiskey Dick

Cums Latelies: Sloppy Ho, Sly Fox, Dublin Dick, Sex Tonight, Denied!, Chernoblow, Fruit of the Clue, Dr Squealgood, Can You Hear Me Now, Cunting Season, Goes Down Often, Just Jose

Autohashers: He’s a Lesbian

Accusations:

Hash Crash: One Inch In

Hash Crash AND Destruction of Property: Fruit of the Clue

Race Shirt: Scooby Snatch, Post Anal Drip, Mediocre & Stupid, and under the When One Anal drinks rule, Softcore Analyst

For wearing a whole damn Santa suit: One Inch In

And under the when One Santa Hat drinks rule: Snap Off, Where’s My Vagina, Cause

For Wearing Elf Pants: Fruit of the Clue

For being jealous of Working Girl‘s pearls: Mediocre & Stupid

(And just an aside here, Working Girl does have the most stunning pearl necklace hash necklace ever. EVER.)

For only coming once a year; One Inch In

For just arriving: Tickle My Elmo

For not putting his penis in Goes Down Often‘s bush: Whiskey Dick (look, I just write this sh*t down, people)

For decorating her bush: Cause for Blindness

And under the Decorated Bush rule: Bonsai Bush

For actually wanting Whiskey Dick’s penis: Goes Down Often

For the biggest pearl necklace in the metro area: Working Girl

For not having enough menorahs on trail: Little Red Riding Wood

False shoes accusation: Scooby Snatch

For bad grammar: either Goes Down Often or Midnight Tranny to Georgia, I can’t tell

And so the rest of the night was spent upstairs at the Tap Room, enjoying the festive holiday season, not wanting to go back out into the cold, and drinking the last of the beer. I was just about to leave, when I decided that one last stop at the ladies room was a good idea, and here’s my rant: Look, ladies, yes, a public bathroom, especially one in a bar full of hashers is probably not sterile. But is that any reason to PEE ALL OVER THE GODDAMN SEAT? Look, you don’t want to put your precious tuchis on it, fine. But there was plenty of toilet paper to create your own little cushion! Or to use to WIPE UP AFTER YOURSELF after you performed the four-inch hang about the seat and proceeded to hose it down with your pee. What the HELL? And how did you get it a a whole puddle full foot in front of the toilet, too?? Sweet Christ Almighty, we live in the United States, fer cryin’ out loud, you are not going to catch Ebola from parking your nalgas the whole way on the seat for 30 seconds. If I wanted to have strangers’ bodily effluvia on me, I would’ve never quit doing Scheisse porn.

F*ck it. I’m using the men’s room from now on.

Overheard At the Hash

Goes Down Often, excitedly: “This is where I met you! Remember!!!”

Dr. Squealgood: “Oh yeah!” [aside to Two Clump]: “What the hell was that?”

Tube Cock: “You only get herpes once.”

On On,

The Rash

Ah, trash. Such a time-honored tradition. Having mismanagement show up, also quite the tradition – but for this hash, we rallied behind Midnight Tranny to Georgia as GM/RA/whatever else he was standing-in as. Can’t blame mismanagement for heading to the party of the year!

The BFM was lucky enough to have the Philly HHH AGM fall on a Thursday night, so we could cum together and share in their open-bar – oh wait, I mean joy. Yes, the joy of the PH3 AGM. The lot of us met up first at the Green Room in Fairmount, mingling with Fruit of the Clue, Tube C*ck, Bonsai Bush, Whiskey D*ck, Just Anne, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Where’s My Vagina?, Just Karen, Just Travis, Twat of Darkness, Just Jose ala Grab My Handlebars, One Inch In, Mediocre and Stupid, One Night Only, Virgin Pimp, Son of Goatf*cker, Dancing Fool, Major Piece of *ss, Likes the Hard One, and Just Holly ala Two Clump Chump.  We set out to follow what has been called the longest 15 minute trail in recent BFM memory (with all that PBR, it’s really not long at all) around Fairmount.

Met by Big Tackle, the Mob headed into the speak-easy-esque back room of the Urban Saloon to find the likes of Hold the Sausage, Short-Distance Rimmer, Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, Rear Engineer, The Rash, Snap Off, Cause for Blindness, Flounder, He’s a Lesbian and a whole bunch of other well-dressed PH3 and BFM halfminds (who knew they clean up so nice?? Come on, what would the trash be without an obligatory video with animals in formal wear, with the thoroughly disturbing groping and the raping – if you’re still not sure they clean up nice, Tight Lips has offered up proof ).

Anyway, the beer check was pretty much crashing their high class party, complete with dinner china – did I mention open-bar? Yea, always trouble – so the mob reluctantly made their way back to the basement of the Green Room, while visions of returning for Sierra-Nevada danced in their heads. Where’s My Vagina? was brave enough to take on the duty of Hash Cash while I scrounged around for paper (trash was written on the back of “PA Liquor Control Board Incident Documentation Forms,” courtesy of the bartender – so fitting). The mob was restless as usual, while Whiskey D*ck and One Night Only tried to take more than one hasher’s heads off with a game or two of darts.  Finally enough beer arrived and circle was momentarily opened by Tranny, until we realized there were no Hares present to drink. When they finally arrived, with much uproar, circle began again.

Circle

Hares: Swollen C*ckpit and Post-Anal Drip

Virgins: Just Jose ala Grab My Handlebars and Just Holly ala Two Clump Chump – Joined by Tranny for messing up the song

First In/Last In: (Son of Goatf*cker was gentleman enough to open the door to walk in behind) Where’s My Vagina? and hares Swollen C*ckpit and Post-Anal Drip drank for holding up circle

Comes Latelys: Just Travis, Just Karen, Swollen C*ckpit, Post-Anal Drip, Major Piece of *ss, and Likes the Hard One.

Autohashers: Uh, just walkers, Major Piece of *ss, Likes the Hard One. And Sleeps Around the C*ck but that was later.

Accusations:

For being a racist, or at least supporting racist attire, from the recent Philly Marathon: Mediocre and Stupid

For doing a body shot off Just Karen’s ex boyfriend (…interesting…): Just Travis

For alcohol abuse (probably overly excited about that body shot thing): Just Karen

For pubeing the cake (whatever the f that means), and then pointing in circle: Twat of Darkness

For getting it on on-trail (really, just for making us wait): Hares

…and in the “One C*ck” rule…Tube C*ck and Sleeps Around the C*ck joined in

For being a Racist, or accusing racists (I’m not sure – it was a long night): Bonsai Bush

For forgetting the paper to do the Trash: Mediocre and Stupid

For actually forgetting the paper and expecting Mediocre and Stupid to remember it: Grab My Handlebars

For slapping his own ass: Whiskey D*ck

For messing up the “Would you like a finger…?” song: Tranny

For doing well as GM/RA/etc.: Tranny

For having new shoes: Fruit of the Clue – penalty declined and sent back to Mediocre and Stupid

For advertising a wild, pants-down kind of Hashgivings and then providing a great (but fully dressed) time with good friends: Tube C*ck and Bonsai Bush

For coming to the hash with a hickey on her neck (and then trying to claim it was an incident with a ‘curiling iron’): Just Holly

For going to see New Moon on opening weekend: Grab My Handlebars

Announcements:

In lieu of Scooby Snatch or Cousin It, Bonsai Bush and Two Clump Chump said something about that Philly’s tailgate, in August…

There’ll be a ski trip, sometime in February, so harass One Inch In if you care.

There’s a party going on at Urban Saloon, let’s go!

Overheard at the hash…

Two Clump Chump: “The only thing worse than head is leftover head…But yea, it’s better than no head at all” only shortly before exclaiming, “Did you lube up her derailleur??”

One Inch In: “Now all the pointy things are sticking out!”

And the kicker… Post-Anal Drip of her cohare: “Oh, he’s got a little one!!”

And just when you thought that the hash (and the trash) was over, the party was just beginning. Thanks to the musical stylings of Snap Off (she has business cards and everything!), the mob headed back to Urban Saloon for much beer, merriment, cake, awards/election process, dancing, and a damn good party thanks to PH3 and Big Tackle!

On-on,

Grab My Handlebars

So I woke the morning after this hash with a pounding post-PBR headache, melted cheese all down the front of my shirt, and, mysteriously, no pants. That’s the sign of a good hash, kids.  Shoot for that.

This evening’s hash found the Mob at Vesuvio’s a bar near the Italian Market that was popular in the early days of the BFM because it had an enormous bean bag chair in the foyer.  The bean bag chair is now gone (not our fault)(I think), but the copious amounts of PBR still remain.   And tonight the siren song of a beer second only to Milwaukee’s Best and only marginally better than Hamm’s lured out  S&M Man, Fire Down Under, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Short Distance Rimmer, Attila the Hung, Randy Dykes!, Where’s My Vagina, Cleavage to Beaver, Grab My Handlebars, Just Erin, Just Kelly, Just Anne (who is hysterical, y’all, you have to stand next to her for a while), Son of a Goatf*cker, Scooby Snatch, Working Girl, Tube C*ck, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, One Night Only, C*nting Season, Sleeps Around the C*ck, Hold the Sausage, He’ a Lesbian, and Bonsai Bush.

The Mob piled their bags in the upstairs and stood around telling dead baby jokes until it occurred to them that there was actually hashing to be done, and so wandered back downstairs and out the door and stood patiently while Scooby and/or Sausage shouted instructions at them that they never listen to anyway. Then the Mob trundled off into the night in search of trail laid by the the volunteeer hares, Cleavage to Beaver and Where’s My Vagina.  The Mob was in a singing mood tonight, strangely, and someone made up a song about arrows and sombreros, and then some song about something else, but I’d stopped paying attention and lost my pencil, so that’s lost to history. Oh well.  The Mob wound around the Italian Market, across Passyunk, cheered on a PPA agent giving someone a ticket, and were juuuuust starting to complain about the cold and the rain and general length of trail when they arrived at the first beer check.  Where’s My Vagina thoughtfully provided her delightfully tiny apartment and similarly delightful tiny beers to the Mob after first threatening them with death if they didn’t take their shoes off first.  Several people interpreted "shoes" to mean "pants" because the Mob is not all that bright.  Now let me just say, if I want to see you with your pants off, I will convey this to you personally.  You can stop volunteering your tuchis now.  Thank you.

Anyway, back to trail.  Beers drunk, the Mob dutifully put their shoes back on and trotted back out into the rain and our resident Phallocentric Tyrant began complaining mightily about having to go back out into the rain, but was cut short when he realized that the next beer check was at Cleavage to Beaver‘s place, who lives exactly two doors down.  Awesome.  Best beer check placement ever.  After Cleavage enforced her 3 Kamikaze Minimum on all present, the Mob wobbled back out into the night and back to the bar.

I have a bunch of random notes that I don’t have a place for in the trash, but apparently were worth writing down, so here goes: Cleavage shoved someone’s hat down her pants; someone, not sure who, wants to see the entire Hogwart’s Faculty naked, Nappy Headed Ho and Virgin Pimp shared a tender kiss; there’s a Pommie Hash in California now that He’s a Lesbian revived with no website and no email so good luck with that; Attila the Hung stole the detention book in high school, I think this can still go on his permanent record, and Just Kelly was inordinately proud of running trail. Also, He’s A Lesbian presented the BFM with their very own horn, which he bought at a yard sale in Seattle, so now we can shortcut trail at full volume.  And that’s it I think.  Now, gird your loins, because apparently we had two cases of PBR and a mission to get everyone in the vicinity utterly plowed, so the circle and accusations went on forever.  I wrote them all down, so you better well read them all, dammit.

Circle
Hares: Cleavage to Beaver, Where’s My Vagina
Virgins: Just Erin, Just Kelly via Grab My Handlebars
Comes Latelies: Hes a Lesbian, Attila the Hung, Dr. Squealgood, Piss Cycle, Working Girl, C*nting Season
First In/Last In: Bonsai Bush, Deep Discunt (who was not technically last in, she autohashed, but wanted a beer)
Authashers: Piss Cycle, One Night Only, He;s a Lesbian, Dr. Squealgood, Virgin Pimp, Nappy Headed Ho, Jingle Balzzz, Deep Discunt, Just Erin, One Inch In, Mediocre & Stupid

Accusations:
For coming to Vesuvio’s so often she has a sandwich named after her: Where’s My Vagina, and under the When One Hares rule, Cleavage to Beaver
Tech in Circle: One Inch In
For not knowing his own name: Tube C*ck, Son of a Goatf*cker
For his "Mr Fantastic" shirt: Attila the Hung
For coming by herself and still getting a pearl necklace: One Night Only
For an obscenely tight shirt: Scooby Snatch
General Stan Accusation; He’s a Lesbian
For Being a Steven Seagal Impersonator: Dr. Squealgood
To honor all the Vets: He’s a Lesbian, Working Girl, Piss Cycle
For having an endless supply of ones: Grab My Handlebars
For having a small apartment: Nappy Headed Ho
New Shoes, per usuale: Mediocre & Stupid
For mistaking pants for shoes: Fire Down Under, S&M Man
For feeling up the concrete statue in the bar: S&M Man
For bringing out more family: Grab My Handlbars
For changing schools to make the BFM: Piss Cycle
And when One Vet Drinks: He’s a Lesbian, Working Girl
For having p*ssy all over her apartment: Where’s My Vagina, plus Cleavage under the When One Hares rule
For personally thanking a vet: Sleeps around the C*ck
And all the vets again: He’s a Lesbian, Working Girl, Piss Cycle
For being justifiably bitchy about having to write all this sh*t down: The Rash
For still hearing his Philles sweatshirt: Virgin Pimp
Alcohol abuse: Scooby
For being a big Canadian: Tube C*ck
For meeting women…somewhere inappropriate probably: Two Clump Chump

And then Fruit of the Clue showed up and drank three down-downs in succession: for skipping the hash to go to book club, for the bathtub photo, and for making it past Dr. Squealgood‘s spam filter.

No, wait! there’s more:

Complaining about the bathrooms smelling like pee: Bonsai Bush
According to my notes, using a hairdryer in circle: Where’s My Vagina
And finally, for knocking over the beer can pyramid that had been steadily building this whole time: Nappy Headed Ho.

Announcements:

Philly marathon beer check: Located at mile 21 and mile STFU.  Bring $10 and have scrapple and booze til your body hates you.  Vegetarian options as well, ask Sausage if you have questions.
Philly marathon beer check post party at Two Clump‘s place!
Philly AGM: December 3rd, same as always. Check Phillyhash.com for details.
Philly Full Moon: December 4th
New Year’s Eve hash to be held on New Year’s Eve. Details to follow.

Overheard at the Hash

Cleavage to Beaver: "Say nudity, please say nudity."

One Inch In: "Oh, I’m sorry, I’ve confused this with Nipple Monthly"

On On,
The Rash

Yes, it’s the return of the 5^th Annual Hallowinkie Hash!  The hash where you can dress like a complete fool and no one will judge you! Which, frankly, is not technically that much different from other hashes, but hey.

 The Mob congregated this evening on the second floor of Wooly Mammoth, where Meg the bartender was thrilled to see us.  And we were thrilled to see her!  She’s very nice and definitely put up with our nonsense so if you’re ever out on South Street, stop in.  Hashers milled around pre-gaming and alternately admiring each other’s costumes and/or trying to guess what they were.  And, in case you were wondering, here they are:

 Target, as Himself

Son of a Goatf*cker, Also as Himself

Rear Engineer as a Giant Banana with Maracas, and one of the costumes this evening that also incorporated an audio element (“Peanut butter jelly time, Peanut butter jelly time, Where he at, Where he at, etc.”)

Cleavage to Beaver as Marie Antoinette

Fruit of the Clue as an Arab of some sort, also with an ululating audio component that we could’ve all done without, thank you, Fruit.

Midnight Tranny to Georgia as Fred Flintstone

Reginal Discharge as a ghost

Flounder in a defiant “This IS my costume T-shirt”

Cause for Blindness as “Mr. Jackson’s Worst Nightmare”.  Cause also gets two points for guessing my costume by naming the actress who wore it (Elsa Lancaster) before I even broke out the wig.

The Rash as Bride of Frankenstein (as played by Elsa Lancaster, who none of you know anyway, but hey it’s my trash.)

Short Distance Rimmer in the Most Offensive Costume Since Little F*ckin’ Winkie’s Green Dress Appearance as “Special Winkie”

Hold the Sausage as a Reverse Cowgirl

Sleeps Around the Cock as a Ghostbuster

Just Bill as Hawkeye Pierce, his childhood hero, apparently

Mediocre and Stupid as The Gum On The Bottom Of A Shoe

Three Balls as Caesar

Grab My Handlebars as a disturbingly convincing Paul Bunyan

Two Clump Chump as a disturbingly convincing Balloon Boy, a costume which involved an aluminum roasting pan that we later figured out could double as both a drink holder and an ashtray

Sly Fox as a Beer Wench

Where My Vagina as Radioactive Woman

Just Joanna as a Giant Stripper (not in height, in circumference)

Just Lisa as An Elf

Just Carrie as a Crocodile Wearing a Tutu, Which Just Happened to Be in Her Closet

Just Ed as a “Terrorist” or a “Guy wearing a Youth-sized Dress Shirt on His Head”, take your pick

Mr. Snuffleupamuff as a Remarkably Convincing Flasher

E=MyCock Squared as an FRB

Chernoblow as a Whoopee Cushion, complete with her own sound effects

Jingle Balzzz as The Elf, a costume which consisted of the most unsettling velvet shorts I’ve seen since the time I went to that male strip club in Niagara Falls

  All in all, one of the better costume years for the Mob.  Hold the Sausage shouted at everyone to get outside for chalk talk, and the Mob strapped on the last bits of their costumes and wandered downstairs, where the first floor bar crowd paid absolutely no attention to us, because Game 2 of the World Series was on.  After the requisite instructions, the Mob headed off in the direction helpfully pointed out by Rear Engineer, who had pre-laid the trail earlier.  Pre-laying trail has become de rigueur for the Halloween hash ever since the first trail. The wanker who pulled the short straw that time was dressed as a satyr, a costume which basically amounted to furry shorts and a tail.  After the Mob got going on trail, a bemused police officer was overheard by an FRB, radioing in “I’ll be right there, I have to go arrest this clown running around in a monkey suit first.”  So, yeah.  Pre-laid trail from then on.  And trail this evening went east and south, toward the South Street Bridge, then wound back north, right behind Independence Hall, to Market Street, through City Hall, and then onto to the first beer check at McGillin’s, with everyone relying on E=My Cock Squared to find trail.

 Except that it was not to be.  Even though owner knew we’d be stopping by, also stopping by were the wall-to-wall Phillies fans out to watch the game.  There was no way we could shoehorn ourselves in, so the Mob sucked it up and scampered off to the next beer check. Well, most people sucked it up.  And here’s where I’d like to break for a brief rant. It’s actually a legit one this time, too, so gather round real close. I overheard a whole volley of complaining about the scrapped first beer check.  You know, kids, a hash does not operate perfectly every single time. Frankly, we should be impressed that a bunch of half-minds like us can operate our own pants every single time, let alone organize a whole hash every week. But sometimes when something goes mildly wrong, like tonight, there has been some serious, ridiculous b*tching and it is usually by someone who has not done poop: planned a hash, run a beer check, laid a trail, and/or who does not quite understand what it’s like to herd a bunch of wankers who have the collective mentality of a pack of mules, but are considerably less useful.  And this is some horsesh*t of which I am tired.  You cannot come out and expect to be entertained without having to do anything in return. So! Sack up, motherf*ckers, because if I catch you whining like a beeyotch again because you can’t go 15 minutes without having a warm PBR I will do everything in my considerable power to make sure that you will be laying trail like it’s your job for the next few hashes. Or something.  Creative and warranted b*tching as well as making untrammeled fun of Tickle My Elmo, however, is still encouraged and expected.

Ok, so back the happy fun bit.  The next beer check was extremely close by at Lick Hymen’s place where Lick was waiting for us dressed as a Suicidal Yankees Fan.  Despite the proximity, the Mob still managed to break up into four groups and take four totally separate paths to the check, including one that meandered through the Venture Inn where I think someone got a date.  After 15 minutes of swilling Tecate and checking the score, the mob was back on trail to get back to Wooly Mammoth’s and more beer.  

Arriving in the meantime were:

One Inch In as a Felon

Deep Discunt as a Phillies Bunny

Bansai Bush as a Golden Shower

Tube Cock as Meat Curtains, and who was also nice enough to share the meat from his curtains

I-69 as A Frigid B*tch or an Ice Princess, depending on who you ask

Goes Down Often as a Playboy Bunny

Just Ari as Himself

Snap Off as an Overachieving Ass-Clown

S&M Man as someone from Battlestar Galactica

 Nappy Headed Ho as Day Man! (enemy of the Night Man!)

A new round of admiring/figuring out costumes ensued as Reginal Discharge wrangled everyone’s hash cash and started supplying the Mob with beer.  

The Circle

Hare: Rear Engineer

Virgins: Just Joanna, Just Lisa, and Just Carrie, all courtesy of Chernoblow

First In/Last In: Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Midnight Tranny

Hat Violation: Muff

Comes Latelies: Lick Hymen, I-69, Bonsai Bush, Deep Discunt, Three Balls, One Inch In, Son of a Goatf*cker, S&M Man

Hat Violation: Deep Discunt

Autohashers: Snap Off, Reginal Discharge, Nappy Headed Ho, Deep Discunt, I-69, S&M Man, Goes Down Often, One Inch In

No Costume: Son of a Goat F*cker, Just Ari, Goes Down Often E=My Cock Squared, Target

Violations

For wearing a codpiece: Nappy Headed Ho

For wearing an I (heart) Muff t-shirt: Reginal Discharge

For posting the wrong bar address: Rear Engineer

For being a Frigid B*tch: I-69

For (according to my notes) falling over a whore: Just Bill

For Overachieving Ass-Clownery: Snap Off

For New Shoes AGAIN (seriously, what is this, 3 times now? More than twice is a fetish, you know): Mediocre & Stupid

Trying to give herself a hash name: Just Joanna

Not getting into McGillin’s: Muff

For thinking Reginal Discharge was Two Clump Chump: Midnight Tranny, Fruit of the Clue

For overachieving: Goes Down Often

For becoming a Grandmother: Cause for Blindness

For exposing his…I can’t read my writing, so I’ll say “nalgas”: One Inch In, but this was declared acceptable hash behavior and accuser I-69 drank instead.

Birthday Side-Sides: Rear Engineer, Jingle Balzzz

Best/Worst Costumes

(The most interesting part of this contest was the fact that both prizes were a bottle of Mad Dog.)

Best Costume: Cleavage to Beaver

Worst Costume: I-69

Announcements

11/6 Philly Full Moon Zombies vs Vampires hash.  I suggest you go as Rob Zombie.  I would, but my beard doesn’t come in that full.

11/7 Sausage and Rimmer are haring for the Philly hash. You should go.

Lost and lonely on the holidays? Hashgiving at Bonsai Bush and Tube Cock’s place.

BFM 300^th coming up soon!

Overheard at the Hash

Cause: “I am not naked.”

Passerby to The Rash: “Rock that weave, bitch!”

Deep Discunt: “I’m so used to him mooning.  It was automatic……And his ass is sooooo much hairier than yours.  It has, like, tufts of hair….The back of him is way more hairy than the front.”

Rear Engineer: ‘Somebody slapped my ass and my dick popped out.”

Bonsai Bush: “Everyone can shower at my place!”

On On,

The Rash