So, perhaps you’ve noticed that a lot of hashes involve dressing up in silly outfits (toga hashes, Halloween, etc).  Some of them even seem to insist on silly and revealing outfits (lingerie hashes, Halloween, etc.)  But some of you are shy. (Ok, two of you. Maybe.)  For those wankers who desperately want to traipse around in public in nothing but a sparkly thong and pasties, but still think you might still run for public office someday, here’s a suggestion from the lingerie hash in New Orleans, a city where wandering around in the street in your underpants is not so much an “event” as it is “Thursday night.” While at the Red Lingerie run that’s the pre-lube to the Red Dress Run  I noticed one male hasher wearing nothing but 2 thongs, one in the traditional thong region, and the other on his head.  Why?  He knew a lot of people would want pictures with him and his ensemble, and the thong on his head was to obscure his face in photos.  Brilliant.  So for you closet exhibitionists, there’s your solution.  Underwear on your face.  

Tonight’s hash commenced at the Triangle Tavern.  When I showed up, there were already bunch of people hanging out and drinking, none of whom I knew because they were all either virgins or the eighteen hundred people who started hashing while I was away for three weeks.  Tonight we had Just Victoria, Just Karen, Just Bill, Just Anne-Marie, her sister You’ll Do, Second Opinion, who says he’s from Shanghai but has lived in Philadelphia for 2 years, Betty Shocker (from Asheville), Just Peter, Just Julia, Reginal Discharge, Big Tackle, Son of a Goat F*cker, Virgin Pimp, Lick Hymen, Flounder, Cause for Blindness, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Grab My Handlebars, Just Liz, Sh*tty Date, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, 2 Clump Chump, Banzai Bush, Just Martin, S&M Man, Jingle Balzzz, Sleeps Around the Cock, Working Girl, Just Mark (from Pittsburgh), Scooby Snatch, The Rash, and Fruit of the Clue.  Slightly lost without their Phallocentric Tyrant, the Mob still managed to get it together and draw straws. Jingle Balzzz was the lucky winner and hustled out the door with his bag of flour.  With all the smooth precision of a prison riot, the Mob poured out the door five minutes later and after some gentle herding (“NO, over HERE, jackasses!”) managed to gather ‘round and listen Scooby give chalk talk and watch Cause take her shirt off.  After feigning interest, the Mob scampered off to find trail.

And I guess they did.  Big Tackle said afterward that trail was good, someone else said it was short, and that was about all you really need to know.  I’m allegedly injured, so I stayed at the bar.  Where I sat, uncomfortably, between Fruit of the Clue and a man who described, in loving detail, having sex with poundcake, as well as where to get the best one in the city for that sort of thing.  (Stock’s on Lehigh. Perverts.)

I should’ve done trail. 

Anyway, the Mob returned and piled in all sweaty to the bar and started clamoring for beer.  Reginal Discharge wrangled hash cash and bought beer, and finally the Mob managed to organize themselves into Circle.

The Circle:

Hare: Jingle Balzzz

Virgins: Just Victoria, Just Karen (both via Just Julia) Just Bill (via This Asshole in Florida)

Visitors: You’ll Do (who told this joke: What did one lesbian vampire say to the other lesbian vampire? See you next month!), Just Anne-Marie (who told the hardest thing about rollerblading joke), Just Mark (who did something, but it wasn’t the option, regrettably), Second Opinion, (who attempted the chorus of America the Beautiful and was immediately made to drink for it. Sly Fox and The Rash immediately followed up with the theme from the Love Boat), and Betty Shocker (who sang a hash song, I think).

First In/Last In: Reginal Discharge, Working Girl

Autohashers: The Rash, Fruit of the Clue, Cleavage to Beaver

Comes Latelies: Just Peter, Lick Hymen, Just Liz, Sly Fox, Sh*tty Date

Headgear: Sly Fox

Accusations:

For feeling vulnerable: Fruit of the Clue

For something about being an FRB: Lick Hymen

For wearing those bike shorts and accusing Lick Hymen: Mr. Snuffleupamuff

For not knowing Muff’s name when he accused him: Sh*tty Date

R*cists: Just Martin, Grab My Handlebars, S&M Man, Midnight Tranny, 2 Clump Chump, Fruit of the Clue, Banzai Bush, Cleavage to Beaver, Scooby Snatch

For being too sick to r*ce: Reginal Discharge

For wearing pants too tight to pants: Jingle Balzzz

For not beating up Fruit of the Clue: The Rash

For almost missing the triathlon because she was hittin’ it: Grab My Handlbars

For announcing the tailgate every damn week, then not showing up: Scooby Snatch

Birthday side-sides: Flounder, S&M Man

Announcements:

Philly Full Moon: Tonight! (8/21) Naughty Coed hash, hared by Goes Down Mediocre (or Often Stupid. Whatever).  Look the details on fullmoon.phillyhash.com.

You want On-On foot magnets?  Muff has ‘em. $3.

Overheard at the Hash:

Virgin Pimp: “Oh yeah, baby, assume the position!”

Sly Fox: [freaks out]

Harriette 1: I wanted to accuse [hasher that won’t be named here], but he didn’t come.

Harriette 2: Oh, but he did.  Twice.

2 Clump Chump:  The more you put out, the less I’ll pay attention.

On On,

The Rash

I gotta be honest with you: nothing really interesting happened this particular evening so I have nothing to rant about.  But, since I’ll be away from the hash for the next couple weeks, in part because I’m going to visit New Orleans, I’ll tell you a story instead.  (For those of you who don’t know, I lived in New Orleans for a few years. For those of you who don’t care, hash trash starts at the next paragraph.)  One night, a friend of mine decided to drag me out to Miss Mae’s, an unusual neighborhood bar because it was not anywhere near the French Quarter, but was open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. (And was 3 blocks from my house.) So we show up, and there’s the assortment of grubby locals at the bar, and as I get my beer, I accidentally brush the shoulder of a guy sitting there.  I apologize. Very slooowly, he turns on the bar stool, glares at me with his one good eye, and flatly says "I will never. Forgive you." then he sloooowly rotates back around to face the bar.  Terrified, I chugged my Abita and got the hell out.  Later, I heard this guy’s whole story and why he was so ornery.  When he was born, in place of his bellybutton he had what looked like a flat, hard, almost metal scar with a line in it, like a flathead screw.  For years it bothered him and he went to countless doctors to see what could be done about it, but no one was able to do anything for it.  Then, on a trip to Haiti, he met a witch doctor.  The witch doctor looked at his navel, then gave the man some sort of horrible drink and some instructions.  That night, the man had a dream, just like the witch doctor said.  He was walking through a empty town down the middle of the street.  He turned left at the seventh street, then made the fifth right.  There, on the corner, was a tree filled with balloons.  He climbed to the seventh branch and popped the red balloon he found there.  Inside was a golden screwdriver.  He climbed down and using the screwdriver, unscrewed his bellybutton.  Suddenly, he woke up.  He immediately looked at his stomach and saw that the weird thing, screw-type-thing was gone!  Elated, he leaped out of bed, and his ass fell off.  He walked over to Miss Mae’s, sat down, and no one’s seen him get up from that bar stool since. True story.*

The bar this evening was the Irish Pol, which is the same location as the old St. Jack’s, otherwise known as "that bar that had the giant lady crotch picture upstairs" or, "that bar where we’d yell at the guys going to the ‘massage parlor’ from the balcony."  Now the upstairs is limited to the weekends, so we made do with the downstairs, which was just fine.  Showing up this evening were Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, 2 Clump Chump, S&M Man, Reginal Discharge, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Flounder, Cause for Blindness, I-69, Fruit of the Clue, Jingle Balzzz, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Son of a Goatf*cker, Target, Wild Bill, Grab My Handlebars, One Night Only, Post Anal Drip, and Just Julia.  With such a small crowd, our Phallocentric Tyrant decided to rule by fiat and appoint the hare for the evening, the still-somewhat-newish I-69.  Fruit of the Clue eagerly volunteered to help her, as it’s not often that he gets a girl alone with him willingly.  The two tore off on their head start, while the rest of the Mob admired the huge selection of taps behind the bar until Hold the Sausage herded everyone outside for Chalk Talk.  Scooby Snatch offered a uncharacteristically short Chalk Talk ("No one new? Ok, check it out!") and the Mob halfheartedly started wandering around.  Part of the pack ran north, across Market Street, then lost trail, came back across Market Street, then someone thought they saw trail, yelled and the pack crossed Market Street AGAIN, then realized they were right the first time, and crossed back and found trail going south.

Pop quiz: You’re crossing the street just as the light’s changing.  Someone yells On-On from behind you.

True or False: You should freeze like a squirrel on a highway in front of all the oncoming traffic

If you answered True, I’m looking forward to your Darwin Award ceremony.  Seriously wankers, people from New Jersey come and drive over here.  Get the hell out of the road.  Anyway.  The Mob continued to follow trail, which consisted of 4-5 oz of flour total, which was primarily used to mark checks and unmarked falses.  The high point, though, was a beer check partway across the Ben Franklin Bridge, where all the female hashers admired the view, and all the males hashers took the opportunity to spit off of something high. Mr. Snuffleupamuff grabbed the bag of flour and took care of the arduous task of laying trail driectly back to the bar.  The Mob casually strolled in behind him, and eagerly began Circle.

The Circle:

Hares: I-69, Fruit of the Clue, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Jingle Balzzz
Virgins: Just JD, via Grab My Handbars
First In/Last In: Cause for Blindness, Son of a Goatf*cker, Reginal Discharge, Just Julia
Comes Latelies: Pink and Puffy Rides the Huffy, Post Anal Drip, Just Julia, Wild Bill, Just Ed
Autohashers: Second Coming, Pink and Puffy, Just Ed, Nappy Headed Ho, Up Her Ali Just JD, One Inch In,

Accusations:

Late-breaking autohasher: Midnight Tranny to Georgia

On On,

The Rash

*Not a true story.  If you can tell me the book and author I’ve plagiarized that from, you get a cookie. No cheating.

Tonight was the Annual BFM Prom, a very special occasion for all of us who were never asked to Prom and/or never made it the whole way through high school.

But we’ll get to that.

More importantly, this evening ALSO marked the Triumphal Return of Stan to the BFM.  Now, there has been some controversy surrounding the Triumphal Return of Stan to the BFM, and I want to say a few things.  Hashers are naturally drawn toward collecting  accessories that are not vital to hashing, but do make things a little more interesting (big fugly carved wooden mugs, hash sh*ts festooned with found underpants, horns, drinking competition t-shirts, slutty significant others, etc).  And hashers, being short-attention-spanned drunks, are a lot like four-year-olds: deeply loving their objet d’hash, toting it about obsessively, then promptly leaving it lying around when something shiny distracts their attention (Oo!!).  Other, more sober hashers will immediately swoop down, snag said objet, and commit various acts on/with/to the objet, such as:

•  Rubbing their offensive body parts all over it
• Taking the objet on "vacation" and sending back pictures
• Sending obscene ransom notes
• Demanding that the owner do something embarrassing to get the objet back. 

Now, did you see dismemberment on that list?  Neither did I.  Shoving down pants? Absolutely!  Wanton destruction?  Not nice. So, I propose that after the next time Stan is stolen (and she will be, all that outrage doesn’t make you wankers into smarter lushes), I propose that we reincarnate her as this. That, and a maybe a little lighthearted human sacrifice/cannibalism barbeque (we’ll make hufu for the vegetarians), and that should clear things right up.

 Now, back to your regularly scheduled Prom:

 Arriving this evening bedecked in all manner of prom finery and shocking the hell out of our TA Flannery’s bartender Butch were: Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Little Red Riding Wood, Jingle Balzzz and a stunning collection of pens in his pocket protector, Reginal Discharge, Mr. Snuffleupamuff,  Anal Pro Boner, Just Joel, Snap Off, Where’s My Vagina, Wonder Blow, Just Jen, Softcore Analyst, Major Piece of Ass, Dirty White Trash, Sex Tonight, Denied!, Just Theresa, Just Erica, Beefcake Strokitoff, Cleavage to Beaver, One Night Only, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Just Becky, Just Rachel, Sternum and Rectum, Just Anne, Target, Goes Down Often, Silence of the Clams, Big Tackle, Ass Ventura, Virgin Pimp, Fire Down Under, Scooby Snatch, Just Ida, Holy F*ck accompanied by Stan, Dr. Squealgood, Fruit of the Clue, One Inch In, Deep Discunt, Just Alex, Tour de Puke, Mediocre and Stupid, Just Greg, Nappy Headed Ho, Just Peter, Just Laura, Bumble Beaver, Just Derrick, Post Anal Drip, Two Clump Chump, Pedalphile, Piss Cycle, Can You Hear Me Now, Dunk In Hinds, Second Cumming, Just Diedre, and Cherry Poppins.

 The Mob milled around in their various finery, some of the highlights including:

 Snap Off’s condom necklace

Just Alex’s pregnant teenager look

Just Derrick’s Marilyn Monroe-style white dress

Jingle Balzzz’s Dolce and Gabbana pants (Really) 

Finally, everyone managed to stop admiring each other long enough to get out the door and pay attention to chalk talk.  And then, they were off!  Down the street, behind the Trader Joe’s, scampering up the embankment, making their way over to the Parkway, then behind that apartment building next to the scary baseball field, back to the Parkway and up to the Art Museum steps, where we looked considerably less silly than the pack of dorks on Segways.  After a brief photo shoot, the Mob was off to a shot check down the spiral staircase next to the river.  After a lot of “I never knew this place existed!” and “Oo! Shots!” the Mob was off again to find trail and the next beer check.  After crossing Kelly Drive en masse and wandering around Brewerytown, the Mob finally discovered alcohol again at Fruit of the Clue’s house.  After a brief, sweaty beer break, the Mob was off again, this time to find beer at Skin Fiddle’s abode.  Just as everyone finished their beers, the first few drops of rain began to fall and Rear Engineer helpfully herded the Mob towards the fastest way back to the back to the bar, which was through a scary chain link fence and down a dark alley, oddly enough.

 Back at TA Flannery’s, make-up was freshened and sports bras were removed to give the full effect of décolletage.  (The women primped a bit, too.)  Looking good, wankers then proceeding to attack the spread of food like it was the last helicopter out of Saigon.  Or something. 

 Next up: The Circle.

 The Hares: Rear Engineer, Little Red Riding Wood

Virgins: Just Joel, Just Ida, Just Anne

Visitors: Dirty White Trash and Just Theresa from Lehigh Valley, who just told jokes, Dunk-In-Hinds, who showed his nipple, and Tour de Puke from H5, who favored us with a hilarious New-Jersey-based verse to the “There are no real hashers in [fill in the blank]” song

First In, Last In: Ass Ventura, Just Dierdre, Second Cumming, Target

Cums Latelies: Can You Hear Me Now, Major Piece of Ass, One Night Only, Beefcake Strokitoff, Holy F*ck, Bumble Beaver, and Stan v 3.0.

Autohashers: Just Dierdre, Second Cumming, Can You Hear Me Now, Dunk-In-Hinds, Cherry Poppins, Fruit of the Clue, and 2 friends of Muff that were randomly there

 Accusations:

For putting the wrong address for the bar on the website: Rear Engineer

And under the “When One GM Drinks” rule: Big Tackle

And under the “When One hare Drinks” rule: Little Red Riding Wood

And under the “When One On Sec Drinks” rule: Goes Down Often, The Rash, Mr. Snuffleupamuff

(This happened like 4 times, so I’m not writing it again. And not like you care anyway.)

For being a GM and turning down booze: Rear Engineer

Tech on trail: Bumble Beaver, Ass Ventura

Running into an eye-level sign: Two Clump Chump

For knowing Snap-Off’s boss: Just Joel

New shoes: Mediocre and Stupid (yes, out of her shoe)

For running barefoot on trail: Mediocre and Stupid (yes, you read that right)

For turning down One Inch In’s affections: Deep Discunt

For being racists: Two Clump Chump, Rear Engineer

For leaving us: Cherry Poppins

For his pearl necklace: Beefcake Strokitoff, and under the “When one person with a pearl necklace drinks” rule: everybody else wearing a pearl necklace, and that was, like, 20 people.

For wearing an outfit that needed a cape: Fruit of the Clue, and strangely, under the “When one kilt-wearer drinks” rule: Tour de Puke

For being pregnant on trail: Just Alex

For being the 4^th member of Destiny’s Child: Cleavage to Beaver, and under the “When one Beaver drinks” rule, Bumble Beaver

It was also birthday time for Mr. Snuffleupamuff and Little Red Riding Wood, who were hoisted and side-sided and sung at.

Finally, it was time to name Just Alex. After asking her favorite farm animal, sexual position, sexual position with a farm animal, and weirdest place she’s ever done it, either with or without a farm animal, she was named “I-69” for doing it in the bushes next to a highway. (Not for getting in on at Bingo.)

Announcements: 

Next Hash is Solst-ass!

Bruce-a-palooza in two weeks!

Roller Derby in Feasterville! Contact Bumble Beaver for details or go to the website!

Phillies Tailgate! Every August until 2016!

Cleavage to Beaver’s boob fell out!

Fruit of the Clue needs help moving! Will give you nothing in return!

Mediocre and Stupid has something about July 4^th! Or 11^th! I can’t read it!

Scooby Snatch would like some sex!

And that was Prom. Tada.

Overheard at the Hash Prom

 Muff to Jingle Balzzz: “Hey, lookin’ snazzy!  Got Depends on?”

On On,

The Rash

First, a public service announcement:  I really love abusing you wankers.  Inflicting paranoia on you while I take notes for trash is truly one of the high points in my life.  But, considering what I saw parading before me last night, y’all seem pretty comfortable with letting it all hang out in public. (Or, if you’re Winkie, letting it all hang out in the bathroom then taking a picture of it with someone else’s telephone.  On 700x zoom.)  Well, I take that back. You’re comfortable riiiiight up until the point that you realize I’m writing it down and grinning like a fiend.  But, even I have my limits.  This morning I spent a good bit of time perusing the Urban Dictionary and coming to the conclusion no one needs to read about what happens when you combine a Cleveland Steamer and dollar store plastic wrap. (Neither does anyone need to know the subtle distinction between a Hot Carl and a Hot Lunch, and for the love of all that’s holy, absolutely no one needs to hear anything about a Pink Sock, ever.) 

Basically, what I’m saying is, even I have a level of decency, and probably won’t out your really criminally dirty secrets publicly in the trash. 

I also take bribes.

Now, onto the hash, because even though there is plenty of stuff I’m not telling you about (fisting, blumpkins) there is plenty that I will.  

Showing up at Grumpy’s this evening were Target, Big Tackle, Goes Down Often, Just Megan, Silence of the Clams, Deep Discunt, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Son of a Goat F*cker, Softercore Analyst, Post Anal Drip, Sextra Credit, H2Hoe, Just Greg, Bansai Bush, Snap Off, Just Rachel and her Just Mom and Just Dad, Two Clump Chump, Just Alex, Cousin It, Tickle My Elmo, Just Melissa, Sly Fox, Over Easy, Second Cumming, Ass Ventura, Just Kirk,  Little Red Riding Wood (who managed to remove a long sleeve shirt outside the bar without exposing anything), Just Keith (who showed up with a beer and a cigar), and visiting from Korea, Company Cock, Nice Pear, and Company Cock’s virgin (hash virgin)(well, maybe the other kind, too) brother No Name Zach (their version of a “Just“ in Korea.)

Our Phallocentric Tyrant, surprisingly on time for once, grabbed a handful of straws and started handing them out to the increasingly nervous Mob.  One by one, the handful of straws dwindled, as did the number of possible hares.  After surprising two hashers who tried to avoid the straws by hiding in the bathroom (nice try, but the only effective way is showing up just a shade too late. Amateurs.)  Rear Engineer awarded the fun and exciting task of haring to Deep Discunt. Two Clump Chump stepped up to assist, and they were summarily handed the bag of flour and scampered off into the night.

The rest of the Mob milled around for a few minutes before suffering through chalk talk, then scampering off themselves.  Down the block to a check.  The typical check hanging ensued until frustrated, the Mob went back to the bar and tried another direction.  Somehow, the Mob found a different check, circled the block, then came back to the first check.  After a few false starts, the Mob finally got it together and found trail.  Well, they found a check.  Then ran down the block, and found another check.  Turned the corner, another check.  There was more than ample opportunity for checkhanging this week, which was actually kind of awesome in my book because my thighs were sore. More on that later.  Goes Down Often, however, simply cannot be pleased.  Last week, she complained mightily of not enough checks.  This week, there were way too many checks. B*tch, please. Make up your mind.  After about 45 minutes of one-check-per-block checks, the Mob arrived at Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar for a beer check, served to us by the always fabulous Free Beer Today. 

After 20 minutes of loafing and beer-swilling, the Mob was off again back to the Grumpy’s.  One the way we passed Geno’s, where I saw Company Cock run past, slow down, stop, turn around, and go buy a cheesesteak.  Good call.  It’s no Pat’s, but it’ll do.

Back at the bar, the Mob swarmed upstairs and waited anxiously for beer. (pleaseohpleaseohpleaseohpleaseohbeerbeerbeerbeer BEER!!!!)  The arrival of the bartenders with cases of beer was greeted with cheers and the Mob got down to drinking and carrying on and the Circle.

The Circle:

Hares: Two Clump Chump, Deep Discunt

Virgins: No Name Zach, Just Mom, Just Dad

Visitors: Company Cock, who told a joke about when to defend your girlfriend’s honor, and Nice Pear, who sang us what I’m going to presume was an absolutely filthy song in Korean.

First In, Last In: Snap Off, Second Cumming (Second Cumming was named at the Full Moon bash the other week, when he arrived on a bicycle dressed as Jesus, by the way.)

Comes Latelies: Just Alex, Over Easy, Cousin It 

Autohashers: Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Fire Down Under, Scooby Snatch, Shitty Date, Just Dad, Just Mom (who was very proud of beating Just Dad twice with her drinking speed), No Name Zach, Mediocre and Stupid, One Inch In

Accusations

(for all accusations, just assume the “When ONE [fill in the blank] drinks, ALLLLLLL [whatever the hell] drinks!!!”, because there was a lot of that tonight.)

For talking in circle: Goes Down Often

For running in a polo shirt WITH a popped collar: Just Melissa

For pleated pants: Scooby Snatch

For screwing up a song: Scooby Snatch

For complaining about the number of checks: Goes Down Often

For wearing everything Philly Runner has to offer: Silence of the Clams

For changing before circle: Two Clump Chump

For getting named before Snap Off could make a wish on the two Just Gregs (yeah, I don’t know): Second Cumming

For calling chalk talk, though she’s not an RA: Goes Down Often

For wearing a white belt before Memorial Day: Shitty Date

For wearing timing chips to a hash: Snap Off, Cousin It, Silence of the Clams

For something about Colorado: One Inch In

For graduating: Just Rachel

Then, it was noted that it was Just Dad’s birthday, and he was unceremoniously hoisted and side-sided, after which he gave a very touching speech, made all the better by the 10 or so beers he’d had in circle.

Just Dad also wore new shoes to the hash, and Just Rachel gamely took responsibility and drank out of them for him.  Solid.

Announcements:

Phillies Tailgate: August 8^th 2009, there will be a website up in two weeks, Phillies Tailgate 2010 to be announce in 3 weeks

Pittsburgh Analversary Hash, weekend after Memorial Day.  Snap Off is going, and you should, too.

BFM PROM: June 11^th, TA Flannerys.  Start shopping for your slutty dresses and sluttier dates now.

Bruce-A-Palooza: Sometime this summer.  It was loud, I couldn’t hear.

Paintball!: TBA. Contact Big Tackle if you’re interested.

Overheard at the Hash:

Rear Engineer: “Well, we left at a quarter after nine, nine-twenty, and we got back at nine.  Good trail.”

Some Hasher: “So is it different now that you’re engaged?”

Harriette: “Well, I still give him blow jobs.”

[After some wanker broke serious wind]

Mediocre and Stupid: [indignantly] “I fart once and I get blamed for life?!?”

One Inch In: “And cleared out half the bar!!”

Tickle My Elmo: “It took me four days to shave my legs.”

Snap Off:  “Just Greg got named?!?  Oh, no, there were two Just Gregs, I was going to make a wish!”

 If you missed this week’s hash, two things: 

1. I think you’re lying. We had a f*cking cast of thousands out last night and I have a mystery bruise on my hand this morning which I strongly suspect is from having to write down all your names AND all the stupid stuff that was said and/ or done.

2. If you actually weren’t here (again, see #1), you can reenact this hash on your own, as this was the biggest epidemic of checkhanging I’ve ever seen in my life, and I’ve hashed in New Orleans where people will stop for a beer in the middle of a checkhang. So, simply head out to any street corner and stand aimlessly for five minutes.  Amble to the next corner, and repeat, hoping someone tells you where to go next.  If you feel like it, loiter outside the Locust Bar for a while. Tada!  The hash.

This evening’s festivities commenced at Tattooed Mom’s, a bar which has either forgotten that we nearly made them lose their liquor license a few years back, or times are just really that tough that they had to let us back. I arrived before most of the horde, and spent a few minutes chatting with Son of a Goat F*cker, who apologized for anything he or his better half might have said or done at the most recent Full Moon.  I hadn’t been there to be offended, but allegedly First Down and Rear Engineer were arranging to exchange cell phone pics of their poo, and on the walk back home at the end of the night, Son of a Goat F*cker committed an act against a poorly parked car that is typically limited to underage R. Kelly sex tapes.  If you know what I mean.  And I think you do. Anyway.  Also showing up tonight were Nappy-Headed Ho, Working Girl, Where’s My Vagina, Comes Anally (who was wearing a race t-shirt), Fire Down Under, Silence of the Clams, Big Tackle, Sly Fox, , Sex Tonight, Denied!, Pink and Puffy Rides the Huffy, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Lick Hymen, Two Clump Chump, Holy Fuck, Cause for Blindness, Softcore Analyst, Jingle Balzzz, Mediocre and Stupid, Swollen Cockpit, Just Derrick, H2Hoe, Goes Down Often, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Wonder Blow, Ass Ventura, Beefcake Strokitoff, One Inch In,  The Rash, Rear Engineer, Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Bonsai Bush, Cherry Poppins,  We’re Not Voting (who someone later in the evening mistook for Sex Tonight, Denied!.  We’re Not Voting, if you came out more often, you wouldn’t have this problem), Just Greg, another Just Greg, Just Art, Just Erin, Just Matt, Just Melissa, Just Jen, Just Julie, Just Kurt, Just Katie, Just Keith, and Just Bill, who is NOT really a Just — he used to hash in Sydney and had a name and everything, but he doesn’t like his old hash name (he said it’s boring) and wants a new one.  Yeah, for real. Start brainstorming, wankers!

The Mob’s resident  Phallocentric Tyrant, Rear Engineer, grabbed a handful of straws and started making nervous hashers draw them.  The lucky winner this week was Just Jen, who’s been out about twice and said she didn’t even know what the hare was.  Nice try, Just Jen, but there’s no getting out of haring.  Jingle Balzzz cheerfully volunteered to help and Just Julie agreed to go along for moral support.  Five minutes after they were off, the Mob poured out of Tattoed Mom’s to the congested sidewalk of South Street, where they sort of formed a circle and a few people aired out their crotches.  (And seriously?  Stop that.  Air it out on your own time.)  Hold the Sausage attempted to shout instructions to everyone and finally told everyone to f*ck off and go find trail. 

The Mob took off down South Street.  Well, sort of.  The FRBs took off down South Street, and once they yelled back “ON ON”, THEN the Mob took off down South Street, dodging tourists, hipsters, smokers on the sidewalk, garbage bags, parking meters, dogs, children, surly teenagers, comics book geeks, etc, rounding the corner, aaaaaaand promptly checkhanging at the next intersection.  This went on for some time, with the Mob arriving at a corner and casually hanging out and chatting while a few brave FRBs went scouring the surrounding blocks for trail, then sprinting to the next check and waiting while the…etc. Lather, Rinse, Repeat.  Until!  The Mob arrived at a check that had absolutely no marks leading away from it.  Baffled, wankers searched for trail until a voice yelled “On Bar!” and the pack happily waddled into the night again.  “Are we on trail?”  “Um…no.”  The hash was being hijacked for an impromptu beer check at the Locust Bar, which we got to by going the long way around, because Hold the Sausage couldn’t remember what block it was on.  (The correct answer:  Right next to my gym.)

Also, the absolutely greatest thing of the night:  Two random eighth graders, still in school clothes and with their bags, ran with us for most of trail. Just for the hell of it.  Awesome.

Moving on.  Most of the Mob hung around outside the Locust Bar, as there was absolutely no way all 579 of us could all fit, like some sort of sweaty, drunk version of “how many people can we fit in a phone booth?”  (And if any of you kids just asked “what’s a phone booth?” you can just get the hell off my lawn.)  Bored, and lured by the siren song of Pabst and Dum-Dum lollipops, the loitering Mob meandered back to Tattooed Mom’s, swarmed up to the back room and commenced drinking a LOT of PBR and accusing each other in circle.  After the circle, there were lots of drinking and the construction of a tower of PBR empties.  (You know, the usual.)

 The Circle:

 A Social: Everyone drank for the most Epic Hash Fail ever.  Not only could we not find trail, we also couldn’t successfully complete a beer check.

Hares: Jingle Balzzz, and in absentia (they up and left, apparently) Just Julie, and Just Jen

Virgins: Just Matt, Just Katie, Just Some Girl in a Pink Top, and “Just Bill”

First In, Last In: Cause for Blindness, Mr Muff

Comes Latelies: Lick Hymen, Jingle Balzzz, Sex Tonight, Denied!, and Pink and Puffy Rides the Huffy.

Autohashers: Scammin’Ole Ladies, Cousin It, We’re Not Voting, Virgin Pimp

Accusations:

For not really being a virgin, etc: Just Bill

For dancing on a pole fully clothed: Cause for Blindness

For encouraging her: Ass Ventura

For wearing a race t-shirt: Comes Anally

For being twinsies: Ass Ventura and Holy F*ck

For scaring off the hares: Two Clump Chump

For wearing a skirt: Goes Down Often

For making wind noises when he runs: Two Clump Chump

For making that accusation: Just Greg

For not warning his virgin about wearing a race shirt: Swollen Cockpit

For denying all responsibility for the hash: Rear Engineer

Under the “When one GM drinks” rule: Big Tackle

For getting us lost on the way to the Locust Bar: Hold the Sausage

For getting his identity stolen in Italy: One Inch In

For something about either his girlfriend or his guitar (can’t read my writing): Working Girl

Announcements:

Cousin It’s Phillies Tailgate is August 9, 2009.  August 2010 date to be announced shortly.

Rear Engineer and Scooby Snatch will be haring the Philly Hash this Saturday at the John Heinz Memorial Wildlife Refuge and Buffet.

Happy Hour for Student’s Run Philly Style: Get drunk at the Public House from 5-8, (and maybe even pick up that Sugar Daddy you were looking for) then come to TA Flannery’s for next week’s hash, which will also be Scammin’ Ole Ladies last hash before he moves overseas to pursue a lucrative career in Japanese tentacle porn.  There will also be jello shots.

Overheard at the Hash

“My dog’s not interested in men.” – Short Distance Rimmer

“You aren’t going to shit right there, are you?” Lick Hymen to One Inch In

“It’s not like every time someone sits down, I ask them that!” An indignant Lick Hymen

“It does look like you’re trying to squeeze one out though.” Again, Lick Hymen to One Inch In

“I’m dating your mother.” Cause to the bouncer:

“You know, I’ve had a few threesomes, and it’s just kind of awkward” Unknown harriette

 On On,

The Rash

Firstly:  If you did attend the hash this week, I would like to apologize in case I said, did, or touched anything inappropriate.  I had a midterm earlier that day and decided to celebrate by attempting to drink all the booze within arm’s reach.

Secondly:  Plenty of people didn’t come to the hash, probably because they’d been struck down by the Great Green Dress Whooping Cough and Snot Epidemic of 2009. So, as a public health professional, I would like to take a moment to remind you all to wash your hands before you touch a hasher.  Also, wash them after you touch a hasher.  And use soap.

Thirdly:  This is awesome.

Fourthly, some trash:

This week’s hash started out of Krupa’s in the Art Museum/Brewerytown section of the city.  Showing up this week was Hold the Sausage, Cunting Season, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Goes Down Often, Cleavage to Beaver, Ass Ventura, Beefcake Strokitoff, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Reginal Discharge, Short Distance Rimmer, Nappy Headed Ho, Fruit of the Clue, 2 Clump Chump, Mediocre and Stupid, Scooby Snatch, Stacks, Where’s My Vagina, Swollen Cockpit, Son of a Goat Fucker, Just Julie, H2Ho, Mother Bates, Post Anal Drip, Fire Down Under, Just Andy, Working Girl, and some virgin who was eventually lost on trail and never heard from again. Skin Fiddle also dropped by briefly, but sensibly decided that he was sick of us and left.  I’m sure I missed some people, and I might have actually made a whole bunch of names up, too, because I can’t remember half you people being there. In the same vein,  I have the following randomly written in my notes:

“Hilter Reacts to the Hash”

“Half-Naked”, with little stars around it

Something about Muff, and orgy, and a miniskirt.

Yeah. If anyone can explain what those mean and why I wrote them down, that would be great.

Moving on.  Reginal Discharge pulled the short straw, and Nappy Headed Ho chivalrously went to lay trail with her.I have no idea where trail went, but everyone came back visibly freaked out by the appearance of two people, standing silently in the woods alongside the Schuykill River Path, not doing anything, just standing and staring bemused at the jolly whooping hordes of hashers running by, (I guess), before they presumably disappeared back in to the woods to follow their bliss.

 Back at the bar, Scooby and Hold the Sausage assembled the circle: 

• Hares: Reginal Discharge, Mr. Snuffleupamuff
• Comes Latelies: Stacks
• Autohashers: Cunting Season, The Rash, and a cast of thousands
• First In, Last In: Muff, Swollen Cockpit
  

Accusations:

• Reginal Discharge, for something I can’t read at all.
• Cunting Season, for wine in the circle
• Swollen Cockpit, for athleticism
• 2 Clump Chump, for finding shitty trail
• Rear Engineer, for losing control of the circle
• Mother Bates, for something Green Dress related
• Hold the Sausage and Short Distance Rimmer, for running, then autohashing.
• Where’s My Vagina, for something beginning with the letter “b”
• Stacks and Muff,  Hash crash.
• Fruit of the Clue, for putting his whole family in a bathtub and taking pictures of it.
• Scooby Snatch, for yelling On On in the style of Journey
• Working Girl, for impersonating a Jew
• Rear Engineer, The Rash, and Goes Down Often for racism at the Caesar Rodney half marathon.           

Announcements:

            Cunting Season is haring this Saturday’s Philly Hash

            Someone had some serious BO in the circle.

            Happy St. Joseph’s Day!

Overheard at the Hash

            Random hasher 1: “They were making out at the bar together!”

            Random hasher 2: “That was my sister."

On On,

The Rash

OK, so before starting the first trash of the new hash year, I would like to personally address a few things from the last trash, in sensitive and thoughtful fashion:

Ok, now that we’ve got that out of the way, onto the Hash:

I  escaped work and rolled into Drinker’s surprisingly early, to find that Big Tackle had beaten me there and was already half in the bag, waiting for the rest of the Mob to arrive.  As we chatted, the following usual suspects braved the cold to the bar:

Fire Thighs, Just Britt, Just Theresa, Deep Discunt and her virgin Just Alex, Dr. Squealgood, Fire Down Under, Jingle Balzz Hold the Sausage, Little Red Riding Wood, Mayor Quimby, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, One Night Only, Softcore Analyst, Son of a Goat F*cker, Tickle My Elmo, Two Clump Chump, Where’s My Vagina, Wonder Blow, Working Girl, Just Lisa, Post Ana Drip, and Sternum and Rectum.  Know who you don’t see on that list?  Go on, read it again, I’ll wait.  Got it now?  Yes? Yes.  Your brand-spanking new GM, Rear Engineer, rolled in fifteen minutes after straws had been pulled and hares chosen.  He promptly blamed it on Scooby Snatch, illustrating the qualities that make a GM truly great.  Relieved that they had something to do, hares Jingle Balzzz and Fire Thighs took off, gleefully laying a trail on brick sidewalks using flour tinted an attractive brick-color.

After Scooby Snatch gave his tradiational Long Version ™ chalk talk (Seriously, did we forget this?  Why did we vote for him again?)  the pack took off.  It was an unusually fast pack that zipped around Old City, right up until the point the trail hung a right down an alley that was a frigid, frigid, wind tunnel.  Hashers went tumbling backward like slightly-inebriated tumbleweeds, cursing volubly. Righting themselves, they followed a trail that wound through a few more wind-tunnelly alleys, then went straight up 2nd street.  And kept going up 2nd street.  Aaaaaaaand kept going straight up 2nd street, until it hung a right and went straight to Druid’s Keep.  A relieved pack poured into the bar and thawed out for a few minutes, then drank some beer.  Then they noticed that the hares had left and they probably should, too.  The Mob spontaneously decided that they liked Second street so much that they poured right out of the bar and straight back the way they came, the entire Mob beating the hares back to the bar. ( I guess they laid trail.  I know I didn’t look for it.)

Back at the bar, autohashers had arrived in the interim: Swollen Cockpit and his virgin, Just Greg,  Skin Fiddle, Heave Ho, and Fruit of the Clue.  The Mob rounded themselves up and descended to the basement where they pestered Rear Engineer for alcohol, stripped down to change, and generally made nuisances of themselves.  Finally, beer showed up and circle commenced:

Hares: Jingle Balzzz, Fire Thighs
First In, Last In: Wonder Blow, Jingle Balzzz, Fire Thighs
Virgins: Just Alex (via Deep Discunt), Just Greg (via Swollen Cockpit)
Visitor: Fire Thighs, and under the When One Hare Drinks rule, Jingle Balzzz
Cums Latelies: Swollen Cockpit, Heave Ho, One Night Only
Autohashers: Skin Fiddle, Mayor Quimby, Swollen Cockpit, Fruit of the Clue, Sternum and Rectum, Heave Ho, Just Lisa, Just Greg
Accusations:
Jingle Balzzz for his shirt, or, as Mayor Quimby thougftully accused him: "What the fuck is that shit?!?"
Just Britt, for thinking that wearing marathon clothing inside-out magically makes it non-marathon clothing.
Mayor Quimby, for overaccessorizing, also claiming that his corduroy jacket was suede.
Prior OnSecs(Jingle Balzzz, Two Clump Chump) for not posting trash and thus preventing Big Tackle from gettin down with his wife (yeah…I don’t know.) and under the When One OnSec Drinks rule, The Rash and Little Red Riding Wood
Big Tackle, for not getting laid because of the lack of trash.
Rear Engineer for showing up late to his own first hash, and under the When One GM Drinks rule, Big Tackle
Softcore Analyst for new shoes, out of his new shoe.

And then it was Where’s My Vagina‘s birthday, and she was summarily side-sided.

Announcements:
1. Next Week’s BFM is a FLASHLIGHT HASH.  BRING A FLASHLIGHT. IT WILL BE DARK AND YOU WON’T BE ABLE TO SEE IF YOU DON’T BRING A FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT. FLASHLIGHT.
2. Cousin It, Phillies tailgate, etc
3. Philly Hash at Murphy’s on Saturday
4. Green Dress March 14th next month
5. Mayor Quimby is a shower, not a grower.

Hope this gets you laid, Big Tackle!

On On,
The Rash.

You know, I wasn’t planning to hash this evening.  I had just finished Dragon Boat practice and was preparing to rush home and scrub errant Schuykill River water off me so as not to sprout horns, but on the spur of the moment I decided to drop by at TA Flannery’s to see if anything was going on,( i.e. if there was beer yet.) Excitingly, it happened that not only wasn’t there beer yet, there was also NO mismanagement present  (in all fairness, Hold the Sausage had dropped off the flour, but responsibly disappeared to be on call for the evening) AND, there VERY few harriettes. Cunting Season‘s first words to me when I arrived were, "Thank God you’re here, it’s a total sausage party." 

And it was.  Milling around outside the bar post-trail were Anal Pro Boner, her friend (who’s name escapes me but who came to Hashtille Day and is a totally nice guy for being a lawyer), Cunting Season, Just Diane, Just Alice, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Lick Hymen, Son of a Goat Fucker, Fruit of the Clue, a visitor from Pike’s Peak, another visitor from somewhere else with "Bastard" in his name, Popeye’s Bitch, Three Balls, Dry Hump, 2 Clump Chump, He’s a Lesbian, He’s a Lesbian’s girlfriend, Nappy Headed Ho, Cousin It, Virgin Pimp, Jingle Balzzz, a guy in a green shirt, and another one with a beard, and a few other guys, plus a late appearance by Cause for Blindness.  (Um, I didn’t take notes.) So if you’re keeping score at home, that was 6 harriettes, and about 5,000 guys.

Trail was pretty difficult to follow, apparently, and a good part of the pack gave up and did an extended beer check at Bonner’s two blocks over.  So, um…yeah.  That was trail.

Back at the bar, Fruit of the Clue whined strenuously at being assigned the arduous task of Hash Cash while, more alarmingly, Cunting Season noticed that she and I were technically the most qualified hashers to run the circle.  Kind of like if there’s ever an epidemic of whatever in the US government, and suddenly the horrified realization dawns that the Secretary of Transportation is next in line for the Presidency since the guy from Housing and Urban Development is busy. (Although when in doubt, Alexander Haig is in control.) 

And beers wrangled, the circle was convened:
 
Hares: Anal Pro Boner, and friend
First In/Last In: He’s A Lesbian, Just Brian
Visitors: The Hasher from Pike’s Peak, The one "Bastard" in his name
Autohashers: Just Diane, The Rash, and someone else
Violations:

Just Diane: for eacaping her namin last week
Anal Pro Boner: something about bad trail again
Two Clump Chump: for being annoying
Fruit of the Clue: overstepping his authority, wearing banana hammock shorts with a race logo, whining, and running to the hash, and complaining about Just Alice flashing
Just Alice: for flashing, although this is not technically a violation, but rather a commendation   
Virgin Pimp: for being himself
Lick Hymen: where to start….?
He’s a Lesbian: for messing up the BC 4/14 from last week. (It really was BC 14, apparently.)
Son of a Goat Fucker: For being anal-retentive enough to want to correct a violation from a whole week ago.

Announcements:
Bruce-A-Palooza on Saturday
Lick Hymen has volunteered his place as on ongoing after-hash haven complete with Foosball.
Cousin It, Phillies Game, etc.

Eh,  that’s close enough.

On On,
The Rash

You know what’s in March?  National Procrastination Week.  It’s scheduled for the second week of March, but celebrated during the third week.  And in celebration of National Procrastination Week, I folded my laundry, called my sister the day after her birthday, and wrote this trash.  Tada.

So, way, way back in…..January, I guess it was, there was a hash in Manayunk at the Bayou Grill.  It was a small place, stuffed with preppy locals straight out of college, who were noticeably: 1. Disturbed by the entrance of the Mob, and 2. Drunk. 

Rolling into the increasingly packed bar were Nice Nuggets, Fat Ass, The Rash, Cunting Season, Just Arpad, Two Clump Chump, Soft-Core Analyst, Jingle Balzzz, with AMN, Tickle My Elmo, Scooby Snatch, Deep Flute, Little Red Riding Wood, Just Christine, Virgin Pimp, Tongue in Groove, Beagle, Hold the Sausage, E=My Cock Squared, Fruit of the Clue, Lake Flaccid, Up Her Ali, Eurpe’een on Me, Holy Fuck, Strap On, Mayor Quimby and three girls he’d picked up somewhere – Just Gina, Just Kulynn, and Just Christie, and of course, Stan.  And Just Kyle and Just John.  The Mob milled around aimlessly drinking beer and slapping asses until it was announced that Two Clump Chump had already set trail and we would be on our way.  After a lot of groaning, the Mob slurped down the rest of their beers and headed out into the dark, dark night, lit only by Cunting Season’s rave-style glow-sticks.
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