So here you wankers were (half) thinking, “Oh yea, that new Mismanagement is going to be together and on-time,” and so on and so forth – but sadly, that was a rumor spread by Midnight Tranny to Georgia because s/he’s on top of things and the rest of us aren’t…

Upon arriving at TA Flannery’s, Butch greeted most of us warmly into to one of our standard hash bars. Above the bar was proudly displayed a signed picture of “The Office” cast, including Butch’s sister, who plays Meredith. We had our own cast of rejects, including Whisky D*ck, Where’s My Vagina?, Flounder, Cause for Blindness, Softcore Analist, Slutty When Wet, Clump Clump Chump, The S & M Man, Scammin’ Old Ladies, Son of Goatf*cker, Bonsai Bush, (a rather relieved looking) Rear Engineer, Mayor Quimby, Sternum and Rectum, ChernoBlow, Just Jose, Hold the Sausage, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, Sleeps Around the C*ck, Porn to Fail, Short Distance Rimmer, Tube C*ck, One Night Only, Sloppy Ho, Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, Just Beth, Just Amy, Just Tim – with Fiber Opd*ck, Cleavage to Beaver, Virgin Pimp, Just the Brown Tip, Target, Shefelta Fish and Mr. Snuffleupamuff arriving late for curtain call.

The night was cold and windy, and almost two-week-old snow was melting into ice. Chalk talk was neither short nor sweet enough in the frigid weather. New RAs Bonsai Bush and The S & M Man got a silver star each for what could have been faster and funnier, but Midnight Tranny got a demerit for light blue (= invisible) chalk. This made for quite a trail – or at least that’s what I’m told.  I, as a new and eager On-Sec, was at the bar waiting patiently to record First and Last in (really, I was).

The mob returned to the bar triumphantly, with the hare fully with-pants, so clearly something went wrong. So triumphant, in fact, that we scared away the other patrons in the bar, though Butch didn’t seem to mind. And so we circled, starting with something about Bonsai Bush and a ‘cheat sheet gag’ – not sure what that’s about but it sounds like Tube C*ck is a lucky man…

Circle

Hares: Tube C*ck and Snap Off 

First/Last In: Son of Goatf*cker and One Night Only (you decide which is which)

Virgins: Just Beth and Just Amy…On a side note, the not only changed their story about who made them cum (First someone name Just Jujean, then each other – which I guess is acceptable hash behavior) but it came out that they weren’t actually Virgins at all!  In addition to the nonvirgins, Just Tim came ala Midnight Tranny. 

Cums Latelys: Mayor Quimby and Fiber Opd*ck

Autohashers: Cleavage to Beaver, Just Jose, ‘Handlebars, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Virgin Pimp, Short Distance Rimmer, Just the Brown Tip, Sternum and Rectum, Fiber Opd*ck, and Hold the Sausage.

Accusations

For dressing up like a lightbulb (what kind of light bulb is in red and black spandex??): Just Amy

…and Just Beth and Just Tim for ‘When One Virgin Drinks’

For (invisible) light blue flour: Midnight Tranny

For being a Canadian who lived in Delaware, the state of Joe Biden, whose motorcade recently held up the Olympics (or something): Tube C*ck

…and Hold the Sausage and Bonsai Bush for trying to make an overly complex accusation, when you should just say he’s Canadian and that’s enough for him to drink.

…and S & M Man for ‘When One RA Drinks’

For trying to spend some quality time with Two Clump Chump in the bathroom: Rear Engineer

For trying to Accuse Cause for Blindness of being a Racist (really?): Flounder

For trying to Accuse Son of Goat F*cker for stripping in Circle (acceptable hash behavior): Snap Off

For being an over-achieving-ass-clown due to her recent home ownership: Sloppy Ho

…and ‘Handlebars  for ‘When One On-Sec Drinks’ 

For not knowing that men should not wear UGGs (ever), by asking, “Were those dress UGGs?”: Fiber Opd*ck

For ‘tech on trail’ (cell phone), indicating shed be too busy to make Saturday plans because she’s now devoted to hashing as a life pursuit: Just Amy

For wearing a girl’s beanie but not being able to fill the ponytail hole: Softcore Analist

For giving up (our newly renamed) Seize’er TiTs for Lent: Mr. Snuffleupamuff

For some sort of ‘tech on trail’: Midnight Tranny

…and Hold the Sausage and The S&M Man for ‘When One GM Drinks’

For something about confusing plain old Ham for Canadian Bacon and generally being Canadian: Tube C*ck

For handing her On-Sec pad to Just Jose for a trip to the bathroom (Hey, you accuse the On-Sec, you suffer the consequences of ‘creative interpretation’ in MY trash. Ha.): Grab My Handlebars

For something that’s either ‘Pottery Class’ or ‘Potty Closet’ (see what happens when the On-Sec does too many Down-Down’s??): Where’s My Vagina?

…and Porn to Fail for a misaccusation having to do with pottery or potty, or just talking too much in circle.

For laying too much of a 2 Clump Trail: Tube C*ck and Snap Off

For being vegetarian and making a ‘Bacon’ accusation: Hold the Sausage

For trying too hard to be a balls model with overly revealing (and quite flattering) tights: Scooby Snatch

For being Canadian, and that’s enough: Tube C*ck

For something about Winky’s sister’s vagina: Scooby Snatch

…and Mayor Quimby for a bad (and hard to remember) accusation

Announcements

Scooby Snatch said something about treating the mob to a Phillies tailgate in July 2010 – yay!

Hold the Sausage invited all half-minds willing and interested to a PFMH3 (Full Moon) hash coming up Friday, February 26^th, 2010

PA Innerhash sent Porn to Fail to let us know it would descend upon the city of Philadelphia September 17^th through 19^th, 2010

Where’s My Vagina? offered more info about 2010 Bay to Breakers in San Francisco this May 2010

Green dress is Cumming!! Midnight Tranny wanted to let us know that March 13^th 2010 will be the BFM’s Pre-Lube kick-off to a great weekend.

So in the end, we can blame the UK for The Office (at least the original) but for everything other than that, just   blame Canada (or its spawn, Canadians)!

(and you thought there would be any fun links…)

On-On,

Grab My Handlebars

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

Ladies and gentlemen of the BFM, I have good news and bad news. The good news: This will be your last trash from this foursome of phallocentric, tyrannical on-secs. The bad news: I’m writing it.

I know you’re confused right now. I’m sure you’re thinking to yourself, Self, I like GDO’s writing so much; how could this ever be a bad thing? I’ll tell you how. I didn’t take any notes, and not because I was too drunk–though I WAS too drunk. I didn’t write anything because I couldn’t hold a pen (insert Holding-A-Penis joke here), so I made mental notes instead. Then, to make sure I got everything completely accurate, I waited a week to come up with the trash. So keep in mind as you read that this is all absolutely factual, and without a doubt the way things went down.

Let me set the scene for you. We started our night off at Drinker’s West because our phallus-obsessed leader decided we should go to the most sausage-filled bar in town. Good news for the ladies—just ask Hold My Handlebars—but bad news for the boys.

To escape all the hot, college-aged men, 2 Clump and Rear Engineer offered to lay trail. I wasn’t there when this happened, but I imagine they left holding hands, skipping out the door, reminiscing about their younger years. Apparently they also managed to throw some flour, because about half an hour later the pack came back, without losing anyone to the lure of Sternum and Rectum’s lair. (That’s always a danger when you’re in West Philly.)

Here’s who probably showed up: 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, Goes Down Often, Big Tackle, Cunting Season, Where’s My Vagina, One Inch In, Deep Discunt, Tickle My Elmo, Mr, Snuffleupamuff, Tube C*ck, Twat of Darkness, and lots and lots of virgins! Just Chris, Just Adam, Just Christian, Just Carrie, and Just Heather.

(Yes, I copied that from an old trash.)

At this point the decree went out that the tribe should move across the land to Cavanaugh’s. Disappointed to leave 50-cent Miller High Lifes, there was much grumbling, but the promise of Sausage’s last circle was hard to deny. So we went down, down, down, down, down, down, down, down to the basement where we had circle:

Hares: 2 Clump, Rear Engineer
Virgins: There was one, but we popped it good
Visitors: Porn to Fail—he tried to whip out his fun horn, but instead of offending the ever-young Bonsai Bush, he sang a song. Or told a joke. I forget. I just know I didn’t see any peen.
FRB/DFL: Uh…I’m guessing it was Snap Off and Cause for Blindness, cuz it’s always those two
Comes Lately: Wizard of Ass, Stan, Fefe, Little Fucking Winkie and Cousin It.
Autohashers: Handlebars, Sleeps Around the Cock, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Elmo, Goes Down Often

Accusations:
For breaking the sound barrier: Cleavage to Beaver
For having a devil’s threesome: 2 Clump and Mr. Muff
For trying to turn on the hash by pouring beer on her chest decorations: Bonsai Bush
For trying to get Bonsai’s chest decorations wet: 2 Clump
For making up excuses that he can’t run: One Inch In
For making us come to West Philly: Rear Engineer

Yes, I just made most of that up.

Afterward we drank a ridiculous amount of beer, word went out that we had a naming. That’s right, Just Karen finally earned her wings. After months of hearing about her banging and not banging with people with broken ribs, we decided it was time to give this girl something to hold on to—and no, it wasn’t One Inch’s broken shoulder. We put her on her knees, told her to cup the balls and hold on tight. There were stories about farm animals (she likes sheep), her work (fish researcher?), and her favorite sexual position (on a bar). We took all that, threw it in a blender, hit frappe and came up with Shefelta Fish.

At this point, people were getting sober, so we flitted back and forth between Drinkers and the bar upstairs, and finished voting. If you want to know who will be taking over for mismanagement in 2010, you’ll have to show up tonight at Wooly Mammoth’s. Remember, it’s the AGM, so you’ll need some cash, and a sense of humor. Chances are you’re getting an award and you probably won’t like it. Such is life. And if you have a problem with it, earn yourself a spot on mismanagement next time and give out the awards your own damn self.

On on!

Goes Down Often

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