BFM #16
Posted on June 10, 2004
10 June 04: Things pretty much returned to normal when the Ben Franklin Mob learned the location of its Thursday Night hash late Wednesday afternoon: 12 Steps Down, 9th and Catherine.
Inside 12 Steps Down on Thursday night, Where’s Dildo? pulled the short straw from the hands of Sarah Cunter, who too soon will go to San Diego, though she’ll remain with the collective mind (such as it is) of the BFM.
When Dildo drew the short one, the mob acted. A hand thrust him a jar. Inside the jar was orange powder. Another hand forced dry wall on him, and another hand rammed a tennis ball into the bag someone slapped into his quivering palms. One second he held the short straw, the very next he held the ingredients for an orange bakery and a tennis court.
Any stranger happening to notice could wonder why among all these jostling individuals one person looked like a prison escapee. Was that escapee Wolfman Jackoff? No, it wasn’t the Wolfman – he auto hashed later on. No, this particular person was someone else altogether.
This particular clown wore horizontal-stripe black and white convict pajamas. The kind you see in 1930s chain gang movies. He did not forget to wear the black prison cap. The only thing missing was a steel ball shackled to his ankles, but Bastard Child is a locomotive on trail, so a ball just would have gotten in the way.
Spankin’ Private Ryan made a rare but welcomed appearance, and temporarily cleansed this wayward hash with the `dogus-no-bite-us’ blessing, and then Dildo ran out the door and up the stairs from this basement bar. Tastes Like Chicken kept time, and when time came the on on was on.
And so the BFM played its own game of "Where’s Dildo?," following the orange bouncing ball through the jumbled streets of South Philadelphia. Dildo made shitty use of the streets, leaving trail on one side, resuming it behind parked cars on the other side, bouncing that ball back past 12 Steps Down (making some of the mob go inside looking for his ass), and bouncing that ball down a false trail, duly marked with a big phat F.
And that ball bounced. On trail, and a block back, your correspondent spotted the hare and sprinted in for the kill. The hare saw and sprinted away, but never out of sight. The chase went on for two blocks, but that bastid continued bouncing that ball – a truly grotesque display of hand-eye coordination. The chase ended when Bastard blasted from an intersecting alley and caught the hare. Cunting Season and Tastes Like Chicken were close behind, regretting deeply that they had not caught the hare.
Surprisingly, FRBs such as Sarah Cunter and that dude from Hockessin were not on the spot. South Philadelphia’s street-maze had its way with the most bastardized of the FRBs.
Bastard took off without the tennis ball, which by now was part of Dildo’s hand. The trail now lacked circular tennis ball marks, but it was still marked in orange. Orange flour shows up really well on sidewalks, even from a distance, even in dusk.
Orange trail took the mob through the Ninth Street Market, home of "Boneless Roast Pig," and eventually to Pat’s and Geno’s, which are landmark cheese-steak joints, one of which warns, "Don’t Eat A Misteak."
And who was there among the orange cheeses and the slippery, meaty slices? None other than Strapon and E=My Cock Squared, happily chomping away. Bastard had been there minutes before, stopped, and eaten a cheese steak, courtesy of Mr. And Mrs. Full Moon GM. How those two just appeared there like that is a mystery that should go uninvestigated. How Bastard Child inhaled a cheese-steak and continued laying trail is a phenomenon.
On the trail away from the cheese-steak joints, Bastard Child’s orange marks were clear, but no one knew if he now marked trail with the flour from the bag or the cheese from his stomach. His trail came to a deserved end when Rash apprehended and dehared him. Apparently Rash has fully recovered from her North Philly Shiggy syndrome. Hives, like Glory, can be fleeting.
Rash took the mob back to 12 Steps Down, where waiting inside was an odd admixture of people who attempted to run trail, auto hashers, and a bad boy fresh back from the big house: Skin Fiddle, Cause for Blindness, venerable hasher Baby Huey, Lunar Digit, and public enema no. 1, Wolfman Jackoff. In time other menaces arrived, including Sly Fox, Little Fucking Winkie, and she-of-the-silent-H. Since the bar didn’t serve pitchers, enterprising mobbers bought sixes to go and removed the proceedings to the nearby apartment of Cunting Season.
At the apartment all sorts of down downs were done for all sorts of reasons. An auto hashing Purrier came before the circle dissipated, allowing her the rare opportunity to guzzle a full can of Pabst Blue Ribbon. Mmmmm, PBR . . .
But this mob doesn’t stop, so it went to the site of the 2nd BFM hash (the night of the three hares) - the Locust Bar, 10th and Locust Streets. Sticky Finger and Limp Man Toy made a fantastic return appearance. The mood was good, and someone bought Sierra pitchers, so people drank a lot more beer.
But whisperers wondered what would become of the Wolfman, whose first hearing was scheduled for 9:00 a.m. the very next morning . . .
Filed Under Trash |
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