BFM #15
Posted on June 3, 2004
3 June 04: Tonight the Ben Franklin Mob crowded into Anthony’s Old City Pub, a great burger joint wedged in among the outdoor cafes of Market Street’s 200 block. The mob’s animal contingent was well represented by Sly Fox, Wolfman Jackoff, and Tastes Like Chicken, all of whom are hosting an animal-themed center city pub-crawl this Saturday. Contact any one of them bastids for information.
The red headed dude, whose name until tonight was just Chris, showed up with a virgin, just Jen. Newly named Rash was there, fully recovered (so far) from the North Philly shiggy that gave her her name. The mob’s procreative contingent was also represented by the likes of Cunting Season, Sarah Cunter, and Bastard Child. The auto hashing started early when the Cause walked in wearing her Peter Pan slippers. No running for the Cause tonight because she had an appointment in our great neighboring state of New Joisey.
Everyone present who wanted a beer had a beer, but, in prime BFM fashion, nobody brought flour, so a flour bag was purchased at a store nearby. That bag of flour weighed five pounds. Once the flour arrived Sarah Cunter gnawed on a bar straw to make it short, and then made the hash draw straws to see who would hare tonight. And those unseen powers from below once again drove the short straw into the hand of Wolfman Jackoff. (The hare count is (I think) three for the Wolfman and four for the Winkie. Something pointless must be done to the first one to make it to seven.)
Armed with five pounds of flour and purple chalk, the Wolfman slipped out of the bar and into the dusk. Five (three) minutes later the mob stormed out behind him and into the outdoor restaurants, knocking over tables, grabbing drinks from waiters, and causing a general ruckus.
Wolfman’s trail led the mob through the streets and alleys of Old City, and then to the BFM’s unofficial bar, Paddy’s. Was this a beer check? The mob asked the bartender whether someone had left money for beer. This was not a beer check.
And the mob returned to trail. Trail took the mob west through Chinatown, and up and down the ramps of at least two parking garages. The trail was long, and checks were few and far between, much like the trail laid by Chicken and Lunar Digit this past Tuesday for the Philly Hash. A lesson for the future: don’t buy a five-pound bag of flour for a live hare, especially if the hare is Wolfman Jackoff.
Leaving the parking garages behind, Wolfman’s trail headed back east toward the river and through Independence National Historical Park. In the park the Wolfman threw down flour near many national sites, including the Constitution Center, the Liberty Bell, and Independence Hall. One felt a special sense of security as statue-still park rangers watched the mob running after someone who had been casting unknown white powder willy-nilly while running full speed.
Through the historical park and to Anthony’s Old City Pub went the mob. Back at Anthony’s the Cause was doing her part to support the bar. Despite the outrageous pitcher prices the mob bought pitchers and drank. The flour remaining inside Wolfman’s five-pound bag was about enough to make one leg of the Pillsbury Dough Boy. Winkie came in after a time, and Sarah Cunter urged the mob to move on to McGillin’s Old Ale House where the beer was priced reasonably, which is where the mob went. As a nice surprise, waiting at McGillin’s was the human songbook, Scooby Snatch. How he got there is a mystery that should go uninvestigated.
McGillin’s remembered the mob, and let us upstairs into a private room to carry on. A crowd of civilians was also there, asking us "what are you going to do?" and "what’s going to happen?" Explaining a circle is pretty much impossible, so we told them we came upstairs because we thought they were buying us beer. Soon the questions stopped.
The mob circled up and proclaimed a shitty trail, outed the FRB/DFLs, mocked the auto hashers, welcomed the virgin, made wild accusations, and named the red headed dude. Two names were thrown up for debate. The losing name was "Vagina Viking" and the winner was "Tickle My Elmo." The exact reason for that name is lost in the haze of alcohol and various circle sounds, but it’s safe to say you won’t be seeing Tickle My Elmo anytime soon on Sesame Street.
And in this way the BFM grew one week older, one hasher stronger, and one step closer. On on, and may the Cause be with you.
-Can You Hear Me Now?
Coda…
…when Can You Hear Me Now’s night ended shots poured freely. After descending on the nachos like a flock of seagulls fighting over leftover boardwalk fries at the Jersey Shore, Just Liz (our BFM friendly waitress) arrived with the shots. Bodies proved to be the best vehicle for the salt and lime for the tequila shots (and the few lemon drops). It was good. And the rest, as they say, is BFM history - which most are not likely to remember.
-Wolfman Jackoff
Filed Under Trash |
Leave a Comment
If you would like to make a comment, please fill out the form below.
