BFM #32
Posted on September 30, 2004
30 September 2004: No good deed goes unpunished, as illustrated by the adventures of Wolfman Jackoff who, back in June, visited the Philadelphia Police to explain that the white flour he left next to the US Mint was not a terrorist act. The police then put him up for the night, and most of the next day. One week later all charges were dropped.
But that wasn’t the end of it. The ignominious end to this sorry affair came on Thursday, when the Ben Franklin Mob did what it had to do.
Mobbers showed up at the Cherry Street Tavern with plastic police badges and nightsticks, blue plastic firearms, metal and plastic handcuffs, jailhouse-safe soap, and convict stripes. This was the Jailbait Hash, a special occasion, warranting a pre-laid trail, courtesy of Bastard Child and Tastes Like Chicken.
Like a breakout from a penitentiary of idiots, the Mob sprinted from Cherry Street Tavern, across sidewalks and green fields, making its way to the Schuylkill River.
Next to the River the Mob was stopped short by a passing freight train, which was long and slow. It was good of Bastard Child to lay this trail, but no good deed goes unpunished. As the train continued to pass by, the Mob sang, “Shitty trail,” as Bastard Child stood there, powerless to do anything about it. Serves the bastid right.
The train eventually passed on, and the Mob continued along the river. Down next to a stairwell on the river’s bank, recent flooding marooned washed-away tree limbs, making a horizontal forest. Bastard Child warned everyone to “walk only on the thick branches.” No one was lost.
Next the Mob met a 70-foot cliff facing the River. The co-hares apparently thought this was a drinking club with a climbing problem. And so did the rest of the Mob. Mobbers climbed without belay, without net, and in the dark. It was an unforgettable display of estrosterone and meatheadedness. No one was lost.
At the top of the climb the Mob found a pagoda with a broad view of the river and Boathouse Row. Inside the pagoda waiting was Tastes Like Chicken, who in the dark alone and fearlessly organized a lineup of tequila shots. Again, the Mob did what it had to do. Again, no one was lost, but someone did dry heave.
Chicken does not like tequila, and it was kind of her to set up the tequila line up. But no good deed goes unpunished. Cunting Season knowingly and willfully pointed out that Chicken had not done a shot, forcing the Mob to act. A shot was thrusted into her hand, and the mob sang, “Why are we waiting?” We didn’t wait long.
From Chicken’s pagoda, trail resumed down past the back of the Art Museum, and into the Fairmount section. Appropriately, trail led the mob past a district police HQ, where officers watched the spectacle with amusement. No one was lost.
Back at the tavern, Wolfman Jackoff was not relieved of his duties as Religious Advisor, and he corralled the mob into a circle. The circle welcomed virgins, including Just Adam and Just Chris, and visitors, including Tongue Twister and Well Hung Jury. In the spirit of the evening, half the Mob levied pointless accusations, and the wrongdoers were ruthlessly punished with pint after pint of beer.
Formalities ended with the presentation of the Jailbait Cake, which featured an icing-reproduction of Wolfman Jackoff’s face. Everyone took a piece.
With the end of the formalities came the resumption of informalities, and the Mob drank well into the night, thankful for the sacrifices of Wolfman Jackoff, who’s awful good character made all this pointed pointlessness possible.
On On!!
Filed Under Trash |
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