BFM #34
Posted on October 14, 2004
14 October 2004: Boner’s, er, Bonner’s Irish Pub withstood another assault by the BFM. Bum’s Urine greeted me with a glass of the cheap beer already flowing. (Still) Just Scott and Beer Sucks were under weigh, too. The pack steadily gathered, Wolfman appeared in civilian clothes, our GFM arrived and soon it was time for the flour lottery. “Oh, Sh*t” was called out and we knew we had a winner – Dances with Bum’s Urine got his haring cherry popped. Be good, I asked, try to lay it like you’d be following it, and he was off. No one actually timed the wait, so as soon as someone said “Let’s Go!” we were all out in pursuit.
Cries of “On On” had the pack chasing orange flour north then east. There was much checking. Often it seemed there were only two marks before a check or a lack of trail. There was even a False. BU was proving to be cunning bastid. The pack scattered and gathered and scattered and gathered and Ms. Perpetual DFL found herself catching up and keeping up as we made our way down Market Street. (I almost pantsed a total stranger, chasing a young man carrying a bag, egged on by a security guard. Poor guy just wanted to buy some fish food.) At City Hall, Tongue Twister found the Piss Check and, being an honest hasher, obliged. Cause refreshed herself in the fountain, to *bond* with the hare. Soon the air was filled with calls of “RU?” and “Checking”. Upstairs, downstairs, all around the Hall the pack searched for trail. I thought I heard something in the subway halls, jogging past a covey of permanent residents, one of whom had a sack with a shrunken skull peeking out. Time to go back up to the real world. I found Cousin It, still checking and we decided it was time to make our way back to the bar. It seems trail led to Kennedy and Love Park and eventually, of course, back to Bonner’s. Most were still gathered outside when we arrived, but we soon got down to beer business.
Ms. Fox, the ever-sly, was even more classy this week. A professional meeting, uh huh. Rash Septa-hashed from the Convention Center. Wolfman was long gone. Clothes were changed, soup and sandwiches were consumed, beer, beer and more beer was drunk. (Yes, Mr. Grammar-check, a verb in the passive tense may be found in this sentence.) Eventually we gathered in a back room and commenced circling.
Our Grand F’ing Master Little F’ing Winkie seated himself on the throne of authority and called forth virgins, visitors, and violators. Auto/train/bike/pedestrian-hashers were first: Sly Fox, Rash, Lunar Digit. The hare, Dances with Bum’s Urine, was acknowledged, First in was Crusty Calves (I think) and last in were Scott and Just Justin, who had somehow stumbled upon the Jailbait trail markings and took a tour of the Art Museum and environs. (Did they find the f’ing gazebo??) Virgin Just Bob was lured here by … we don’t know, he didn’t have a chance to finish the tale of who made him cum, but he learned of us at Philly’s 1400th last Saturday. Tongue Twister, permanant resident visitor drank. Cause for Blindness drank for something, maybe Just beCause? Oh, right, I accused TT of pissing at the piss check and he accused me of bathing in it. There may have been an acusation for technology on trail by one of the semi-virgins. I forget. There being general disorder in the "circle", we were dissmissed. At some point Bum’s Urine did his turn at the Karaoke, but we mostly sat around and drank and conversed and drank. I did not stay til 2, merely 1:30. I did not get drunk and screw, but you’ll just have to take my word for it.
Belatetedly submitted,
Your humble historian
Cause.
Filed Under Trash |
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