BFM #44
Posted on December 23, 2004
23 December 2004: Imagine the brain: a group of noodles, which, stuck together by unknown forces, make it all work. Imagine now those noodles unstuck, floating freely in brain juice, composed mostly of alcohol. Given how cold and rainy it was all day Thursday, there’s no explanation for why people showed up for the BFM, except that their brains are structured just so.
Thursday’s arrivals included Wolfman Jackoff, Strap On, E=MC2, Tongue Twister, Sasquatch, Bastard Child, your correspondent, Wing Nuts, and Everqueer, the visitor from Atlanta. With one or two exceptions, everyone present was a marathon veteran, which guaranteed a fast hash. Wing Nuts volunteered to hare, which guaranteed a long hash.
Compounding the situation, Wing Nuts told us there’d be no checks on trail. No checks means that every intersection and side alley entrance is a check. D’bastid.
But the Mob had the will and dementia to follow the hare. Usually it wasn’t long before someone found flour, which the hare, an artful minimalist, swiped on lamp posts and other protuberances - fire hydrants, trees, slow pedestrians. Most marks were at eye-level, allowing everyone to keep on-oning without letting up.
Then we saw a Beer Near mark. Was it really the BFM’s first true live hare beer check? It was. It was at Krupa’s, 27th & Brown, site of some recent Philly hashes. They know the hash there, so local barflies demanded that we sing a song. E led the Mob through a song about the days of the week, and how each one relates to a different sexual act.
After disposing of beer pitchers and all sense of decorum, the Mob vacated the bar, following the hare five minutes after he left. Trail bopped around the Fairmount section, eventually reaching the bar where we started, Kellianne’s, 16th & Spring Garden.
Inside was Tastes Like Chicken, looking quite glamorous. If men’s eyeballs contained lasers, Chicken would have been all red.
Wolfman conducted the circle in the back room. The hare was duly derided and down downed the pint like a professional. Now a ‘resident visitor,’ Everqueer was relieved of any down down obligations, so the circle moved to accusations directly.
Tongue Twister accused the hare of using 3 ounces of flour on trail, despite carrying ten pounds of the stuff. Someone - might have been Sasquatch - accused Chicken of looking way to nice for the hash. Strap On was thrown in the dock for tearing E a new one on trail. Some especially heartless bastid accused two people of ‘whining’ about injuries on trail: Bastard Child, and your correspondent. And that was about it.
Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night shall keep the Mob from it’s appointed down downs.
On on.
Filed Under Trash |
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