BFM #49
Posted on January 27, 2005
27 January 2005: Beginning the last month of its first year, the Ben Franklin Mob Hash House Harriers met at a new Chicken-picked bar, the Millcreek Tavern, 4200 Chester Avenue, which stands like a friendly, drunken sentinel on the far northwest border of University City.
Thursday’s low temperature was six degrees. But “cold is just a state of mind,” so the saying goes, which explains why mobbers showed up. Clearly they had already lost their minds, or never had much of one in the first place.
Such cold-impervious freaks included Sticky Fingers, Tongue Twister, Cheap Show, Tastes Like Chicken, Tinkerbell, Rash, Sternum & Rectum and his dog, Judy, E=My Cock Squared, Rash, Scooby Snatch, Cunting Season, Nut Cruncher, and Strap On.
Concerned that Rash might not show (I was 100% wrong), I went to the grocery store next door and bought yellow corn meal, which is yellow, and therefore distinguishable from most snow, which was still everywhere as a result of last weekend’s blizzard. When I got back to the bar, Rash was there with red colored flour. Since I already had yellow stuff ready to go, I decided to use it instead of the red stuff.
A real busy-body, I also presented straws, and as each one was drawn, Rash explained, the probability that I would be left with the short one would increase. This phenomenon, called “conditional probability,” worked its voodoo on me – one by one straws were drawn, and when only two were left, Nut Cruncher pulled the long one, leaving me the short one. Conditional probability is a bitch.
Tongue Twister showed me a map of the neighborhood, which is a confusing area because its diagonal avenues make the city’s street grid look like a reflection of itself in a funhouse mirror. Tongue Twister pointed out there was a large cemetery nearby, which looked like an ideal location to lay trail. I discovered later, unfortunately, that its gates were locked. But no doubt they will be opened up for the City’s next election.
Properly briefed on my mission, I took the bag and left. Trail went east then south then north then west. I stuck to the streets, avoiding university grounds and alert campus police. The yellow corn meal posed some problems for the Mob, though, since yellow corn meal is like a second cousin to white flour, and next to the snow and under the yellow street lights, sometimes it didn’t show too well. But the Mob made it through in good time, Tinkerbell coming in first, Nut Cruncher bringing up the rear.
Back at the bar, Cheap Show, Sticky Fingers, and Tastes Like Chicken stood guard over the dry bags. While there, they were amazed by a man with incredible legs. They said he could light a cigarette with his toes. Let’s just say he was a River Dancer not by choice.
Little Fucking Winkie arrived in that auto hashing way he has. There was no Wolfman Jackoff, though, so Cunting Season took the circle’s reigns, and Scooby Snatch led the Mob through a medley of wholesome family favorites.
The hare, first in, and last in were sent to the middle. Next came the BFM virgin. It wasn’t Sternum & Rectum, since he had showed up to the BFM once before. It was, however, his dog, Judy. So Sternum did a down down on Judy’s behalf. (I think this happened. If it didn’t, then it should’ve.)
Then there were accusations. Cunting Season accused me of using light yellow corn meal in the winter wonderland when I could have used the red stuff Rash brought. Strap On was accused for accepting food service during the circle. Making matters worse, the food she received wasn’t Tur-Duc-En. There were other accusations, but the beer fog is thick now.
The circle ended and the Mob hung out for a good long while. Later on Bastard Child showed up looking collegiate and presentable. He had been out to dinner with Beer Sucks & Co.
Sadly I misplaced my keys, and sent an email to the Mob for help. Responding in true Mob fashion, Winkie advised me to staple my keys to my ass from now on, Cause for Blindness accused me of planting my keys in some beautiful broad’s bag, and Bitchard helpfully volunteered that he saw my keys in Chicago. Th’ bastids. Happily I replaced my keys and all’s well that ends well.
One Mob. One City. One Hangover.
On on.
Next Week: Nominations begin!
Filed Under Trash |
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