BFM #52 - Inaugural balls-up
Posted on February 17, 2005
February 17 2005: The Mob assembled at McGillin’s this evening to mark the end of Little F–king Winkie’s founding year of leadership * and to announce the election results from the week prior. There was a good turn-out tonight, with most of our (ir)regulars and a few visitors, including two new boots and the inimitable Dancing Fool and just Tim, Cheap Show’s husband. On this blustery winter evening, the heat lamp over the door at McG’s shone brightly, giving those who passed beneath the brief impression of being a box of french fries at a fast-food joint.
As our Mob tuned up with stretches and pints, RA Wolfman Jackoff prepared the straws for tonight’s draw, and the lottery was offered. As luck would have it, Winkie drew the short straw YET AGAIN. How fitting, that his last act as GM would be to lay the last trail for his reign. The Mob groaned appreciatively as he held aloft the straw, for we knew that tonight’s trail would be indeed s–tty, as his usually are. Winkie left the pub with a bag of green flour and two sticks of chalk, and the time was well watched, nobody wanting to give our hare a second more than the three minutes alloted.
We had some new boots and visitors with us tonight, so Wolfman and E=My Cock Squared gave a brief chalk talk outside. We crossed over our hare’s "FUUFF" mark on the doorstep, the evening’s event was explained briefly to the uninitiated, and we headed off into the city. First mark found led up an alleyway onto Chestnut Street and toward Broad, suspiciously close to the subway concourse. Knowing Winkie’s penchant for laying trail underground, these checks were sniffed out as a matter of course. As the trail led around City Hall and into the Penn Center concourse, we found that Winkie had indeed drawn mark underground, surfacing a block later on JFK. Here Winkie had paused to inscribe a tribute to Dances with Bum’s Urine near his baptismal fountain (see trash for #28), and it was made painfully clear that three minutes is just too much lead time for some people.
Trail wound around toward Chinatown, through the aroma of fresh fish and deep-fried cats, through the Greyhound bus depot and down 10th Street, most circuitously back on-in, over a rather phallic nonstandard trail mark and the remainder of the trail flour. Winkie had bested us again, laying about two miles of trail across our fair town. Dancing Fool greeted the returning hounds at the door with a bag of fortune cookies. Otherwise curious, but somehow it was expected that he would do something like that.
Once on-in and deep into our apres pitchers, the circle was called and we got to business. It was unanimously agreed that tonight’s trail was indeed s–tty, and Winkie took his honorarium graciously. Lunar Digit and a few others were still out, presumably still on trail, so the recognition of last-in was given to Beer Sucks. That night, Tinkerbell downed her millionth pint as first harriette in, the overachiever. Cheap Show’s man just Tim and our two young boots were saluted in song and suds. As we moved on to accusations, just Tyler was called in as an autohasher and compelled to down one, at which moment Lunar Digit and his entourage of wanderers finally made it upstairs, only to be mercilessly berated upon Lunar’s explanation as to where they had been. Seems they had lost trail and taken a taxi back to Lunar’s, had a drink there and finally decided to join us much later. The bastards! Elbows to them again and again on each offense, to which Can You Hear Me Now added the accusation that Lunar had used his phone on trail! Will some people never learn? On to denouncements…
Tonight was Beer Suck’s birthday, and a cake, complete with margarita candles, was procured for the occasion. She got the usual Hash Birthday Song and pint, and a bonus body shot from the salted and limed Bastard Child. Seems this Mob has to have a body shot event at least once a month. McG’s tolerant and generous proprietor Free Beer Tomorrow gifted Beer Sucks with a pub T-shirt, and there was much rejoicing.
Can You Hear Me Now announced, amid much suspense, the results of #51’s vote. Elected was Cause for Blindness for the office of Trashmistress and E=MC^2 for Religious Advisor. However, the vote for General Mismanager was still contested: Rash and Tastes like Chicken had each collected an equal number of votes, including absentee ballots by e-mail. Not wanting to wait for the Supreme Court to rule on the matter, a run-off election was held, with the option of Rash, TL Chicken, or BOTH as GM. The vote was cast again, the ballots counted and recounted by objective non-voting parties, and Rash emerged victorious by a narrow margin (er, I mean, ‘mandate’). Our new officers were led to the inner circle and given their inaugural down-down; Mob Rule was to continue for another year.
As a footnote, it was announced that Winkie’s decree was permanent: Cause still could not accuse.
S–tty trail, s–tty apres, s–tty electoral process. Year Two of the Mob had just begun, whether Philadelphia was ready for it or not.
Respectfully submitted,
–
Pound it In
Filed Under Trash |
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