BFM #53 - Winter Blunderland
Posted on February 24, 2005
February 24 2005: I had a feeling this would be a rough night. Not only were our GM Rash and Trashmistress Cause for Blindness unable to attend tonight, thus depriving us all of the leadership this Mob desperately needs (but nonetheless resists), but Tastes Like Chicken’s directions to our A were less than helpful:
Hear ye! Hear ye! The year of RASH has begun! Let us run
with our new GM this Thursday night at T.A. FLANNERY’S on
21st street and Sansom street. Standard hash time 7:30.
When Tinkerbell and I arrived at the intersection of 21st and Sansom at 7:30 (7:08 Hash Standard Time), we found nothing resembling a pub. We wandered the neighborhood until we came upon our starting point at the corner of 21st and Ludlow, two blocks away from Sansom. Lunar Digit happened to stroll up and in we went. I elected to jog back to Sansom street and lay ‘true trail’ HHH–> marks to Ludlow street, lest we be the evening’s only attendees. Not much later we were joined at the pub by RA E=MyCock Squared and his bunny hat, former RA Wolfman Jackoff, See Me Feel Me Touch Me, Organ Grinder (Sarah C–ter’s roommate, on the way to a visit friends in Ann Arbor), the rarely seen Mary F–king Poppins, and first Trashmaster Can You Hear Me Now.
I ordered my pre-hash pint as Wolfman offered the straws for tonight’s lottery. I drew the first straw, and it was the short one, of course. Wolfman graciously allowed me to finish my pint, at which I took my time. It was early yet, and the weather wasn’t getting any nicer. The snow was falling at about half an inch an hour, enough to reduce visibility but not enough to fill in footprints in the snow. I mulled out my path as I drank, and after saluting my fellow f–king f–ks with a belch, I headed out the door to lay our 53rd trail.
First mark I dropped was a check, right at the corner outside the pub. I ran in the fresh snow halfway down the block, leapt into the street (which was plowed) to throw off my tracks, and dashed around the corner, running in tire tracks and puddles so as to not leave footprints. The snow was letting up, so I had to make good time, getting off the straight paths and rounding corners to put more solid buildings between the pack and myself. I laid the flour thick, allowing for the snow, but I didn’t lay a lot of it. As I dashed toward the well-groomed sidewalks of the financial district, I could run down the sidewalks without fear of leaving footprints, and I strew trail in trees and on walls and ledges, away from the snowfall.
Trail went through the various alleyways of the restaurant strip downtown, headed south down 16th and west on Locust, up an alleyway that at first glance looked like a dead end but wasn’t (many thanks to Little Red Riding Wood for showing me this alley), and generally zig-zagged toward the on-in. The last few blocks of trail were heavily marked on a row of trees, and it eventually met up with the original ‘true trail’ marks I laid earlier from Sansom to Ludlow.
What luck, I thought as I slowed to a leisurely jog. A decently long trail and not a hound in sight or earshot. Either they were checking every check thoroughly, or they had lost track and wandered on-back-in. Tink’s cry of "On on!" snapped me out of my reverie and I looked over my shoulder to find her a scant ten yards behind me. Wolfman was not too far behind her, and this was his night to be in good form as well. Not wanting to be bagged by our club’s first werewolf again (see trash for #35), I put on a dead sprint and practically r-ced them to the pub. This hare made it back into the warren scant inches ahead of the hounds, and our evening’s hunt had come to an end.
Founding father Little F–king Winkie was waiting at the bar for our return, and the circle was eventually called. After I was roasted for the s–tty trail, visitors were acknowledged. Mr Poppins was called in, claimed that he had made himself come, and was offered the option, to which end he regaled us with a song never heard before (something about a horse’s penis). Lunar Digit’s Italian friend, the lovely just Gülce [sp?], was unprepared for our reaction when she admitted that Lunar had made her come. She refused the option. Dr Grinder favored us with a joke not suitable for general audiences. SMFM Touch Me was recognized as a club regular, and onward to accusations.
CYHM Now accused Lunar of using his phone on trail, and SMFM Touch Me of missing a mark and calling dead trail. (I was roasted for doing that, Liberty/Jersey Gypsy joint hash on 2/13/05, so I can relate.) E=MC^2 was accused of alcohol abuse (spilling his drink), and he somehow managed to get his next pint all down his neck. The option of elbowing TL Chicken for her misdirections will be tabled for another week. Onward to announcements: The Green Dress run and a future BFM drag event were mentioned, but such information will be available in detail on our website and newsgroup, so particulars weren’t given. Other events, notably Pretzel City’s Ugly Mudder R-ce and a "fat boy" event hosted by Self Service, were also mentioned. And E announced that he is gay (no doubt to Strap-On’s consternation), not that there’s anything wrong with that.
S–tty romp in the snow, s–tty apres, what else would we do on a Thursday night? Our yearling Mob toddles onward to another year of beer-fueled debauchery as the number of pubs that would welcome us back dwindles week by week.
Respectfully submitted,
–
Pound it In
Filed Under Trash |
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