BFM #55 - a new standard for the Mob
Posted on March 10, 2005
March 10 2005: On this the first night of the 4th Philadelphia Area St. Patty’s Green Dress Hash multi-club events, the Mob’s role was to establish a new standard for a hosting pub, mindful that each following event should be run out of a better pub each night. We could not have done better. Tonight’s venue was the lovely and accommodating Bob & Barbara’s Lounge, an inflamed lesion in the appendix of the scenic South Street district. Upon entry, the pack was greeted with bouncers who had faces like fists, a bar padded with thick Naugahyde and decorated with slashes and duct tape, a bartender with more drilled skin than not, and (surprise!) NO PITCHER SERVICE. The slosh du jour was Pabst Blew Chunks (erm, "Blue Ribbon") in 12oz. cans and shots of Jim Beam for a very good package price, mind, so in the end it was well worth it for those who sought rapid and irredeemable inebriation.
As Tink and I entered, I recognized the bartender as a former associate of mine from a life I have since disavowed. I well remember the place from my youth. I remember half of the stains on the thin, sticky carpet, half the dents and cuts in the bar surface, half the graffitti in the loo. This is a fun place. Tonight’s attraction would be magnified by a drag show later that evening, all the better to set the mood for the events of the weekend.
Tonight’s role call reads like the Mob rolodex: Tongue Twister, Cheap Show and Mr. Show just Tim, Cunting Season, Bastard Child and Beer Sucks, Dances with Bums’ Urine sporting his "non-pervert" fashion, See Me Feel Me Touch Me, Can You Hear Me Now, Sticky Fingers, Nut Cruncher, the recently named and chained Porn BrokeHer, RA and co-logistician E=My Cock^2 and Strap-On, Virgin Pimp, Li’l Red Riding Wood just out of hibernation, and Oral Offender. We were also joined by a fair field of visitors: Hockessin’s honorary Mobsters B–chard and Thunder Thighs, Full Moon’s GM Gomez, White House H4’s songmeister Rear End Loader (whose song some of you may remember from our 35th, out of the Blarney Stone - he was to return to the scene of the crime the very next night this week), Mary F–king Poppins from Blue Hen (though lately of ours), Philly’s just Rich, and Layback, all the way up from Trinity H3 in Cairns, Oz, completing the list of British (or derived) expats.
Oddly enough for a self-billed cocktail lounge, cocktail straws were not available. Fortunately, I had a few in my kit. I toasted the end of one with a lighter and handed the stack to E, indicating which one was the lucky straw. He shrugged and accepted it, and headed out the door. Now that’s leadership! Ladies and gents, we have a hare! We finished off our cans and shots as the visitors took in our chalk talk outside the pub.
Trail led the pack immediately south in to dimmer and quieter neighborhoods, with checks aplenty but just as many "true trail" marks to balance it out. Somewhere on this trail was B–chard’s car, in which he had locked his keys and phone; we’ll get back to that later. The pack turned down 9th into deeper South Philly along the periphery of the Italian Market, leveled off for a brief straightaway about two blocks north of Washington, and eventually found our way up 7th and circuitously on-in. Tonight’s run was made a bit shiggy by the fact that one of the districts on tonight’s trail had a trash pickup on Friday, so the sidewalks were jammed up with trash cans and bags for about half a mile. Most of it was easily skirted, though a bag or two may have been kicked.
On back in we went, and after the usual post-r-n beers made palatable (but only just) by the shots of Beam, E eventually called the circle. Tonight’s sacramental element was offered in cans, with a tray of shots to supplement. After he toasted himself for haring a s–tty trail, he welcomed visitors, enforcing the option rule. WH4’s Loader favored us with a joke too rude to repeat here, and Layback took the anatomy option, curling his tongue in a manner that must make him very popular with the ladies. Onward to the evening’s Accusations:
B–chard, the wank, was abused for locking his keys and phone in his car and having to borrow others’ phones to call AAA. To his credit, he actually downed this down. Tastes like Chicken and companion just John, as well as Self Service and Sly Fox, were gigged for auto-/non-hashing. Loader was in the dock for hashus interruptus, and he took the shot. Our Chicken was finally called to answer for her less-than-precise directions for #53, and she knocked one back as well. Strap-On declared that I was "the club’s best non-elected officer" (perhaps she meant "noncommissioned"), and not sure if that was a toast or a roast, I joined the other offenders in the dock and did my duty. On to announcements:
It was announced that Cheap Show and Tastes Like Chicken were celebrating birthdays that week. To that end, cakes, cupcakes and party plates were procured, along with a lot more booze (like we needed it). Beer Sucks mentioned plans for Strap-On’s bachelorette party on All Fools Day this year (7:30 HST, Embassy Suites hotel in town); more details to follow in the newsgroup. Loader announced that White House will celebrate their 1000th r-n on the weekend May 6th through 8th, details on their site. Gomez reiterated the weekend’s agenda, and the hash went in peace.
S–tty trail, s–tty apres, very s–tty venue. Another week, another pub, another neighborhood or three floured and chalked. There was to be a drag show that evening, but I intended to skip it, knowing full well that it couldn’t hold a candle to the following Saturday’s event.
Respectfully submitted,
–
Pound it In
Filed Under Trash |
Leave a Comment
If you would like to make a comment, please fill out the form below.
