BFM #66 - Free Beer Tomorrow, two hares tonight

Posted on May 26, 2005

26 May 2005: As the list of pubs that would have us back dwindles, the Mob returned once again to one of our regular A-points, McGillin’s on Drury Street. Sooner or later, after checking out other venues, we always come back to the place where we know that we can have a safe place to ditch our bags, a room to ourselves, and most importantly, cheap pitchers provided hassle-free by an attentive and cheerful bar staff. Responding to this promise of hasher’s paradise this evening were LF Winkie and his mom (hereinafter referred to as "Mama Winkie"), Tinkerbell fresh in from a week in Quebec, GM Rash, TL Chicken, C–ting Season, Bastard Child, See Me Hear Me Whatever (hereinafter referred to as "Tommy"), Nut Cruncher, MF Poppins, |{E.Strap}/OnMy|Cock2, Lunar Digit, Dyke Queen and just Richard, Cousin It, Sly Fox, just Brooke and to the surprise of all, Wolfman Jackoff, not seen for many moons. Not showing tonight was Cause for Blinding Agony, recovering from a root canal job and entrusting tonight’s trash to yours truly. Also not seen was Paws for Blindness, a.k.a. Nice Shoes.


Soon enough, straws were offered. I was the first to draw, and I drew the lucky one. (Okay, I admit it: it was a fix; I volunteered to hare. I haven’t hared for a very long time, and I rather enjoy it. Is that so wrong?!)snail check Before I set out to lay the first leg of tonight’s trail, I held a brief chalk talk: tonight’s trail would have an uncommon mark, the "snail check" (illustrated at left), the purpose of which is to keep the pack together by requiring a hasher to stop at the check and wait for n hashers to join; on tonight’s trail, n=2. I set off laying trail through every alleyway and side-street in my path, laying checks and a false or two, and the dreaded snail check, but it was to no avail as I was bagged outside Jefferson’s Alumni Hall by E=MC2, who was apparently short-cutting across the courtyard. This was my second snag on trail to date. As E sped off for the second leg, Tink offered me some helpful critique: I had laid my next marks too close to the checks; the pack had never stopped moving.

With the bag in E’s possession and getting lighter by the minute, trail led toward Washington Square, up through Chinatown and around Hahnemann University Hospital, at which point most of the pack ditched and headed on-in. Left in the field were It, Rash, j. Brooke and myself as E’s trail led us on a circle jerk through a urine-soaked alleyway and around to the south end of the Vine St. Expressway. Trail at that point headed off vaguely westward, but we ditched and jogged back on-in as well. Upon our return, the pack was all in but for our hare. At last E came in, being the first hare in the Mob’s history to be DFL on his own trail. By his account, trail led to the Franklin Institute and back.

As we settled into our apres pints, the circle was convened and the hares toasted. (Oddly enough, the "when one vet drinks" tradition was not invoked.) Next up were first in (Tink, natch, and "when one Brit drinks…") and last in (E, and "when one hare drinks…"). In acknowledgement of the triumphant return of the Mob to our first hash house, the original hare and hounds for BFMH3-01 were called forth for their pints: Bastard, Lunar, E, Fox, Strap and Winkie ("when one Winkie drinks…" Mama Winkie was not expecting that). Lunar Digit asked for a fresh glass, despite the fact that he had a perfectly good full pint of Yuengling lager on the table. Either he felt that such a toast only merited the cheap stuff, or he just wanted to get his five bucks’ worth. Next on deck were autohashers, perennial Skin Fiddle and Mama Winkie ("when one Winkie drinks…"). Wolfman was back in for a long-time-no-see toast ("when one werewolf drinks…") and accusations were brought forth.

Winkie was roasted for wearing black socks with his sneakers. (Mama Winke was not gigged for that offense, though in all honesty she should take at least half the responsibility for everything Winkie has done.) Bastard was in the dock for receiving a phone call from Beer Sucks during the circle; Ms Season was docked similarly for taking the call for Bastard. Mr Cruncher was in for getting road-washed by a passing car, and Dyke Queen was in for being oh-so-attractive to some guy he bumped into in the restroom back on our 64th. Chicken was in for pushing some barfly’s billiard balls into the pockets that same night. (Note to mismanagement: let’s not go back there for a while, mmmkay?)

Announcements are as follows:

And thus ended our 66th hash. Thus ends our 66th trash. Long live the Mob! See all you f–king f–ks next week,

Filed Under Trash |

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