BFM #109 - It’s Going to be an Orgy
Posted on March 23, 2006
23 March 2006 - There have been times when I have written the trash, and even though it was a perfectly nice hash, with drinking, nothing terribly exciting happened and I had to pad it with outside material, like Objects Removed From the Human Body (See BFM 84 if you really care that badly.) But THIS week, HOLY !&#$, it was just an ORGY of absurdity. I found myself wishing I knew shorthand, there was so much to write down.
The night began as it always does, with the Mob trickling in one by one to McGillin’s: Fiber Opdick, Skin Fiddle, Tickle My Elmo, Cause for Blindness, C*nting Season, Stacks, Little Red Riding Wood, Holy Tit visiting from DC, E = My Cock Squared, Popeye’s Bitch, Rash, and Big Tackle all came wandering in. Eventually, hash time rolled around and straws were pulled, or rather, one straw, as the first straw pulled was the short one. There were groans all around as we realized that E would be hare this week.
Tickle My Elmo was nice enough to bring glowing green chalk this week to go with the flour. However, I suspect Elmo was an engineer on the Tacoma Narrows bridge in a former life, because he hadn’t bothered to try mixing the chalk with the flour beforehand to discover that it created a pleasant, but extraordinarily pale shade of…mint? zombie? (white?) Who knows? (It didn’t glow, either.) Regardless, E took the flour and was off.
Five minutes later, the Mob straggled out of the bar to look for trail…just as Dry Hump rolled into the bar. He promptly….I don’t know what. We never saw him on trail. Last I heard, he was putting on his jock strap and this held him up. (heh) Oh, well. The Mob charged off into the night anyway, south through Center City, finding hash marks, finding checks, finding falses, all the while led by FRB…. Skin Fiddle?!? Yes! But as trail changed to arrows around Logan Circle, Popeye’s Bitch took the lead and spotted the hare. So what did he do?
Pop Quiz! When you see the hare, you:
A. Yell "hare," and attempt to chase down the hare, or at least let everyone else try.
B. Vaguely threaten the hare, continue to follow trail like nothing ever happened.
C. I don’t run fast enough to ever catch sight of the hare.
D. A and C but not B
E. There is no Rule 6.
If you said…oh, you know. Score your own paper.
He yelled, "I’m chasing you down!" aaaaaaaaaaaaaand, ran the other way. And told no one. So the Mob had to run the whooooooooolllle way around Logan’s Circle, just to discover that they were going to end up about a block from where they’d started….which was awfully, awfully close to the ever-popular Cherry St Tavern. "Beer check?" "E said there would be a beer check." "Beer check!" Nearly weeing themselves with excitement, the Mob passed the Tavern to find…nothing. Just more trail heading through the scary underpass dedicated to the empowerment of women (no, really) and to the real beer check at Bonner’s. As we stood around drinking, Little Red Riding Wood observed, "Wow, what are we, a real hash or something? What’s with all the beer checks?" Good point. Fortunately, the increasing quality of the trails appears to be directly correlated to a rise in completely immature hasher behavior. After the Mob downed their beers and tore off through the night to Rittenhouse Square, startling hipsters left and right, I was privileged to overhear the following exchange:
Fiber Opdick: "Stop touching my ass."
Popeye’s Bitch: "I’m not touching your ass."
Fiber Opdick: "One finger, two fingers, I don’t care, but stop touching my ass."
Right. So the Mob hauled ass to the bar, sweatily greeting the bouncers and looking for beer. Free Beer Tomorrow cleared a private party of consultants (or whatever) to make room for us upstairs, and we trooped dutifully up to drink. Dry Hump was still at the bar, as were newly arrived autohashers Hold the Sausage, Little F*cking Winkie, Fur Snatcher, Just Craig, and Just Mike.
Emergency Back-up RA Skin Fiddle ran the circle this night. Wankers were:
Hare: E = My Cock Squared
First In/Last In: Cause for Blindness, Dry Hump, and under the "When One GM Drinks" rule, C*nting Season
Autohashers: Little F*ckin Winkie, Just Mike, Just Craig, Hold the Sausage, Fur Snatcher
Hat in Circle: Little F*ckin’ Winkie, Just Craig, and Rash (under the "When One Former GM Drinks" rule)
Accusations!
Round 1:
Popeye’s Bitch, for not chasing the hare
Fur Snatcher, for complaining that beer and gelato don’t mix
Rash and Cause, for screwing up dates and hash numbers on the last hash trash
C*nting Season, under the "When On GM Drinks" rule
Winkie, under the "When One Former GM Drinks" rule
Skin Fiddle, for racing
Fiber Opdick, for attempting to start a fight after the Green Dress Run using the line "Do you have health insurance?"
Round 2:
Skin Fiddle, for screwing up the song for Round 1 Accusations
Popeye’s Bitch and Fiber Opdick, for being ass-toucher and ass-touchee, respectively
And so ended the circle. But as we all stood around, drinking and chatting, Just Mike started measuring the size of his foot against Dry Hump’s, which…weird, but not the point of this story. "He has huge feet. Bigger than mine," he said. Immediately, all the "You know what big feet mean right?" "Big shoes, ha ha ha" started until Just Mike chimed in with "I’m hung like a hamster." The circle was IMMEDIATELY reconvened, and Just Mike’s naming began. Based on his job in law enforcement of some kind, his penchant for jumping out of airplanes, and his attempt to lay trail with a rock (read last week’s trash if you missed it), suggested names were:
Captain Rogaine
Captain Underpants
Ass Ranger
Dumb as a Rock
Pet my Rock, Rock my Box, Box of Rocks, etc.
GroundPoundHer
Hung Like a Hamster
Orificer
Stunt Dick Double
But when he mentioned that he came from Bryn Mawr, site of the all-women’s college, someone piped up with "Oh. So he’s a lesbian."
And so he is. GM C*nting Season poured beer over the kneeling hasher and sprinkled flour on his head, and he shall henceforth always and forevermore be known as: He’s A Lesbian. Welcome, YFF!
Announcements:
April 1: Reading H3 650th
July Something: Unbelievably Fabulous Hash Sporting Event. More details to come.
August sometime: Cousin It’s Phillies Tailgate
On On,
Rash
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