BFM #114 - I Can’t Believe We Didn’t Get Thrown Out
Posted on April 27, 2006
27 April 2006 – PHILADELPHIA: Real quick - I said I’d write the trail part of the hash from two weeks ago at Bonner’s, so here’s the short version: There was a lot of running. And there was a lot of ass-slapping. And two beer checks. The End.
Ok, now that that’s out of the way…. This week’s hash started at The Irish Pub, a place that’s way nicer than the places we ordinarily frequent. C*nting Season and Fiber Opdick arrived first, followed by Just Stephanie and Just Mark from LVH3, Rash, He’s a Lesbian, Jamaican Me Horny from Atlanta, Oral Oh!, Skin Fiddle, Can You Hear Me Now?, Tickle My Elmo, Just Maritza, Just Jamie, Stacks, Dry Hump, Nice Shoes, Wanna F*ck?, Cause for Blindness, Self Service, Just Andy, Just Dan, E = My Cock Squared, Strap On, and Little Red Riding Wood. The Mob gathered at the back of the bar, and Ms. Season summarily distributed the straws around until she was left with her very own short straw. But Can You Hear Me Now? gallantly stepped up and headed off with the bag of blue flour.
Five or ten minutes later, the Mob poured out onto the sidewalk in search of trail. They took off west down Walnut St, scaring a group of teenaged tourist girls and nearly getting hit by a bus. And seriously, people, you KNOW how they drive here in in Philadelphia. ESPECIALLY the SEPTA buses. [Motto: “A light timed for 35 is also timed for 70.”] STOP RUNNING INTO TRAFFIC. God.
Anyway. Trail continued past Bonner’s, up a flight of stairs, and across the river toward 30th Street Station. The Mob stood baffled by a check that didn’t seem to go anywhere, until someone realized that trail went back down the other side of the street. On-On was called, and everyone took off down that ramp thingy next to the river. Instead of staying on the Schuylkill River Park trail, though, trail led over a wall and across the railroad tracks for a while, then wound back through Center City to the bar.
The sweaty pack went back into the bar. Beers were ordered and the drinking began, as did the betting on when we’d get thrown out of the place. Popeye’s Bitch had finally arrived late as usual, as had Little F*ckin Winkie and Hold the Sausage. RA Skin Fiddle led the circle this evening, and accused wankers are as follows:
Hare:
Can You Hear Me Now?
First and Last In:
He’s a Lesbian & Jamaican Me Horny; Cause for Blindness
Visitors:
Just Stephanie, who told a very dirty joke about a psychiatrist and his patient,
Just Mark, who told the cheap vasectomy/firecracker joke
Jamaican Me Horny, who elected to show a body part
Virgins:
Just Maritza, (He’s a Lesbian made her come)
Autohashers:
Nice Shoes, Wanna F*ck?
Popeye’s Bitch
Little F*ckin’ Winkie
Hold the Sausage
Violations:
Just Andy, for running attire (“Nice belt.”)
Just Stephanie, for Grabbag’s return to the States
Oral Oh!, for writing that John Mellencamp wrote “Summer of ‘69”
Just Andy again, for headgear, which he tried to leave on AGAIN while drinking for it
And An Innocent Bystander (I never got her name) who had hashed twice while living in Hawaii
The circle actually ran the whole way through without any direct complaints (Were you shocked? I was shocked), even though after the first song one whole table of 21-year-old yuppies cleared out like they had to catch the last helicopter out of Saigon. And then the fun began. Dry Hump spent a good part of the evening shoving things down the front of his pants, then showing them off. Skin Fiddle startled the Mob by squealing like a 8-year-old girl. He then announced that the reason for his outburst was having just overheard Winkie describing himself as “smart and motivated,” which was greeted with a huge chorus of laughter. (The rest of what he said was “as compared to other government workers”, which was then greeted by a crowd response of “OH. Well, okay.”) Winkie proceeded to illustrate his smartness and motivation later in the evening by taking a picture of his ‘nads using someone else’s phone.
And finally, Overheard at the Hash:
Hasher: “Put some butt pirate shit in there.”
Harriette: “If it’s not big and hard, I don’t care what it looks like.”
Hasher: “I put myself on vibrate and call myself thirty times a night.”
Hasher: “Who doesn’t want to touch it?”
Hasher: “I came way too early.” [Editor’s note: this was immediately followed by “Wait! I mean, I ARRIVED way to soon. ARRIVED… you’re going to put that in the Trash, aren’t you?” Yes. Yes I am.]
Harriette: “I don’t want Winkie’s balls on my phone!”
On On,
Rash
Filed Under Trash |
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