BFM #127 - All The News That Fits, We Print
Posted on July 27, 2006
27 July 2006 – PHILADELPHIA: So I was going to put on my bitchpants and start this trash out with a rant about my recent flight to Montreal, but when I sobered up this morning, I realized I had TEN (count them! I know you won’t!) pages of barely-legible, beer-scented notes from the hash. So y’all are going to have to ask me in person just how I feel about the woman in the seat next to me who felt that there was a perfectly acceptable place to change her kid’s diaper, as opposed to the bathroom fifteen feet away. Wench. I hope this is her next flight.
Anyway.
So the hash this week met up at Paddy’s, the site of BFM hash #1 in Olde City. Collecting at the bar were Stacks, Dances With Bum’s Urine, Hold the Sausage, Just Jen, the rarely-seen but really drunk Lake Flaccid along with the also-rarely-seen but far more sober Just Julie. Also: Ass: The Other Vagina (allegedly his new hash name is “T’Ain’t Me”, but I’m having none of that) with his lovely wife Insane in the Membrane, E=MyCock2 along with his lovely wife Strap On, Scooby Snatch along with his lovely wife Tickle My Elmo, and Little Fuckin’ Winkie along with the ugliest hat in the free world. And Rash, Cunting Season, Just Craig, He’s a Lesbian, STD, Sly Fox, Just Jeanne, Immaculate Conception (known casually as “Holy Fuck”), Self Service, Can You Hear Me Now?, Cause for Blindness, Just Steve, Little Red Riding Wood, Just Jeremy, and Just Matt.
As the ominous clouds gathered over the bar, straws were drawn and the lucky hare was Just Jeanne. Immaculate Conception volunteered to help her out, and they scampered off into the torrential downpour that started moments later. Minutes after, the Mob filed out the bar to stand against a metal wall during a lightning storm (bright, we’re not) while Scooby Snatch gave the chalk talk, which helpfully consisted of a welcome and no instructions whatsoever. So the Mob was off and running to find trail. I believe the total number of marks I personally saw was two. Just Matt told me he saw none whatsoever, but the few FRBs were able to discern trail that led through a side street to the Church of St. Augustine (my personal favorite saint) then off back towards the city, under 676, through a park kind of area, then over that weird kite monument by the Ben Franklin Bridge. It was at this point where I got to overhear the following conversation:
Lake Flaccid: Who DOESN’T like a finger in the butthole?
Just Julie: I do not like a finger in the butthole, either giving or receiving.
Dances With Bum’s Urine: I am against putting my finger in another man’s butthole.
Now, given the Mob’s fascination with the ass (read about it here, here, and oh, yeah, here. and here.) I’d like to take a poll. Send your answers to the question “Who doesn’t like a finger in the butthole?” to me, and I’ll write them up in my next trash. I’ll probably even keep you confidential, unless it’s really funny.
Anyway, back on trail the Mob finally caught up with the hares who were trying to buy more flour to complete trail. After a brief conference about what do on the corner of Market and 8th, Scooby suggested an impromptu beer check at the pleasantly divey Locust Bar. The Mob promptly descended on the Locust Bar, bought pitchers, drank them, then ran back to Paddy’s.
Back at the bar, pitchers were bought, and autohashers began trickling in: Just Bruce inexplicably wearing a tie, Oral Oh! back and tanned from Cuntanamo Bay’s wedding (congratulations!) in Hawaii, Tickle My Elmo, Fruit of the Clue, and Cousin It. The Mob started drinking and wringing itself out in preparation for the circle. Winkie elected to parade around with his shirt off again, prompting the following outburst from E:
E: Put a bra on! Or a bikini top! Something! You’re giving Lesbian wood!
[Winkie puts on the ugliest hat in the world, still no shirt]
E: Dude, you look like a fuckin’ farmer! Who let the hick in the bar? Your tractor’s double-parked!
Finally the circle started up, in spite of the bar’s attempts to drown out our crappy singing with their even crappier loud music. Violations are as follows:
Hares: Just Jeanne, Immaculate Conception, Scooby Snatch
Virgin: Just Jeremy, CYHMN? made him come
First In: Just Julie
Last In: Cause for Blindness
Hashus Interruptus: Just Bruce, Dances with Bum’s Urine, Lake Flaccid, Just Julie
Hat violation: Bum’s Urine
Autohashers: Tickle My Elmo, Cousin It, Just Bruce
Hat violation: Cousin It
And then! There was not ONE naming, but TWO! Intrepid co-hare of the evening Just Jeanne was hauled into the middle of the circle and a bunch of names involving horses, Europe, and rubber gloves were suggested, but she was finally christened: Europe’n On Me.
Just Steve was next to be summarily hauled into the circle and questions about his job, his predilection for farm animals, and his gender reassignment surgery were hurled at him. Turns out he’s an engineer, and was thus named: Rear Engineer.
Congratulations, YFFs!
But the circle was STILL not over. The following were accused:
Lake Flaccid, for canoodling with Just Julie in the circle
Elmo and Cunting Season under the “When one GM drinks rule”, though I have no idea why
Lake Flaccid again, for begin both a giver and receiver
Fruit of the Clue, for planehashing, along with Just Bruce and He’s A Lesbian under the “When one person involved with an airplane drinks” rule, and You’re A Peein’ On Me, under the “When one European drinks” rule
Finally announcements were made and the circle was closed, and briefly reopened later to make the BFM founding wankers drink, but I wasn’t paying attention at that point, so whatever. But I do need to mention that the very intrepid Just Jeremy and Little Red Riding Wood managed to turn the deafening music off long enough to let us circle using a brilliant tactical combination of bribery (him) and sheer charm and knowledge of Roman history (her). Awesome!
Announcements:
August 5th – Just Bruce’s 3rd Annual Bruce-apalooza – 5908 Cedarcroft, May’s Landing. RSVP to 732-644-8070, and to verify the address because I can’t read my handwriting. Lots of food, music, booze, etc.
August 12th – Mexican themed Phillies Tailgate! Margaritas! Corona! Contact Cousin It to go!
Overheard at the Hash
Lake Flaccid: [Holding up shorts] Watch me change?
Harriette: No.
Rash: AND, I’m knocked up.
Oral Oh!: You’re going to have to drink for that!
CYHMN?: …and then we went to Delilah’s.
Hasher: It’s only because Scooby made out with him.
Immaculate Conception: …and spread’em!
Just Craig: See? It’s a family establishment. She’s pregnant.
Just Steve: It’s like a hot box back here.
Lake Flaccid: Hot Box! Yes! He just named himself!
Rash: You’re a horse fucker?
He’s a Lesbian: No, I’m a corpse fucker.
Rash: Nice.
Little Fuckin Winkie: And if a girl I was fucking forgot my name, I’d come in her eye and make it sting. And then I’d stick my fist up her ass and use her like a puppet. [Proceeds to mimic a hand puppet with a high-pitched voice] [Editor’s Note: I put my full beer down for 10 seconds to transcribe this and someone took it. So you better have enjoyed that quote.]
On On,
Filed Under Trash |
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