14 December 2006 – PHILADELPHIA: Ah, the holiday season is upon us. For some this means happy days filled with family, food, and presents. For others it means physically fighting over the alcohol supply in order to render oneself sufficiently tranquilized to deal with ten different relatives asking charmingly intrusive questions about one’s love life. (Because everyone obviously doesn’t get enough harassment of that nature on a weekly basis at the hash…) I am completely exploiting my trash duty now, using my responsibility to the BFM as an excuse to hide behind a laptop with a glass of wine. This also affords me the opportunity to more discreetly guffaw at the madness occurring in my midst: adult cousins sluggishly banging into furniture, senses dulled either by alcohol or tryptophan; younger family members calling each other repeatedly to test out the hip-hop ringtones on their new cell phones; the toddlers waddling around with more mashed potatoes on their clothing than on their plates; mother and aunt discussing the pros and cons of giblets in gravy — never a dull moment! For the BFM, the holiday season serves as an excuse to meet at cherished haunt Ray’s Happy Birthday Bar and behold the garish light display that turns South Philly into a virtual aircraft landing strip.    

 

I easily found a parking spot around the corner from the bar and entered the dim, smoky, welcoming refuge that is Ray’s to join Beagle, Big Tackle, Bumper Humper, Can You Hear Me Now?, Cunting Season, Europeen’ on Me, Fruit of the Clue, Just John, Just Kim, Just Michelle (Mrs. Robinson), Mayor Quimby, New Kid on the Cock, Pelvis Has Left the Building, Plastic Pud, Sly Fox, Stacks, Tickle My Elmo, Two Clump Chump, Up Her Alley, and Wing Nuts. Soon our hare-designate Little Red Riding Wood and her cohort Just Varanka returned to the bar, allowing the chalk talk to commence. The intrepid hounds easily sniffed out the trail and the pack launched on a swift course through the narrow, brightly lit alleyways of South Philadelphia. In the rare event that the marks were not readily visible, the mob simply chose the direction with the most holiday lights and were always rewarded with true trail. Eventually, a faint BN on the sidewalk ushered the pack into a small bar (the name escapes me now) for a much appreciated beer check. The sweaty, overheated hashers were actually steaming in the chilly night air as they cooled down outdoors before entering the bar. At this point the mob’s size increased as Holy F*ck, E=MyCock², and Strap On appeared, seemingly out of nowhere. 

 

Many refreshing pints savored, the mob was ready to continue the tour of glowing lights and tasteful holiday decorations. One particularly tasteful, albeit slightly deflated, decoration looked disturbingly like Mickey Mouse sodomizing Pluto. I don’t think anyone else noticed that one. Or perhaps nobody else interpreted it in quite the same family friendly manner. After many more meandering blocks and one wrong turn down a cul-de-sac, the mob finally returned to Ray’s.   Several more hashers had sidled up to the bar in anticipation of the mob’s return, Cousin It, SheMan, Skin Fiddle, and Sloppy Ho among them. Ray’s amiable bartender, Free Beer Today, began fortifying the mob with beer, which always proves to be a tricky task as the bar owns a whopping three pitchers and the BFM possesses an unquenchable thirst. The hashers received a warning from Free Beer Today that a jazz band would be setting up soon, prompting the conscientious to scramble for beer. He also informed us that a correspondent from the newspaper was present, prompting the shameless to prattle and preen for photographs and quotes. Once everyone had a glass (apparently plastic cups of beer are taboo at Ray’s) and adequate artillery of beer was amassed, lieutenant RA Skin Fiddle started the circle.

 

 

Virgin Pimp, Cunting Season, and Europeen’ on Me (who enjoyed an instant replay down down for headgear in the circle)

 

Bumper Humper and Wingnuts

 

Skin Fiddle and Sloppy Ho

Now because Ray’s Thursday night jazz band chose to inconvenience the BFM with its presence, the circle was completed at warp speed and accusations were omitted. Being your ever faithful and eternally dedicated on sec, I elected to spend the rest of the evening fabricating, er, chronicling the events which would have been designated as accusations. They’re all at least based on the truth; consider this my holiday gift to you….enjoy!

 

Wing Nuts – for getting lost on trail

 

Beagle – for tripping over trash can lids on trail

 

Fruit of the Clue – for yet another selection from his extensive collection of ugly pants

 

Pelvis – for her “festive” handmade holiday sweater

 

Just Varanka – for sporting a r*cing shirt on trail

 

Stacks – for overachieving by running the Las Vegas half marathon

 

Can You Hear Me Now? – for underachieving and not running the Las Vegas half marathon

 

Pelvis, Mayor Quimby, Skin Fiddle, and Wing Nuts – for being media whores

 

Fruit of the Clue – for having a cheat sheet of hash songs

 

Wing Nuts – for getting lost on the way to the second bar (it was about a block away)

 

Virgin Pimp – for molesting the Grinch

 

Beagle – for tenderly massaging Virgin Pimp’s crotch

 

 

HTS: I have a device for that.

 

 

Elmo: My eyelashes are luxurious.

 

 

Local: I’ve never seen so many runners in South Philly before!

 

 

Elmo: Who stole my beer?!

HTS: You’re holding your beer.

 

 

Fruit of the Clue: It’s like going for years without sex.

HTS: I don’t know what that’s like.

 

 

Little Red: There was that bitch that washed away my trail!

 

 

Virgin Pimp: Magnets are fun. So is electricity!

Virgin Pimp: No power of persuasion is involved when drunk women say, “Take me home!”

Virgin Pimp: I get more action in the trash than I get all year!

Virgin Pimp: I remember she unbuttoned my pants for some reason and I remember Elmo took a picture.

 

 

SheMan: I’m not f*cking weird!

 

 

Mayor Quimby: Two Clump Chump is better than me!

 

 

Better late than never. Happy Holidays everyone – see you next year!

 

 

 

On On,

 

 

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