The smoking ban in Philly makes me laugh at times.  So patrons are not allowed to smoke inside and so what do they do?  They stand in front of the doors to an establishment, sometimes holding the doors open with a foot or by leaning against them and fill the air around the entrance/exit with their discarded carcinogenic smoke.  I guess they feel that by touching an establishment’s door, they somehow feel as if they’re still inside and as such, the smoking ban doesn’t really exist?  Who knows?  As Sloppy Ho and I approached Cavanaugh’s this night, we were greeted at the door, by three 20-something men, providing their own human smoke barricade.  We walked through the smoke curtain at the doors of Cavanaugh’s to find a growing mob happily partaking in liquid barley and hops refreshments.

 

Who came:

Before I could really see who all was in attendance, and before I could put my dry bag down, hands with money in them were being thrust in my direction. Geez, give a girl a moment to say hello and put her things down. I put my backpack down and begin taking care of business.

 

Before I realized it, and before I even had the opportunity to draw a straw, Hold the Sausage informed me that the hares were headed out. Another hasher asked who the hare was to which HTS replied, “Just Chris but (Son of a) Goat Fucker went with him.” I think I heard someone softly groan. Son of a Goat Fucker is typically an FRB so the hasher was probably thinking it was going to be a long trail. They had no idea.

 

Returning my attention to hash cash and the mob at large, Mayor Quimby approached with our once clap infested Stan. Quimby filled me in on Stan’s travels to Germany and France and her experience at his family reunion. Thanks to Quimby’s niece, Stan no longer sports the “Treasure Jones” tattoo on the back of her head/neck.

 

Sloppy called for the mob to circle up and so after a bit of scrambling to stow gear, we ventured outside. In the light of early evening, I noticed something that I had failed to see in the dim lighting of Cavanaugh’s: Quimby was sporting a black eye! I immediately thought, “wow, did he rough up a belligerent passenger?” No, it wasn’t anything exciting like that; he was apparently scraping with his niece at their family reunion.

 

The virgins were brought into the circle and it turns out that Just Alice brought a hat trick of male virgins! Go Alice!

 

We were off! The mob headed down 40^th Street and took a right on Walnut. The corner of 41^st and Walnut yielded our first False. We headed back around and down Walnut. We headed into Penn’s campus and hit another False over on Spruce Street. By this point, the mob was already beginning to break up into two groups…the FRB’s and the rest of us.

 

At one point, we ran along a pond surrounded by trees and park benches and a few ducks and I heard Quimby ask, “Is it me or is the hash getting faster?” He could be onto somethign. With that, I stopped to walk so I could momentarily enjoy the environment that I was in; people sat on the park benches enjoying the little oasis tucked into West Philly.

 

I came out of the trees and ran down onto University Ave. and then took a left onto Civic Center Blvd. The mob winded down and part of the mob took a left onto Osler St.  After several minutes, 2 Clump Chump ran back towards us, informing us it was another False.

 

We headed out to 33^rd St. and took a right onto South St.and over the South St. Bridge.  By this point the mob had broken up into 3 distinct packs. As we headed over the bridge and then waited to cross onto 27^th street, Softcore Analyst and myself watched an old maroon Oldsmobile proceed to perform a 3-point turn on the bridge. We just looked at one another, shrugged and proceeded on.

 

The thinning mob hashed through the Markward Playground and along the dog park and down to the Schuylkill Park. The Comcast IFC Film Festival was in high gear and the film playing this night was “Napoleon Dynamite.”  We stopped at the entrance to the park and hoped the trail led us in. Woo-hoo!  Break out the popcorn!  Yea, no such luck. The trail led around and up Locust St. We made a left onto 23^rd St. and kept going.

 

As we closed in on Samson St., and like the gravitational pull of the Sun, I felt myself being pulled towards Bonner’s. “Like a siren she calls to me.” I crossed over Samson St. in pursuit of Softcore and heard behind me, Quimby and Just Alice state they were headed to Bonner’s for an impromptu beer check. I caught up with Softcore and informed him what was up. Impressed by their ingenious idea, we headed back around to Bonner’s. Those who dared: Over Easy, Just Uelena, Likes the Hard One, Rear Engineer, Just Alice, Mayor Quimby, Softcore Analyst and myself.

 

Just Alice treated the mob to a pitcher and we watched Earl on TV and listened to Quimby talk about his upcoming gig: “Bruceapolooza.”  When the pitcher was empty, we headed out. We laughed because when we went into Bonner’s it was still light but now it was dark.  We headed up to Walnut St. and made a direct line back to Cavanaugh’s.

 

As we reached 38^th St. we saw Beagle putting gear in his car. He informed me that the Gynocrats were looking for me because mob was growing restless since I had the hash cash and they were thirsty.

 

I joined Sloppy at the bar to take care of business. We were joined by a few unnamed hashers who have apparently made it their mission this year to whine, each week, about hash cash and beer.  A big chunk of hash cash later, we were downstairs with lots of pitchers and circle commenced.

 

Hare(s):            Just Chris

 

First In:            He’s a Lesbian

 

Last In:            Just Diane

 

Virgins:

 

Auto-hashers:

 

Cums Lately:

 

Accusations:

 

Announcements:

 

As for the rest of the night, discuss amongst yourselves. After circle was closed, I headed out. This night, I had places to go and non-hashers to see.

 

On, On!

Europee’n on Me

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