Why am I writing the trash?

            Well, let me tell you this sad and sordid tale. I arrived early (Sin #1) at T Hogan’s, a little dive bar in Manayunk that features, of all things, free Wifi (who the hell is gonna surf the internet while getting sloshed?) as well as $6.00 pitchers. Now if you do the math, even allowing for a dollar tip per serving, this means that under the current hash cash standards this equals roughly a pitcher per hasher. By this arithmetic, it means things could get ugly and they did.

            Now I had shown up with the intention of finding out where Stan had gone and who stole the little slut out of my backpack. Wanna have fun? Try explaining to a co-worker that someone had stolen your Dora the Explorer doll, out of your army backpack, at a gay bar, while you were busy watching a tranny-show.

            Now, where was I? Oh yeah, I was explaining why I was doing the trash. While I was sitting in there, minding my own business and chatting with Soft Core Analyst, and having a serious discussion on the benefits of an iphone and free Wifi in a bar, two transplants from Every Day Is Wednsday (Just John and Just Mike, it took me a few hours to tell the two apart) showed up and wondered where everybody was. Just then, our fearless leader, Hold The Sausage scampered in, made a beeline towards my perch and, smiling a big toothy grin, unceremoniously thrust a bag of flower into my hands and gleefully told me I would be the acting GM, RA and On Sec for the evening. The following conversation ensued as I enthusiastically took charge of my responsibilities:

            “What the fuck? Why me?!”

            “There’s no one else you dumb shit.” Neglecting the fact that SCA was right there next to us. 

Sausage then went on to explain that no one else in mismanagement would be there since. A. She was gong to play hockey, B Sloppy was teaching homeless children to read, B. Holy Fuck and Europeen on Me were out socializing. C. Scooby was in a Turkish prison for trying to help the Peshmerga (my notes may have gotten confused with the Drudge Report, Damn Iphone sync problems), and everyone and anyone else of any importance was playing hockey down the street.. Hockey on a hash night! WTF! I can understand missing a hash because of other obligations, military commitments, death in the family, hangovers, getting laid, nuclear winter, but a hockey game? Hell it’s not like they are any good. Besides hockey isn’t even a sport, because Canadians are good at it. (George Carlin’s rules).

None of this would have happened while Winkie was here. He was the glue who held us together, who knew?

Now I am so far down on the hash food chain, it was comparable to the director of FEMA being made President. And, while our GM’s rule may have been compared to the Bush administration, I was bound and determined not to have the hash look like post Katrina New Orleans. In fact it turned out worse.

Anyway, as I attempted to break a small straw, we decided that we would just choose the next person who schlepped in. Wunderkind S&M Man was the lucky winner. At least he actually knew the area. SCA was volunteered to help him lay trail. Sausage let them know where the rest of the hash would be playing hockey and she thought it was a great idea to have him lay the trail next to the game, and to crash their bar for a beer check. In true hasher tradition, my suggestion was for him to lay the trail THROUGH the flippin game. Off S&M man eagerly went, returning a few seconds later to ask, “Hey where am I going again?”

In the meantime our Kazakhstan connection; Snap Off and her man toy, Wizard wandered in with their virgin Just Natasha (Moose and Squirrel made her come. I will keep telling that joke until someone laughs). Snap Off had discovered a bubble maker and was blowing bubbles all over the bar. It was cute really, like when you give a three year old a loaded gun. So after a while we realized that we would actually have a small hash.

Here’s who actually ran the trail. Soft Core Analyst, He’s A Lesbian, 3 balls, Just Mike, Just John, Snap Off, Wizard, Just Natasha, Cousin It, Virgin Pimp, S&M Man. That’s it,

I went outside and gave a quick chalk talk, damn near rupturing myself trying to mimic Sloppy’s patented kick. After I got done trying to explain the trail and listening to Snap Off translate it to Just Natasha (she pointed to me, said something in Kazakstanian, and made Just Natasha laugh, it HAD to be an explanation of the symbols, sure it was), away we went.

 

THE TRAIL

 

The two transplants revealed themselves to be FRBs and they quickly found the first of the 2,546 false trails that S&M Man and SCA left for us. The trail went down to the train station and down to Main St and into Manayunk.

Let me just comment on the trail. These two sadistic pricks had a false at EVERY check. Nothing like running uphill (and the hills in Manayunk go straight up and down) for about 300 meters, reaching the crest, panting and puking up cheap beer only to see an “F” waiting.

Bastards.

The trail wound its way down Main Street up to the hockey rink where the infamous Moose Knuckles were playing hockey (I guess Camel Toes was already taken?). I saw that S&M man had laid the trail perfectly according to plan and sure enough there was a dob of flower in the center of the court. As I ran up, I saw Strap On, and E=MC2 who screamed at me, “Don’t go in unless you have a stick!”

So I jumped in.

Now, Everyone and I mean EVERYONE cursed at me. Wow, they were PISSED! Two guys came running up to me brandishing hockey sticks and it looked like they were going to kick my ass, so I jumped back across, while a few people made comments about my mother.

Think of the irony of this: Here, on a normal night, there is no problem with taking the trail through 30^th St Station, the Concourse, Drexel Univ’s main building, Independence Hall, City Hall, the US Mint, St paddy’s Day Parade, or anywhere else. But, the hockey-hashers went apoplectic when it looked like someone would run through their game. It’s not like they were winning!

Anyway, now that I have pissed off everyone with my comments, back to the trail. I followed it up to the bar, where a very forlorn S&M Man stood outside with a “What do I do now?” look stating that he wasn’t allowed in without ID. Now in all defense to the bouncer, S&M man does look like he’s 12. I mean 3 Balls and I were allowed in with no problem. This was probably because both of us look like we belong in the Creepy-Old-Man-in-the-Club gang. Either way the beer check turned into a False Beer check.

We decided to wait to tell everyone, but we were missing a few. The Kazakhstan girls had discovered a Spice Shop across the street and drug poor wizard I there with them while they had a Spice Check. Veryyyyy NIiiiiiiiiccceee.

S&M Man then told me he had run out of flower. As I was about to suggest he use a rock to mark the trail, he quickly scribbled ON IN on the sidewalk (pretty young girl walking by- “What the hell is that for?”), and away we went back to the bar. 

 

CIRCLE

Once we got in, we bought our pitchers and opened the circle. Again, I suffered a groin pull trying to kick and the following was noted:

HARES: S&M Man, Soft Core Analyst

FIRST IN/LAST IN; Just John, Cousin It

VIRGIN: Just Natasha (Wizard and Snap Off made her come)

COMES LATELYS: 3 Balls and Cousin It

AUTO HASHERS: No one, they all had driven away to the hockey game. Bastards

VIOLATIONS:

WIZARD: having cheese fries delivered to him in the circle and not sharing

SNAP OFF: for not knowing why this was a violation, and JUST NATASHA for the “when one person from Kazakhstan drinks” rule.

That was it, as far as I could see. So the circle was closed for the first time. I breathed a sigh of relief for almost making it through my first stint as an acting RA.

Then the Hockey Hashers arrived.

 

CIRCLE 2.

 

HOCKEY HASHERS: E=MC2, The Rash, Up Her Ali, The Horse Whacker, Jingle Balls, 2 Clump, Rear Engineer, Holt the Sausage, Fire Down Under, and Tickle My Elmo. 

 

E attempted to claim that since they were technically on trail, they didn’t have to drink. Now I’m sorry but being on trail and having the trail go through your event is not the same. That’s like a Mexican saying he’s an American because some drunken gringos staggered into his Tijuana Donkey Show. Drink up.

 

The circle was re reopened again for announcements, about Festivus, and the AGM for the Philly hash, as well as some other thing, but here’s where my notes get fuzzy. More beers were ordered and the hash descended into typical post circle activity which included drinking, dart playing, cock blocking, pool playing, gossiping, goat slaying, staggering and general debauchery.

 

OVERHEARD AT THE HASH

“I had a dream I owned a bar with monkeys”

“Don’t tell me that, I am scared to death of monkeys”

                                    -E=MC2 conversing with HTS

 

“What the fuck are you doing?”

“It smells like my right hand in there.”

                                    -2 unk hashers.

 

“Oddly enough, men have a flossila that allows them to talk out their ass.”

                                    -Rash

 

“It was bad that I was with my gynecologist and he asked me “What the fuck is THAT?””

                                    -Rash (sharing WAY too much)

 

“To me sweat pants with elastic ankles are FAAAAABULOUS!”

                                    -Hold the Sausage

 

“I’ll On On this stick up your fucking ass!”

                                    -Unk hockey player to He’s A Lesbian

 

 

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