BFM # 231, THE BRITISH ARE COMING, THE BRITISH ARE CUMMING!
Posted on July 28, 2008
Every so often the Ben Franklin Mob plays host to a variety of miscreants from around the world, who make our colorful allotment of wankers and closet sociopaths look well adjusted. Some are not so innocent bystanders who are attracted by the bawdy songs and sweaty running fools who decide to drink near them. Others find us on the Internet and then join us to shower us with emails, spam and Youtube clips. Some are even former cops who once almost locked up a bunch of dumbasses who attracted their attention by spreading flour in a big white X in front of police (in riot gear, no less) a few blocks away from the riots at the Republican convention.
The virgins to our hash usually come in onesies and twosies, and some can be quite frightening. Take, for instance the one virgin who showed up and actually KNEW all the words to “The S&M Man,” Others have shown up and never come back. Remember Just Dave? But I don’t think we have ever had almost TWENTY virgins all show up at once, have we? And certainly not almost twenty British Paratroopers.
How did all this come about? Sit down, dear readers and rest your feet, this shall take a while. As most know, I have an annoying habit of periodically dressing like gravel, shaving my head and living with men. (I used to dress like a tree but they changed our uniforms). Well my reserve unit played host to a week of jumping out of perfectly good airplanes with members of the British Army’s 4th Parachute Battalion, henceforth known as 4th Para. Their regimental sergeant major, Just Curt, and I decided over some beers that it would be a really neato keen idea if we brought a couple of the chaps out to Philadelphia for a night. They had been cooped up at Ft Dix all week had never seen our fair city. I mean, what’s the harm, right?
So we convoyed out to Druid’s keep in a set of rental cars, and made it there in one piece. As we all walked into the bar, I saw Up Her Ali look at me dumbfounded. Here were all these guys, in shape, each one wearing black shorts and a black T-shirt with the 4th Para logo on it, and who were looking for two things, beer, and women, and not necessarily in that order.
Fiber Opdick, who not only has a habit of hurling himself out of aircraft in flight, looked at me and said, “You son of a bitch”. He had wanted to join us jumping, but alas has never been jumpmaster qualified and couldn’t get orders, so it was like me rubbing his nose in it. He needn’t have worried, though since I had slammed in earlier on Tuesday and was too injured to run. (See BFM # 217 for a description of how I usually do a Parachute Landing Fall).
Interestingly enough, most of the single women of the BFM were conspicuous by their absence. It was eerie, like when you see deer all over all year round and then they all vanish when hunting season starts… hmmmm.
WHO DID SHOW:
RAIDR, Junkyard, Just Stephanie, S&M Man, Big Tackle, Can You Hear Me Now, Cause For Blindness, Cleavage To Beaver, Cousin It, Fiber Opdick, Flounder, Jingle Balzzz, Lick Hymen, Little Red Riding Wood, He’s A Lesbian, Rear Engineer, Scooby Snatch, Subcuntinent, The Rash, Mayor Quimby, Two Clump Chump, Up Her Ali, Working Girl, Three Balls, Just Adriana, Deadwood, Yeast of Burden, Soft Core Anaylst, Just Mike, Just Tom, Where’s My Vagina, Just Joner, and Just 4th Para (consisting of Just Curt, Just Tim #1, Just Eddy #1, Just Tim #2, Just Mo, Just Paul, Just Quiz, Just Rob, Just Steve #1, Just Steve #2, Just Matt, Just Paul, Just Joe, Just Steve #3, Just Chris, Just Grant, Just John, Just Eddy #2, Just Shep, and Just Stewart).
Those of our female hashers who did show up had various reactions, from Subcuntinent grinning wildly (but she does that all the time), to Cleavage to Beaver periodically yelling “Fuck!” to Cause drooling to Rash walking in and shaking her fist up and down saying “YES!!!” The only one who didn’t seem phased was Little Red Riding Wood who nodded, grabbed a beer downed it and started screaming at the top of her lungs to get out for chalk talk.
Rash and Big Tackle volunteered to take everyone on a little run so that our visiting virgins could see our fair city.
THE TRAIL:
Since I was auto hashing I had to rely on Soft Core Analyst’s tardy notes, and word of mouth to how the trail went. Apparently, our Co-hares decided to start out deceptively light, and ran the pack straight to Drinkers down on Market Street. The mob and Brits were quite obliging, and then the hares went out and RAN THEIR DICKS INTO THE DIRT, and took them all the way from one river to the other, by way of South Street. Then, after that, took their happy asses back again and this time up to SubCuntinent’s parking lot for a margarita check.
Our cousins from across the pond had no choice, since they didn’t know where the hell they were, but to follow trail to its very end. The poor sods. When told them the basic concept of the hash, they assumed it would be running from bar to bar. And we HAVE been known to do that, haven’t we? OK, so I may have neglected to emphasize the running part, but they are young and in shape, they’ll get used to it. Oh and how funny is it that Brits created hashing and only ONE of the blokes from 4th Para had even heard of it?
Meanwhile I had limped my way to the margarita check, and stood there, dumbfounded as Subby and Just Joner ran up grinning like maniacs, ahead of the hares. Um. Ok, nice job. Then Rash ran up giggling maniacally, with a huffing and puffing Big Tackle following.
A few minutes later the first of the mob came in, with the 4th Para dudes leading. They looked smoked. And I swear if it wasn’t for my owwie I would have joined them. Really, I would have. Misery loves company. Mayor Quimby ran up and stared death at me. “I’ll fucking kill you” he hissed between gasps for air. Me? What did I do? I wasn’t the hare. Now, Quimby had also worked all day and took part in a work softball game before hand. At least he showed up in a baseball uniform, so I doubt he would just wear such a thing lounging around. But then again, we are talking Quimby here…
The mob then decided that they had had enough fun and headed back to Druid’s Keep. Now I forgot to mention that half of our cousins were a little nervous about going into an Irish bar of any sort in the city, since the Paras were indirectly kind of the inspiration for U2’s Sunday Bloody Sunday, but I assured them that the average Yank thought the song had something to do with Martin Luther King. Hell, half of us Irish Americans can’t even find Ireland on the map, let alone remember an event that happened in Derry in 1972.
Finally Little Red Riding Wood (The paras were calling her “The Ginger Ninja”) started bellowing for us all to form a….
CIRCLE:
HARES: The Rash and Big Tackle
VIRGINS: Just 4th Para, Just Joner, He’s A Lesbian made them all come.
VISITORS: Just Mike (NOLA H3), Deadwood & Yeast of Burden (Hockessin H3, seriously do these two even count as visitors anymore? Can’t we get them a green card or something?)
FIRST IN/ LAST IN: Just Shep/ Cause for Blindness
AUTO HASHERS: He’s A Lesbian, Can You Hear Me Now,
CUMS LATELYS: Where’s My Vagina, Fiber Opdick
ACCUSATIONS:
Just Curt for racing Can You Hear Me Now (Who I am guessing was riding his bike) and Just Stewart for the “when one sergeant major drinks” rule
Cleavage to Beaver for walking the trail and then running the last 100 feet.
Just Justin for tech on trail
Jingle Balzzz for riding his bike to Germantown
Just Stewart and Just Adriana for canoodling in circle and Just Curt for the “When one sergeant major drinks” rule.
Just ___ (he later asked not to be named)for having short shorts (which he quickly dropped to his ankles, not just once, or twice but three times, which prompted a cheer from the lady hashers as he started shaking his money-maker)
ANNOUNCEMENTS:
Bruceapalooza Check www.bruceapalooza.com
Cousin It’s Tailgate extravaganza
Aug 8th, Philly Full Moon,
With that the circle closed.
Afterwards there were more extracurricular activities including an impromptu boat race in between the Brits and the Yanks in which two teams sat on their asses like a boat. The stern drinks first and each one follows until they are done. I’m happy to report that the former colonists won. Although it might not be proud to announce that we are bigger lushes than our visiting virgins.
In the meantime we also noticed a nice little meeting of the minds between Just Adriana and Just Stewart, who were comparing notes. Now I don’t want to say that Just Stewart is old, but he told me that he had been to Philly before, looking for some insurgent leader named Washington. Anyone who witnessed the event please think up names, as I feel that Just Adriana is now ripe for a naming!
The bewitching hour fast approached and we needed to get these blokes home since a bunch of them had to hurl themselves out of a helicopter the next day. Yeah, right, it was like herding cats. Paras scattered to the four winds, We had to peel Cause off of one, and four others, gathered around Rash like panting hyenas, waved me away. And I don’t know what else happened but Just Stephanie came up to me, spun me around and looking deep into my eyes, whispered, “Thank you so much for bringing them.”
We took them off to Genos, where I got to witness two Brits and a Scot, all piss-drunk order cheeseteaks in front of the sign that says, “Speak English” It was really funny, trust me.
And what happened to everyone else? On our way home, I got a txt message from Rash, asking “How much is a cab to Fort Dix?” which caused peels of laughter to erupt in my car. “Big Boy Rules!” Just Curt laughed. Apparently our four Rash-courters spilled into a cab, told the Bangladeshi driver (who’d been in the US about a week) to take them to Fort Dix and all passed out inside the cab, causing the poor guy to drive them all over South Jersey before waking them up outside the gate and demanding $160.00
Nice.
OVERHEARD AT THE HASH:
“I want someone to touch my fanny and not my American Fanny!” Cause
“I thought that was your dick size or your IQ but you couldn’t make up your mind” –unk British Hasher
On On, YFF
He’s A Lesbian
Filed Under Trash |
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1. The trail was roughly 5 1/4 - 5 1/2 miles long.
2. Mayor Quimby is still a big whiner.