BFM #283: Bridge to Nowhere
I gotta be honest with you: nothing really interesting happened this particular evening so I have nothing to rant about. But, since I’ll be away from the hash for the next couple weeks, in part because I’m going to visit New Orleans, I’ll tell you a story instead. (For those of you who don’t know, I lived in New Orleans for a few years. For those of you who don’t care, hash trash starts at the next paragraph.) One night, a friend of mine decided to drag me out to Miss Mae’s, an unusual neighborhood bar because it was not anywhere near the French Quarter, but was open 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. (And was 3 blocks from my house.) So we show up, and there’s the assortment of grubby locals at the bar, and as I get my beer, I accidentally brush the shoulder of a guy sitting there. I apologize. Very slooowly, he turns on the bar stool, glares at me with his one good eye, and flatly says "I will never. Forgive you." then he sloooowly rotates back around to face the bar. Terrified, I chugged my Abita and got the hell out. Later, I heard this guy’s whole story and why he was so ornery. When he was born, in place of his bellybutton he had what looked like a flat, hard, almost metal scar with a line in it, like a flathead screw. For years it bothered him and he went to countless doctors to see what could be done about it, but no one was able to do anything for it. Then, on a trip to Haiti, he met a witch doctor. The witch doctor looked at his navel, then gave the man some sort of horrible drink and some instructions. That night, the man had a dream, just like the witch doctor said. He was walking through a empty town down the middle of the street. He turned left at the seventh street, then made the fifth right. There, on the corner, was a tree filled with balloons. He climbed to the seventh branch and popped the red balloon he found there. Inside was a golden screwdriver. He climbed down and using the screwdriver, unscrewed his bellybutton. Suddenly, he woke up. He immediately looked at his stomach and saw that the weird thing, screw-type-thing was gone! Elated, he leaped out of bed, and his ass fell off. He walked over to Miss Mae’s, sat down, and no one’s seen him get up from that bar stool since. True story.*
The bar this evening was the Irish Pol, which is the same location as the old St. Jack’s, otherwise known as "that bar that had the giant lady crotch picture upstairs" or, "that bar where we’d yell at the guys going to the ‘massage parlor’ from the balcony." Now the upstairs is limited to the weekends, so we made do with the downstairs, which was just fine. Showing up this evening were Hold the Sausage, Short Distance Rimmer, Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, 2 Clump Chump, S&M Man, Reginal Discharge, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Flounder, Cause for Blindness, I-69, Fruit of the Clue, Jingle Balzzz, The Rash, Rear Engineer, Son of a Goatf*cker, Target, Wild Bill, Grab My Handlebars, One Night Only, Post Anal Drip, and Just Julia. With such a small crowd, our Phallocentric Tyrant decided to rule by fiat and appoint the hare for the evening, the still-somewhat-newish I-69. Fruit of the Clue eagerly volunteered to help her, as it’s not often that he gets a girl alone with him willingly. The two tore off on their head start, while the rest of the Mob admired the huge selection of taps behind the bar until Hold the Sausage herded everyone outside for Chalk Talk. Scooby Snatch offered a uncharacteristically short Chalk Talk ("No one new? Ok, check it out!") and the Mob halfheartedly started wandering around. Part of the pack ran north, across Market Street, then lost trail, came back across Market Street, then someone thought they saw trail, yelled and the pack crossed Market Street AGAIN, then realized they were right the first time, and crossed back and found trail going south.
Pop quiz: You’re crossing the street just as the light’s changing. Someone yells On-On from behind you.
True or False: You should freeze like a squirrel on a highway in front of all the oncoming traffic
If you answered True, I’m looking forward to your Darwin Award ceremony. Seriously wankers, people from New Jersey come and drive over here. Get the hell out of the road. Anyway. The Mob continued to follow trail, which consisted of 4-5 oz of flour total, which was primarily used to mark checks and unmarked falses. The high point, though, was a beer check partway across the Ben Franklin Bridge, where all the female hashers admired the view, and all the males hashers took the opportunity to spit off of something high. Mr. Snuffleupamuff grabbed the bag of flour and took care of the arduous task of laying trail driectly back to the bar. The Mob casually strolled in behind him, and eagerly began Circle.
The Circle:
Hares: I-69, Fruit of the Clue, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Jingle Balzzz
Virgins: Just JD, via Grab My Handbars
First In/Last In: Cause for Blindness, Son of a Goatf*cker, Reginal Discharge, Just Julia
Comes Latelies: Pink and Puffy Rides the Huffy, Post Anal Drip, Just Julia, Wild Bill, Just Ed
Autohashers: Second Coming, Pink and Puffy, Just Ed, Nappy Headed Ho, Up Her Ali Just JD, One Inch In,
Accusations:
For coming all the way from Valley Forge to drink: Wild Bill
Racist Behavior: Scooby Snatch, Fire Down Under, Rear Engineer The Rash
Hat in circle: Wild Bill
For not marking falses: I-69, FOTC, Muff, Jungle Ballzzz
For being a closet racist: One Inch In
For posting the bar at the last possible minute: Rear Engineer
For eating a sausage in the circle: Short Distance Rimmer
Just Because: Second Coming
Birthday Side-side: I-69 (she’s finally 21 y’all!)
For package-enhacing shorts: Fruit of the Clue
And the Under the When One Hare Dirnks Rule: the rest of the hares
Fo having a kickstand: S&M Man
Whining on trail: Rear Engineer
Just Because: Just Ed
And because they hadn’t drunk in circle yet: Little Red Riding Wood, 2 Clump Chump, Cause, Post Anal Drip, etc
Late-breaking autohasher: Midnight Tranny to Georgia
Announcements:
Phillies Game,Muff Fest, Brew at the Zoo, Muff has On-On foot magnets ($3), and to judge from my writing, something about a "cowhide warning" (yeah, I don’t know)
On On,
The Rash
*Not a true story. If you can tell me the book and author I’ve plagiarized that from, you get a cookie. No cheating.
If you post your trash before the previous weeks, does that mean you get to pants her and steal her trash-writing privlidges, like if the hare is caught?
Dude, I totally linked to that sausage skirt pic back when we were triple secs. If I was super industrious I’d locate the particular trash. Let’s face it, I’m not. Oh, and Abita in a legal open container rocks…
i think that story is from ned ryerson’s autobiography
Where is the trash about me being a hare for the 1st time at BFM (re: 282)? I’m sad
….
Snap Off, it lives in my head, where all good trashes live. Be patient, I’m a busy woman. Maybe if you’re lucky it’ll come out to play.
We want a trash, not a fantasy involving leprechauns, Danny Glover, and General Tso’s Chicken…
Although that could be an entertaining trash as well…meh, whatever, I’m easily amused.
Yhoa, Rimmer — you’ve got some twsited fantasies yourself —- feel free to write it up, so we could all be easily amused
!
Don’t encourage him! This is the BFM trash, not Penthouse Forum.
Ooops (gulp) —- is too late to avert a disaster now?
Only if you smile and ask nicely