BFM 280
Reginal Discharge and I made our way over the Hash at Cherry Street Tavern via our bicycles from the great northwest section of the city. It was a beautiful, sunny and mild evening and you could tell the fourth of July weekend started early. Everyone was out in force. The roller-bladers, the dad’s pushing strollers, the ladies walking four wide on the River Path. And don’t forget the pack of shirtless college boys that caused Reginal to make odd noises. I scanned this topless pack in search of Short Distance Rimmer, but it turned out he was already at the bar waiting for the Mob to gather.
Who did not come: Beefcake Strokenoff, Can You Hear Me Now, Jungle Ballzz, Strap On, He’s A Lesbian, Little Red Riding Wood, Goes Down Often, Where’s My Vag!na, Heave Ho, Cunting Season, Wonder Blow, Nappy Headed Ho, Piss Cycle, One Inch In, Deep Discunt, Post Anal Drip, Tickle My Elmo, Flounder, Mayer Quimby, Well Hung Jury, Sloppy Ass Kisser and European’ On Me.
Rear Engineer handed out the straws to the hashers that did come. The winner was AssVentura. His “partner” Silence Of The Clams stuck by his side and the two headed out the door in a presumable panic. The trail serpentined its way through Center City West in what was a surprisingly well laid trail. There were several strategic false trails, some circle jerks and wild checks in the middle of the parkway. It’s summer time and the fountains are in their full glory with lovers standing ankle deep, posing for photos. The sidewalk café guests were full of wonderment of this motley group running past. The shop owners were concerned of the abundant piles of white matter at their doorsteps. Not too hot and just the right temperature to work up a pleasant thirst for a cool beverage. But there was none to be found. Apparently the hare could hear the harriers at his heals. In a fearful fit of energy, he put on the after burners, left his cohere, and hightailed it back to the Cherry Street Tavern. Silence Of The Clams was still out there making her way over to what would have been a beer-check. She almost arrived back DFL. But that honor went to Rear Engineer. The FRB was Working Girl, who screamed past me in a blur streak as if he was a fighter jet chasing the Statue-buzzing Air Force One. The “blue” in the streak was his blue Liverstrong jersey he acquired while hashing in Honolulu a few weeks back. With working Girl’s five minute miles, we may need to insist that he hash all trails in pumps.
We had four visitors from places like Carolina Trash, Lehigh Valley Hash We now have a transplant, One Eyed Semen, from Portland Maine, that’s MAINE you half-minded swashbucklers. We also had a v!rgin brought out by Second Coming. I don’t recall the v!rgin’s name, but if you really want to stalk him, he rides his bike from Lansdowne to Paoli every day to work.
The circle consisted of many lame accusations followed by the naming of Just Rachel. Down on the floor she was forced to kneel, but first a napkin was gently placed so that she may kneel on her oozing knee. Just Rachel was still suffering from a bicycle accident the previous week. We marveled how she managed to scrape only the outsides of the knees.
It brought back thoughts of the mugging of Pelvis Has Left The Building as she rode her bike through the streets. Hope you are okay out there Pelvis, wherever you are!
Just Rachel informed the captive Mob that her knees were purposely oozing, as she had spread some kind of lubricant on them to assist in healing. As she kneeled there before the Phalocentric Tyranny, interrogation toke place and we discovered that she 1. likes it on top, 2. owns several lengths of leather whips, and 3. prefers to blindfold her men. That being said, some names were tossed around carelessly. There was one name about sausages and goats, but I couldn’t read my handwriting that night – and I still can’t. Another names tossed out was Sausage Wallet. (I can’t believe I haven’t heard that term before.) A shrill voice yelled out Daddy’s Little Drunk. Also introduced were Little Stiffy, Nice Areolas, Grab My Handle Bars, and Moist On Purpose. After some "we’re not voting" it was narrowed down to Grab My Handlebars and Moist On Purpose. And so by the power of Grayskull, our goal-oriented GM named her Grab My Handlebars, referring to her kneeling and pigtails that she has previously worn her hair in. So, Just Rachel, if you ever have a security back-ground check and they ask if you go by an alias, you must declare, Grab My Handlebars.
Due to the bright lights and the presence of Bonner’s near by, the crowd quickly dispersed. A few of us went to Liberty Tavern at Market and 23rd for some pints and food. With signs on either side of the tavern that read Live Nu-de G!rls, the group decided to explore the seedy depths down below, err, surprisingly, upstairs. Giggling, we paid our $5 cover and were lead into an empty room smaller than my bedroom. It had a pole, a stage and 4 folding chairs for us to sit in. Perfect! That is, until the women came out. I was tipping them just because I felt so bad for their looks. And what was up with the 36 inch tattoo of a spider? Well, we will have to journey back to see if they hired more girls to see if they increased their two dancer staff. Or maybe next time we’ll just go to Bonner’s.
On on bitches!
Spanks, @$$holes!
Hope everyone is great!!!
*Pelvis