BFM #307: Oh, the Inanity!
It’s finally dawned on me that we’re almost at the end of this year of Phallocentric Tyranny. And you know what that means, right? Elections! So! I know that lots of you complaining wankers think you can do it better so start thinking about what position you want a friend to nominate you for! Did you not like this year’s t-shirt? Run for Hash Cash! Did you ever long for the trash to come out on time? (Well, you and me both, but my trash-writing elves are union, so hey.) Run for Hash Trash! Don’t like the songs in circle? Run for Religious Advisor! Do you think you can get the bars posted faster than Rear Engineer? Well, you probably can, so run for Grand Master/Mistress/Mattress! And always remember: “Ask not what your hash can do for you, but what you can do to your hash.”
Right, now with that out of the way, this week’s hash was held at Westy’s in Fairmount. I swear Westy’s used to be this terribly grotty little place where no one but grimy locals and off-duty hospital folk came. Tonight it was stuffed with suited yuppie types and that was weird. But! We eventually drove them off and took over the karaoke, so it all worked out. Showing up tonight to menace the yuppies were Mr. Snuffleupamuff, One Inch In, his virgin Just Shannon, Dumpster, Twat of Darkness, Short Distance Rimmer, Son of Goat F*cker (Oh! Neat fact: his hash name is properly “Son of Goat F*cker”, not “Son of A Goat F*cker”, kind of like how it’s “Bride of Frankenstein” not “Bride of A Frankenstein”, but he’s been entirely too nice to tell us that we’ve been saying it wrong forever. So, just to clarify: Son of Goat F*cker. There.) Fire Down Under, Reginal Discharge, Rear Engineer, The Rash, Where’s My Vagina, Cleavage to Beaver, Just Christine, Midnight Tranny to Georgia, S&M Man, Sleeps Around the Cock, Swollen Cockpit, Just John, Two Clump Chump, Lick Hymen, Grab My Handlebars, Just Joanna, Just Karen, Holy F*ck, Just Tristan, Mediocre & Stupid, Bonsai Bush, Chernoblow, and Tube C*ck.
After some pre-hash beers, straws were pulled and Where’s My Vagina was the lucky hare. Fire Down Under volunteered to go with her, and they were off. Five minutes later Rear Engineer herded the Mob out into the cold to explain the marks, and to give everyone the apparently distressing news that because of having to coordinate running the Circle (not outside in the freezing cold parking lot this time) with the Karaoke Nazi, there would be no beer check. Oh, the WHINING, you would’ve thought that that not only would there be no beer check, that it was going to be replaced with tetanus shots and puppy-kicking. Sack up, wankers, a beer check on trail is a privilege, not a right. Back in the early days of the BFM, there were no beer checks except on special occasions. And usually you had to hash a six mile trail besides because E=My Cock Squared pulled the short straw and no one could catch him. Uphill. Both ways.
Anyway. With the whining piercing the night air like a buzzsaw, the Mob was off to find trail. Which they did. The trail headed west, through the Community College, then up around the Eastern State Penitentiary and back. This makes the trail sound short, but it really wasn’t, and was notable for two things: 1. The inordinate number of checks at every damn corner, and 2. The number of hashers who actually did not checkhang because it was too cold to stand still. There was also a huge number of unlikely FRB’s for the same reason. Heh. So, the Mob hustled around the Penitentiary, then mysteriously split into three separate packs who all arrived back at Westy’s from three separate directions all at the exact same time. Tada!
Back at the nice warm bar, beers were wrangled and the circle cranked right up, because there was karaoke to be had soon. Rear Engineer managed to get the bartender to turn the jukebox volume down from 11, and we got started.
Circle
Hares: Where’s My Vagina, Fire Down Under
Virgins: Just Shannon, Just John (who claimed to be a technical virgin, but I didn’t really want details)
First In/Last In: Lick Hymen, Just Tristan, Just Karen
Autohashers: Post-Anal Drip, Big Tackle, Mr. Snuffleupamuff, Hold the Sausage, Goes Down Often
Comes Lateies: Lick Hymen, Just Tristan, Just Karen
Accusations
For never trying that fist thing: Goes Down Often
For getting GDO wet with the lesbians: Hold the Sausage
For matching pink shirts: The Rash, Up Her Ali, Fire Down Under
For his neck foreskin: Rear Engineer
Alcohol Abuse: Mediocre & Stupid
Peeing his pants: Lick Hymen
False Advertising: Swollen Cockpit, and under the When One Cock Drinks rule, Tube C*ck and Sleeps Around the Cock
For Holding Hands and Skipping (not sure with whom): S&M Man
For not bringing Stan: Mediocre & Stupid
For dropping her lip gloss on trail, bending over to pick it up, and being identified via her ass: Just Joanna
For using the word “organized” in relation to the hash: Just Tristan
For just arriving: Nappy Headed Ho, Jingle Ballzzz
For late trail posting: Rear Engineer
For knowing where the golden penis is (not a euphemism): Two Clump Chump
For riding his bike into the circle like he was Meatloaf in the Rocky Horror Picture Show: Fruit of the Clue
And for, according to Swollen Cockpit, having the “curtains match the drapes”, or the napkins match the tablecloth, or the upholstery match the carpet or whatever the analogy should be: Post Anal Drip
Announcements:
Bay to Breakers is coming up, and a whole BFM crew usually goes. Um…sign up, I guess.
Jingle Ballzzz is haring the Philly Hash this weekend, come on out.
Muff still has shirts!! For the low, low price of $10, but you could probably negotiate a better price cuz he seems to want to get them out of his life. See Muff.
Circle was closed, but quickly reopened again after Just Tristan thought he got out of his birthday side-side. Ha, no luck. Then Circle was closed, and the Mob signed up for lots of karaoke, including One In Inch singing a Led Zeppelin song so EXACTLY like Robert Plant that it was both awesome and creepy.
Overheard at the Hash
Rear Engineer: “These pants make my package look big.”
Twat of Darkness: [Spinning around on pole] “What? Twat’s gotta have something to ride”
Cleavage to Beaver: “If you wait long enough, you can have a beard like those Amish lads”
On On,
The Rash
Wait, wait – did I miss the sign up for the tetanus shots and puppy-kicking? And points to Rear – I tangled with the Karaoke Dictator last time, and to the dismay of my ear drums, I lost…
Since you are all hyped up about spelling names correctly – you spelled Just Chrystine and Raginal Discharge’s names wrong. But you got mine right!
And don’t forget One In Inch
!