Where: The Green Room - Philly 1940 Green St. Philadelphia, PA 19130
When: 2/22/18 7:30 (8:15 Pack Off)
Hares: Straw Draw -Everything Butt Sex & Groundhog Lay
Spare My Finger *
Everything Butt Sex
Baa Ram Him
May I Cum on Ya
Sideshow Bob Job
Tits of Steel
Shop N Fuck **
Elmo Fuck Buddy from Nashville H3 *
Spunk Monkey from Hockessin H3 *
Orange is the New Snatch from DC RoadWhores *
* [Stayed at Bar, Drank/Ditched before we returned]
**[Appeared briefly then vanished like in a Patterson Gimlin film]
The weather was damp and windy in the 40s after two unseasonably warm 70-80 degree days. Anyone that had planned on going out that week probably spent the nice days outside and spent the rest of the week trying to make it up to their SOs and employers for disappearing for a few days and returning in various states of undress/drunkenness. [Side Note: “I was in a fugue state,” is only a believable excuse if you’re Walter White or your SO is so-so in the brains department.] That coupled with other factors led to a small, but devoted group of hashers. It was chilly out, but not so for the magnificent seven brave souls that took to the streets. Visitors weary from their journey were too cozy in the warm bar and too deep into their cups to tackle hashing trail. Perhaps they were wary of the formidable running that it would take to harry the hares when you only have five people to check checks. [Everyone gets forced to check every other, so tighten your laces and stretch out those hammies cuz it’s gonna get crazy].
Chalk Talk was a short one as the the hashers there were seasoned vets who knew the streets like the backs of their hands, except for May I Cum on Ya who kept thinking we were on or had just been on Broad Street for three quarters of the night [We never crossed it or even saw it]. Sex tourists Elmo Fuck Buddy, Spunk Monkey, Orange is the New Snatch, and Cums Sporadically Spare My Finger peaked out of the bar and from the steps cheered on those crazy enough to hash. They promptly dove headlong back into their libations and were not seen from again for the rest of the night.
The pack took off around 8:10. May I Cum on Ya was the unplanned On Sec after Everything Butt Sex decided it would be easier to lay trail with so few people to chase him. So instead of taking proper notes May I Cum On Ya used his cellphone like an audio tape recorder and kept notes like a [very] poor man’s Norm MacDonald, talking into his phone to try and record the magic ["Note to self: you're probably weirding people out a bit"].
The trail started in Spring St area and then went towards Ben Franklin Parkway and the Art Museum. It was quiet out apart from the shouts of hashers. The rest of the city seemed to have stayed in as well, as the pack seldom, if ever, came across another soul for the first half of the trail. With the combination of fog and light pollution the city skyline was illuminated and looked like the backdrop for a dystopian futuristic thriller and the empty streets only added to the effect. The only thing missing was some stoic blonde dudebro for a protagonist [Harrison Ford, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Bruce Willis, Ryan Gosling, that Swedish one from Altered Carbon, ad nauseam, ad infinitum] and hypersexual women in various states of undress.
Some of the marks were remarkably well hidden like on the far side of one tree in a stand of fifty. The hashers took turns scouring through all the different checks and marks, and with their lower numbers it was slower going, but everyone had to rely on their fellow half minds and it brought the pack closer together. Everyone was checking marks and was invested in finding the next mark, because without doing so they would not find their way to the Beer Near let alone home. There’s a vitality and meaning given to life when you aren’t able to hang back and let others find the path for you. It can be an ego trampling exercise to repeatedly take the wrong path, but continuing on in search of a mark in spite prior failures can make finding the trail all the sweeter and doing so with friends gives you a brief chance to gloat as though you were right all along.
While crossing the Schuylkill the pack looked out across the beautiful skyline, down at the Boathouse Row, and the waterfall reflecting on life and where they might have gone wrong. Some contemplated fleeing and others jumping. Like it is for the platypus or the Meeseeks, [or really the rest of humanity] existence is pain to a hasher. Monotony punctuated by tragedy with only handfuls of precious morsels of happiness and meaning. Thankfully hashing can provide a temporary escape from dealing with the headaches of daily life. Like a dog chasing a car seemingly without reason we’re able to momentarily put on hold our troubles and inject ephemeral moments of joy amid the chaos. The pack soon caught the scent of the hares and shot out of their existential conundrum.
After crossing the river Baa Ram Him “found” a soccer ball and in a move that would rival Messi or CR7 kicked it into an 8 foot high by 100 foot wide fence, or at least tried to. The wind and fog were deft goalkeepers and the ball widely missed, shot into the street, and fellow hashers chased after it to keep it from striking a moving car. Had it been further west this provocation could have been cause for violence but in this neighborhood rife with upper crust elites the pack was safe so long as they didn’t leave any drinks unattended.
The half minds made their way to Drexel Park, where the first song check was sung. The park was pristine and the neighborhood was so nice that dogs could be seen holding out their pinkies as they shat. The hashers sang the banana song and pantomimed with the skyscrapers twinkling behind them. The following is an artist’s rendition of the pack had more bananas been able to make trail.
After a few rounds of beers and shots, some dancing, and some puffs on the hookahs [and of course the swinging], the hares resumed laying trail and the hashers resumed the chase. The pack promptly got lost somewhere around Penn Medical Center after some marks were hidden too well. In some places white paint had been spotted in nearly identical fashion to hash marks. These doppelgangers were mistaken for marks, until the hashers discovered the ruse. There was no evidence that Groundhog Lay and Everything Butt Sex set these marks days ahead of time, but there was no evidence that they didn’t. Marks were getting harder to spot and occasionally the pack split up into two groups to run parallel streets to look for where they hoped they could rediscover the trail. Tits of Steel disappeared somewhere around 10:30 and the trail did not reappear until after having crossed back over the river and cutting all sorts of corners.
Eventually the pack made it back to The Green Room at around 10:50. Shop N Fuck appeared at the bar to soothe bleary hashers weary from the chaos of straw trails and told them to “Trust the Process” with a knowing smile. He checked in with Baa Ram Him and Groundhog Lay and then dipped out before circle. His appearance at first seemed to be a tequila fueled fever dream [Corner Bar apparently prefers to serves doubles, and make it rain, and then serve more doubles], but when he appeared again right before circle it seemed likely that this indeed was our GM having just landed after a full day of flying. Listening in to their conversation, Shop N Fuck had apparently just landed after being delayed for hours due to the always sunny Philly weather [and also presumably due to being repeatedly frisked for his swarthy hirsutism], but wanted to stop by to check on the kennel and make sure the cluster was fucked [Properfucked? Yes Turkish, properfucked before zee Germans get here].
Groundhog lay accused Sideshow Bob Job and Just Mego of making the harriers feel inferior for not being able to put out a fire with their cum. Baa Ram Him countered that GHL should speak for himself, “Someone start a fire and someone turn me on.” A date and time for Baa to exhibition his ropey prowess has yet to be set, although a candle or match will likely serve as the conflagration.
Just Mego accused May I Cum On Ya for confusedly thinking every major thoroughfare they crossed was Broad Street. He tried to justify it by saying they kept on seeing it, but was silenced with laughter. When he later looked up the trail, the map revealed the pack never once touched Broad Street or came within several blocks of it.
Everything Butt Sex -
March 17th St Patty’s Day Beer Crawl for anyone that can’t Rego or attend the Green Dress Hash. [Ever wondered what it would be like to have a secret second family or need a way to sneak more drinks without alerting concerned hashers? Why not supplement your alcoholism by getting sloshed on two trails at once?] See Everything Butt Sex for details.
Baa Ram Him -
Boston Marathon Weekend April 14th-16th Rego is Open
May I Cum On Ya
Schuylkill Rangers H3 is up and running and looking to help anyone that wants to run local races,or feels like meeting up before, during, or after them. It's also a place to field a team if there's something you've been looking to run, but need team members.
The Schuylkill 50K Relay (Saturday, April 21st) has fielded a nearly full team (one spot left, but more teams can be made).
The Broad Street Run (Sunday May 6th) has some indeterminate number of people running.[One so far, but with enough booze and photo-shopped bananas they'll be bushels of them!]
No data for the distance was available at the time the trail was run, but one hasher whom should really turn off his gps was being tracked by the all-knowing Google and the following map is a rough approximation of where they all ran.