Not In My Hair and Daddy May I Pun
Just Gabrielle (virgin)
Just Bill (virgin)
International Dicklomat (BFM returner from Hawaii)
Prolapse of Judgment (BFM returner from Japan)
Shop N’ Fuck
Cuff Me The Vampire Player
Me Shrub You Long Time
Parks and Masturbation
May I Come On You
Jewels of Duh Nile
Gay Matthews Lamb
Everything Butt Sex
Where’s My D?
Willie (visitor from DCH3 and Founding Father(?) of BFM)
The hounds assembled at El Bar in preparation for another trail laid by these two hares. The pair had again promised to get the hounds tipsy and wet, and it seemed a good promise indeed as the shanty town cover of El Bar’s backyard allowed a light rain to fall on our heads. This reminded me of a Barenaked Ladies song (Brian Wilson) because I…
“Drove downtown in the rain, Seven-Thirty on a Thursday night, Just to check-out the BFM trail of chalk.
Call it impulsive, Call it compulsive, Call it insane, But when I'm ON-ON I just can't stop.
It's a matter of instinct. A matter of conditioning and a matter of fact. You can call me Pavlov's Dog.
Ring a bell and I'll salivate. How'd you like that? Mr. Franklin tell me you're not just a muggle at all.
'Cause right now I'm running a trail. Just like Ben Franklin did.
Well I am running a trail. Just like Ben Franklin did.”
Anyway, none of us paid much mind to the weather as most fun is better when wet. The hounds greeted each other sharing tales of the week and pre-lube beverages (except for Just Rob who had left his ID behind and was denied access to the bar). Jewels regaled us about his love of jello shots and how he, “shoved them all in his mouth”, a claim that might be hard to swallow.
Shop led us all out to chalk talk where no chalk was found and used leftover flour to provide an impromptu description of the marks we “might” find on the trail. We were also re-introduced to the returners and officially met the virgins. We found out that Daddy May I Pun made Just Bill come and he was so excited about it that he almost kissed Shop! It was quite the moment to witness! Also, even though she was of legal age, Just Gabrielle was made to come (very willingly) by Statutory Consent. There is news at the BFM! Before we were released for the hunt, the hounds identified a game for the night. Two slap-on wristbands were given out to play tag with. If you slapped the band onto another hound, that hound was now it and could not tag you back but had to seek a new target. All of trail was fair game from ON-OUT until ON-IN with beer/shot checks as the only designated “safe spaces”. Now moist with excitement and precipitation, both the game and the pack was afoot.
Trail began down Front street and the hounds were immediately drawn in by the game. The only real struggle was keeping the wrist band erect long enough to reach out and tag someone, but the excitement of the game and learning curve of the bands quickly overcame the issue and many erections were had! Marks were found, checks were solved, and all was well until the pack went NO-NO through a parking garage and everything went awry. Prolapse hydroplaned over a jersey barrier for a spectacular hash crash much to the chagrin of Just Andrew who dressed very consciously in his best “Safety Sam” reflective vest. Even after the pack identified their backwards trail mistake, both Groundhog Lay and Judge Doody got trapped behind a fence and had to take a long-cut back on. Thankfully we had come to a song check and Groundhog-Doody gave us ample time for verses of “Free Beer for the Hashers”. The song was finally ended when Groundhog arrived and proclaimed that “Jesus can’t run trail ‘cause he isn’t really real”. For the record I was raised Catholic and prefer “The ladies all love Jesus ‘cause they know he’ll come again.” (especially that saucy Mary Magdalene). But I respect Groundhog’s un-missionary position.
Trail continued under I-95 and we found our favorite mark. BN!!!! The drink of choice was appropriately staged by our playful hares at the playground in Penn Treaty Park. Now safe from being tagged, the pack relaxed and shared stories. We discovered that Just Stephanie is a rule-follower, heard tell of when MICOY tried to get into a bar with wet sharts of newspaper at a previous anything-but-clothes trail, and watched StatC kung-fu grapple a beer away from a jittery Jewels. GML and Shop compared chalk sizes, arguing size over usability and GML belittled Penn’s obelisk in the start of many phallic references of the evening. Lastly the pack posed for a photo on the faux-rocks before trail was once again on.
We ran past a giant cock to a song check where the musically well-endowed International Dicklomat sang us a song about Chinese abortions while Just Andrew pushed back on the wood pole presented before us. Soon the pack found our second favorite mark. SN!!! Where’s My D was so happy to remark “Give me that magical juice in my stomach” and Just Gabrielle also rejoiced for she doesn’t mind getting a little drunk. It was getting late so a quick shot stop it was. Taking after DancingFool, we collected some litter to properly deposit on our way out and disappeared into the night without a trace. As the pack ran along a long block wall back in the direction of the bar we celebrated our fun, but unfortunately the calls of the hounds disrupted the focus of adults playing kickball so they greeted us with less than brotherly verbal love. Their juvenile antics were short lived because we reached the ON-IN and produced proper ID to re-enter the bar (except of course for Just Rob). We assembled for circle, passed around tall PBRs to use for sip-sips, and celebrated with each other the revelry of the trail just completed. At this point a bouncer of El Bar (who we shall refer to as El Silencio) asked us to keep our volume down due to El Bar’s unfriendly neighbors. Oh, did he have the wrong group! It was shortly after this that Where’s My D lived up to her very befitting name and shouted from the street “HEY GUYS! I LEFT MY ID THERE! CAN SOMEBODY FIND AND BRING ME MY ID!” She was of course immediately shushed as El Silencio flashed us his most disapproving look. Once D had finally entered the circle we began festivities which were remarkable in that Cuff Me was by far the loudest among us. It was honestly spectacular to hear the songs sung in whispers of perfect clarity. Notable accusations were: to Prolapse of Judgement for denying first-aid after his crash and rather opting to pour a shot on it, to Shop N’ Fuck-It for forgetting hasher’s names, to Willie for being our daddy (maybe, Maury does not have the test results in yet), to Where’s My D for supposing that knowing the name of the cat who peed on the tarp made it any less gross, and to Gay Matthews Lamb for celebrating the violation of a bar closet with marriage!
If you missed this trail, don’t miss another! Come out next Thursday, any Thursday, or every Thursday to be a little part of our Big Fucking Mess!