​Hares: Casting Couch & Jug Stain

Pack: Shop N Fuck
Not In My Hair
Rear Ender
Virgin Just Max (Rear Ender made him come)
Just Caroline
Assassination
Where's My D
Uncle Bad Touch
Knights Of The Pound Table
Groundhog Lay
Just Ian
Just Colby
Just Andrew
Tits Of Steel
Pantyphile
Biff Pow Slap Slap Slap (visitor - Richmond H3)
60K9
Me Shrub You Long Time
Under The Siege
Dancing Fool
Fuzzy Cozmo (visitor - PorME H3)
Plow Me From Behind (visitor - PorME H3)

This BFM trail began as many do with a little confusion, frantic reorganizing, and delicious beer. The original hares from the 'Yunk were planning a Hanukkah themed delight but alas could not make it. Perhaps their candle wouldn't light, perhaps they had better things to do. Fortunately for us with nothing better to do than chase flour and beer, the hares were re-casted jugs-in-time and those naughty elves took us on a mad mad tour of Manayunk.

Not everyone was so keenly aware of the late roster change because Just Ian arrived sporting a festive "Llamakah" holiday sweater which proved to be less warm than he expected on that cold November night. The pack collected in the front bar to enjoy some pre-lubricant of which NIMH was in great need since he has been nearly killed en route by an "impaired" Lyft driver. Keen to "lyft" his spirits, GHL entertained us all with a story of how after-hours gay bars are a great place to go with your guy friends on Valentine's Day. I'm not sure how those are connected but it seemed to perk up NIMH regardless. It was decided that Just Max would pop his cherry as "it" for the slap bracelet game to start and Casting Couch nearly left the flour behind.

We had a special returner that night who apparently owed the BFM some services, so Uncle Bad Touch turned on heel and conducted chalk talk like a matador, but it was to be the pack that would have to avoid the bull. On On! 

Trail began with a mad dash up into and through pretzel park, veering left. Because this is a 'Yunk trail, what goes up must come downhill. 60K9 came as fast as always barreling into the first song check of the night where we stimulated some holiday spirit with "Give it a blow". We found ourselves at the bottom, searching marks along the river when trail headed up a few steps back to the streets. These were the first steps of many and not so soon the stairs ended with another song check. This time TOS led us in "My cock is in your mouth tonight". Now atop the hills, the pack moved faster, past private sand volleyball courts and local celebrity musicians, past drunks on the street and cemeteries, though neighborhoods until the hounds found a beautiful mark and called SHOT NEAR! 

This turned out to be shot approximately near and we finally found warm solace in a tower of one of the hares. The pack enjoyed heated shelter but sat awkwardly quiet around a square table until a darling little elf girl brought us cups for some high proof peppermint schnapps. Under The Siege was trending the bar and announced there were also pudding shots to be enjoyed. We were safe in the knowledge that Cosby is locked away and couldn't force his own pudding pop on us. With sweet boozy goodness coursing through us, the pack headed back into the cold in search of more trail. On On!

We crossed a small highway and were faced with a choice. Left headed into the woods and right headed somewhere else. Clearly this on sec went left. The wooded trail was bathed in darkness, covered with leaves which hid the ankle-treacherous rocks, and clearly fucking awesome! The awesomeness was short lived and the lefties emerged from the  woods near some raceist horses to rejoin the rest of the pack. Marks led us into a neighborhood where we found another song check in front of a beautifully decorated home, so we gave them a chorus of "A soldier". Those sly hares laid us a back check but then led the pack right into our favorite mark. BEER NEAR! 

At casa de Casting Couch, the pack came together and celebrated camaraderie with cold beers. This turned out to be a prelude to circle because the hounds were back on trail and quickly On In. 

Circle was held in a seemingly abandoned upstairs bar which was perfect for our shenanigans. The hares were honored for their trail, the visitors shared a song or two, and the virgin was deflowered as only the BFM can. The mad elves for this trail took the hounds into cold like the north pole; but ultimately warmed us with miles run, alcohol drank, and the fellowship of the hash. The holiday season for the BFM was brought in with a bang but if you missed it you don't have to miss out. Any Thursday night come cozy up to your favorite half-minds and we will warm you from the inside...with consent. Happy Holiday Hashing!

​Hared by Cuff Me The Vampire Player and Groundhog Lay

Pack:
Shop N' Fuck
Slothy Seconds
Sphincter Grease
Just Rob
Jewels Of Duh Nile
Alaskan Pipeline
Me Shrub You Long Time
Magically Delicious
Just Andrew
Judge Doody
Statutory Consent
Gag Reflex
Gellatio
Just Joey
Dancing Fool (appeared on trail and vanished into the night, as is his way)
Fanny Packer (arrived for circle)

The pack gathered in the newly minted location of Tabu and found the rooftop deck on a warm November evening. Groudhog Lay regaled us of his visit to London describing how he was almost taken by a brutish British woman and revolted by urinating in the middle of the street.  

We moved to chalk talk where we celebrated real hasher love and Gag described the marks we should expect on that wonderful night.  All arrows are true and trail started befittingly down a back alley to the first of MANY checks. So many checks! We maneuvered leaf covered cobbles to a song check where we learned of a bird on a pole and the related asshole, deciphered a back check 7, past a hot lady police officer, to another song check were we went bananas, and to the BN in a small park where the pack explored songs of Just Andrew's generation. 
Things turned very adult as we learned that Just Andrew fantasizes about the pleasure of Debbie Gibson. Magically Delicious exclaimed "you want it in your mouth" within earshot of children and we can only assume she meant her lucky charms. Long Dick Sloth proclaimed "Welcome to church bitches, my long dick is in all of your faces", and there was much rejoicing.  
Returning to our immature roots, Groudhog Lay demonstrated his athletic ability with an empty can and the trash container "Kobe Bryant - Black Mamba". (I'm not sure what that meant.) Lastll, Magically made a leaf angel and we were On On once more into the breech.  

Trail headed down South Street to the cheers of locals out and about on the town.  We navigated through checks to multiple songs and due to Shop's mobile sound system, belted "I want it that way" and "Relax, when you wanna come".  Now that we were off the busy streets and down back roads we were being heckled to "KEEP IT DOWN" by people who clearly go to bed before nine.  Fortunately the whiskey sour SN was quietly enjoyed at a bear-able playground and were were shortly On On to Rittenhouse Square for the Wakeshaw(sp?) version of El Camino and through another alley to the ON IN.

Circle was enjoyed by all who pulled themselves away from the Burlesque Show.  First in was Statutory Consent and Last in was surprisingly the r*ceist Just Andrew.
Accusations were not recorded, but Slothy Seconds entertained us with a bevy of sexual bowling puns. (e.g. I love a 7-10 split! My lane is so oiled! I've got three holes & they are all available!)

Those who stayed past midnight had the pleasure of witnessing a feat of strength as Statutory Consent heaved up a 200lb hasher up for his birthday side-side, because nothing is too taboo to get a rise out of the BFM.

The following written by May I Cum On Ya is a work of fiction based on true events, with the names replaced or swapped, and then possibly returned to their original owners. The author reserves the right to embellish, obfuscate, equivocate or outright lie to make all parties sound as interesting or as innocent as the statute of limitations requires. Fictitious scapegoats may be added to further blur reality from the real ongoings of the attendees and their guests. ON ON!

Where: Anthony's Saloon & Crab House
2351 S Front St, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19148

When: Thursday October 11th, 2018 7:30 (8:00 Pack Off)

RA/Hare: Shop N Fuck

Attendance

Groundhog Lay
Strawberry Shartcake
Not In My Hair
Sphincter Grease
Sex Toys For Tots
Magically Delicious
Runner Girl
What What Muddin My Butt
Just Rob
May I Cum On Ya
Visitors
Pussyfoot [Taiwan H3]

This week’s trail began at Anthony’s Saloon & Crab House. They serve tasty crabs and refreshing suds at a reasonable price. If you don’t like their crabs then talk to one of the barflies and see if they can’t scare you up a different variety. There was a light drizzle as hashers began arriving to the prelube. As they entered a grinning Shop N Fuck greeted them with a hug and then forced them to draw a straw. Unlike the usual butthole puckering straw trail this one was a Shop N Fuck straw trail which means all straws are full length [compensating much?]. Shop was just trying to spook people, but instead of roping anyone into haring, Shop had planned to hare himself all along. If Shop were any sweeter we’d all have diabetes, and if Shop were any cleaner we all could have skipped a trip to that free clinic [fool me once, shame on Shop, fool me three or four times and I guess I should invite Shop to Thanksgiving dinner to meet the family and maybe get him on my insurance while that’s still possible with the current political climate].

We had one visitor, Pussyfoot from Taiwan H3. He’s also from several other kennels, but I was elected to On Sec for my cunning linguistics, not my memory. After Shop explained to him the hashmarks Shop took off and made us sing “Jesus Saves” with at least 10 verses in order to give himself enough time to start laying trail in the ever increasing rain. “Jesus Saves” is a staple hash song and quite tame by hash standards but what it lacks in crudeness it makes up for in length and girth. For the Christians, you can see their trepidation in singing anything bad about Jesus, like he’s going to smite them for every lewd verse they sing about him like they're summoning Bloody Mary or the Candyman or some other vengeful spirit [why believe in an angry diety?, as Cal Naughton Jr would agree, "I like to think of Jesus like, with giant eagles’ wings and singin’ lead vocals for Lynyrd Skynyrd with like an Angel Band, and I’m in the front row, and I’m hammered drunk"] For Non Christians, after three or four verses it starts to feel like you’ve been tricked into going to your friend’s church ceremony when you thought you were just going out for some bottomless mimosas [Do I eat the wafer to blend in and keep things moving along, or abstain and high five the guy with the tallest hat? How much of the wine can I drink before the deacon cuts me off?].

After 10 or 11 verses we made our way through the streets and rain zigzagging until we arrived upon the Shot Near under a highway overpass. The drink of choice was Malort. It originates in Chicago and was concocted by a Swedish immigrant who presumably was chased out of his village for trying to poison them with this swill. It gives swill a bad name; this is a hate from the old days. The stuff that vikings would give their traitors and cowards before giving them a blood eagle and setting them on fire. For those that haven’t had it before it tastes like the worst medicine you’d ever had as a child and the aftertaste lingers about as long as a scarring childhood memory. It tastes like nail polish remover smells. The aftertaste lingers longer than herpes, and tastes worse than the aftertaste from vomiting. I’ve never eaten feces, but imagine that social stigma and medical risks aside, Malort tastes worse and the psychic trauma lasts longer.

Trail began winding through the streets of South Philly with the rain and wind increasing and the occasional thunder clap. It was a warm, pleasant rain in the high 70s. The drizzle eventually picked up to where it was a torrential downpour. We ran through the rain with the pack stretching out to keep track of all those that were running. At times we got spread out enough to where it was unclear where everyone might be going. We had worked our way into the industrial area by the highways. This is a warren for clandestine Beer Nears or spots to drop a body. There are also lots of strip clubs.

The rain was so heavy that visibility dropped down to less than 100 feet. In the foggy deluge a glorious beacon of light could be seen, the Pennsport Pub. Now some of us fine upstanding citizens have never been to a strip club, but we’ve heard stories. Young women that are working their way through med school that are crafty enough to find an easy way to pay for tuition. Cold hard cash from halfwits that will empty their wallets at the barest hint of a nipple. Pennsport is a lovely dive bar that also has three naked women that take turns disrobing on a stage no larger than a coffee table, but what they lack in quantity of dancers they make up for in quality...and costumes. There were more wardrobe changes than an awards show host, but these were fun and exciting.

After spending the better part of an hour watching the Eagles trounce the Giants we were getting ready to leave the pub and make our way back to Anthony’s when a brand new ingenue took the stage. Gritty the muppet took the stage. She apparently has gotten a part time job as a mascot for the Flyers (holy fuck they must be desperate), but her main income stream comes from dancing (and from the extras she offers to regular patrons that she’s determined aren’t vice cops). I refer to her with feminine pronouns because its a strip club, but honestly I haven’t asked her and when she was flashing her bits during the dollar parade I couldn’t make anything out. It looks like a damp shag carpet for which people never took their shoes off when trodding upon. Life is hard for most muppets, only the presentable ones ever get a chance to live on Sesame Street.

​As I’ve written of before (see BFM #747: Jumbo Jet Propelled true believers!) Billy Penn spent several decades having sex with hand puppets. While it started as an innocent way to not cheat on his wife it slowly devolved into a macabre spectacle that would revolt and terrify Mary Shelley herself. Masturbating into a sock does not impart the sock with life, but something happens after you pump life into a hand puppet numerous times. It’s not easy being green...or gooey. What’s worse is that he had his servants work the hand puppets while he was in the act (hence the term handmaiden, dark times...). When a puppet was so crusty that it could no longer move he would have it dumped in the swamps of South Philly. Years of this grotesque procession led to a heap out in the swamps of South Philly.

One night the pile was struck by lightning and life was breathed into these poor creatures. It was a hard life for the early muppets. They were borne of colonial nobility, but try to explain that to a person of that time period. Billy Penn had created so many that he eventually had to take care of them. Those that could speak and weren’t too frightening were shipped up to Langhorne and housed in Sesame Place where they would be fed three meals a day and were given a place to sleep in exchange for entertaining the local children. Those that were rougher around the edges made their way through the world as sports mascots or worse. Like the professional wrestling circuit, these creatures would abuse their bodies to make ends meet and have a chance at the big show, but not everyone can make it to the top and even those that do are haunted by the things they had to do to get there. Elmo was never asked before the tickling started and Snuffy the Snuffalupagus has a 50K a week cocaine habit [‘I need my fix, Bird! I’ll get the money, Bird, please just give me a little bit for now, I’ll do all those things you like, Bird!’]

For what seemed like an eternity Gritty danced and topped it all off with her trademark champagne glass flip. Then just as suddenly as she had arrived she left with her boyfriend/manager. He’s a green mean phanatic with a history of violence such as killing minor league mascot Phiney the Shark [Let Tommy Lasorda try to fight him these days].

Phanatical Violence​ [Phiney the Shark was medically dead for 30 seconds]
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BMiV89ESnCU
Phanatic Fat Shames and Fights Lasorda
www.youtube.com/watch?v=vX4L2LHGs98

After Pennsport Pub the hashers zig zagged a bit more through the rain until they arrived back at Anthony’s.

While circle was going on one of the beer soaked locals came over and starting dancing to one of our songs. We tried to coax him closer, but he was startled when he heard the Giants actually made a completion and retreated to the bar and the Eagles game [it was an interception...and its a rebuilding year, I’m not crying, you’re crying...it’s a rebuilding year!]

A super friendly bartender brought us a pitcher and joined in a round of accusations.

Accusations

Pussyfoot accused Magically Delicious for running trail with a hard-on the entire time [I don’t know if running with an aircast is super tough or super crazy, but as a part time ambulance chaser it ruins any chance we could have had bilking her insurance company for millions.]

Groundhog Lay accused Not In My Hair for giving him a dollar instead of to the strippers.

Sphincter Grease accused the hare Shop N Fuck for making the SN a bottle of Malort. Second worst thing he’d taste that night after volunteering to drink out of Magically Delicious’s boot [a new shoe is a new shoe]

Not In My Hair accused Shop N Fuck of having the dirtiest trail in ages with Malort and a Strip Club.

Sex Toys For Tots accused MICOY of trying to pay the strippers with BFM business cards [in my defense those IOUs written on the back are as good as money. Every cent is accounted for; go ahead and add them up...]

The night was capped nicely as Magically Delicious celebrated her hashy birthday by having a Side Side (with ShopNFuck, the compulsive sweetie pie, trying to catch any spillage to keep Anthony’s cleaner and the bartender’s night easier). It's unclear if her aircast got tied to her sneaker, but I’m sure the pack tried their darnedest.

ON OUT!

9/27/18: ​El Bar

Hares:
Not In My Hair and Daddy May I Pun
​
Pack:
Just Gabrielle (virgin)
Just Bill (virgin)
Just Zack
Just Andrew
Just Stephanie
Just Rob
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
Groundhog Lay
Judge Doody
May I Come On You
Statutory Consent
Jewels of Duh Nile
Gay Matthews Lamb
Everything Butt Sex
Fuzzy Cozmo
Where’s My D?
Diltdo Dragons
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!

​The following written by May I Cum On Ya is a work of fiction based on true events, with the names replaced or swapped, and then possibly returned to their original owners. The author reserves the right to embellish, obfuscate, equivocate or outright lie to make all parties sound as interesting or as innocent as the statute of limitations requires. Fictitious scapegoats may be added to further blur reality from the real ongoings of the attendees and their guests. ON ON!

Where: The Institute, 549 N 12th St, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania 19123
https://www.institutebar.com/

When: Thursday September 6th, 2018 6:30 (7:00 Pack Off)

Hares: Where's My D and Strawberry Shartcake

Attendance

Cuff Me the Vampire Player
Shop and Fuck
Semen on the Poop Deck
Everything Butt Sex
Jewels of Duh Nile 
Slothy Seconds
Mee Shrub You Long Time
Magically Delicious
Not In My Hair
Fuzzy Cosmo
Just Jesse
Just Joey
Just Leanne
May I Cum On Ya


Last Thursday's trail was a somber event to mark the closing of Drinker's Tavern and The Institute...just fuckin with ya. We had a great time like always! Can't keep a good hasher down (no matter the quantity of beer or tranquilizer darts). Though their doors may close forever the fun these bars facilitated and the beer soaked memories they fueled will live on forever.   

The trail was a blast no matter the efforts of our hares, Strawberry Shartcake and Where's My D, to make it melancholic [the only thing missing was a bunch of Pixar movie openings]. That's not to say that betwixt the revelry people didn't get wistful and wax poetic about all the shards of memories they shared (most great nights tend to be blurry alcoholic fever dreams with glimpses of pure joy and occasional calamity).

Trail departed from The Institute at a prompt 7PM. Naturally as a good On Sec I was there from the start and didn't show up late thinking trail was starting at the usual 8pm. They say history is written by the victors, well so is hash trash. Anyone saying I wasn't there from the start is a big fat liar, just look at this photo I took of the start! [Why am I wearing a tux? It's after 6, what am I a farmer?]



  

The pack took to the streets with occasional memorials created for each of the recently departing hash bars. Even with Shop N Fuck playing a boombox full of sad songs, no funeral dirge could turn the fun and frivolity of hashing into a sad night. "Things won't be growing on our trail...because of all the salty tears" [Nice try Shop N Fuck, but I can't hear the bad news over how handsome you are].

A candle<strike>light</strike> stick vigil was formed along trail to further bring down the pack and slow them down enough to give the hares time enough to lay trail, but it did not have the intended effect as hashers instead began to try to smoke the candles like cigarettes. Slothy Seconds took long pulls off her candle and regaled those around her with her je ne sais quoi attitude, of her citizen of the world lifestyle [read: sex tourist] and how her favorite places to have visited in Europe were Amsterdam and then the Anne Frank house (in that order) and how she learned broken German to tell the broken Dutch that she was no longer interested in their well-worn sexual playgrounds. 

Closing bars reminds us to squeeze the most out of life and the places you visit, because neither might be there for much longer. Make every night count and don't expect others to remember your legacy. Sure I was able to get the high score on the breathalyzer machine at the Raven Lounge, but what if they close? Who would remember it (apart from the State of Pennsylvania and the jury of my peers)? Like tears in the rain or farts in the wind, our memories fade as we slog on through life.​ All the places I had fun in my youth are gone and the hashers of my generation are now gone, but once we were here...

​ Boo hoo! Make the most of it while you can! I prefer to live by the more optimistic [albeit a tad creepy if you remember the character's sexual undertones] motto of "...I get older and they stay the same age..." I may be getting older, but tons of new hashers and bars are popping up every day! Who knows what great times might be had with new friends just around the corner!?! 

Rage against the dying of the light! ​You never know where trail might take you or when a classic hash bar might close before it's time. Make the most of the time you have now. The forecast was for lightning and thunderstorms all night, but the night's trail was able skip it all with hardly a raindrop.

I'm starting to sober up so I'll get off my soapbox and continue with my recounting of the trail as best as I can remember it.  

The Beer Near came before the Shot Near and was under some shadowy railroad tracks near a couple locals. As is custom the hashers thanked these folks for their company with a few bottles of suds.

The trail was a fast one. The Shot Near took place in a parking lot with a view of Center City and the thunder and lightning that was just about to start. As we finished the shots, lightning arched across the sky and illuminated the entire cityscape. "That was wicked big!" - said SnF, and retorted to himself ..."is what she never said!"

After trail, people recounted the various ways they debauched these bars and tried to outdo one another with retellings of all manner of depravity.

There was the time Where's My D got naked and flashed the entire bar via the CCTV system at Drinkers to make amends for smashing some DJ equipment.

Jewels of Duh Nile told us about how they would make mixed drinks using Huggies at Drinker's. This is made using Little Hug Fruit Barrel Juice Drinks [I had to look this one up or I'd never have been able to fall asleep with the image of people pouring shots and a mixer into a child's diaper and then trying to drink the final product]

The siren call of the circle made a virgin come while we were singing a floor above her. Just Leanne joined us for a few rounds of accusations and gave as many as she got.

Quoted Quotables

Strawberry Shartcake - "I remember I said I was going to do a trail from my favorite bar, but then they told me it was switched while I was in the ER."

Where's my D - "Hope you all got soaked and wet on trail."

MeeShrub You Long Time accused Shop N Fuck for confusing  Uranus with a black hole.

Everything Butt Sex, "Hash Hush!" Circle- "You're not my real dad!"

On After
The hashers went over to Love City Brewery to watch the home bird team beat the inferior Atlanta bird team. Go Birds!

​​Not In My Hair
Where’s My D
Shop and Fuck 
Roller Girl/Daddy May I Pun
Groundhog Lay
Strawberry Shartcake
OPP- Other People’s Pussy
DSP- Desperately Seeking Pussy
Statutory Consent- Hare
Me Shrub You Long Time- Hare
Just Joey
Just Justin
Just James traveling
Pimpin Long Stockings
Magically Delicious-Transplant

So there we were, meeting again on another spectacular night. Why was it spectacular? Cause Thursday is a Hashing day!!!! Was everybody happy? You bet your ass we were!!!! 
It was a semi-humid night and School is starting again. So what better way to celebrate such an occasion then a toga themed hash running through Penn's campus hared by our favorite gingerbread Statutory Consent and our 80’s bush Me Shrub You Long Time. The pack met at Gojjo’s bar were we quickly stripped ourselves of all our muggle clothes and dawned our stained bedsheets. Awaiting for our traveling halfminds from a land far far away, we continued to hydrate ourselves with much needed booze (cause who wants to do this sober) preparing for the hot night ahead of us. Shop and Fuck is talking to muggles trying to get new members for our cult... I mean drinking group (cough cough;) handing out business cards while Roller Girl is spreading fake news to Where’s my D which of course she believed. Upon our visitor’s arrival Shop announces chalk talk and we all circle up outside to introduce our travels Pimpin Long Stockings and Just James as well as circle virgins Just Shanice, Just Charity and Groundhog’s virgin that I didn't write revel in the marks that may be on trail. Once explanations were done On-Out was called and we were off looking for marks. Trail was shitty of course and the pack got misplaced multiple times due to drunken circumstances. OPP was one of these offenders looking for lost pussy(cats) instead of trail. Where’s my D checked one check and after coming back with no marks gave up and said I did my part for this evening. Finally following trail we come to a SN which a few ran past because our hares did not place marks. At the SN roller girl was commended for keeping all her clothes despite how humid it was and that her mustache was sweaty (her words), while DSP abandoned the toga altogether. After the suspicious liquid was drank we continued our search for marks. On our way out Shop and fuck and Where’s my D bonded over how sweaty they were, but then lamented on the fact that none of them could ever sleep together since it would be like a slip in slide ending with someone getting hurt. It was at this point that trail got blurry. After reaching Penn's campus we all gathered at a song check and sang a magnificent “Incest Time in Texas” that made all the heads turn, pondering WTF is going on? Finally moving away from the campus our sweeper abandoned his post and disappeared and our pack split into 2 groups (not intentionally). We all finally meet at the next SN and made quick work of the drink since it was getting late. After much deliberation on where the marks led we finally found marks which headed towards the BN. BN was placed at a park that I shall dub D’s Sex Playground which she was more than happy to share with the rest of us. We did a little chicken dance orchestrated by Magically delicious then we were back to the bar for On-In.

Closing circle/ Funny comments

Statutory Consent remembers when she used to call 60k9, Sexy K9 and who can blame her. 
 
Magically Delicious face fucked Ben Franklin 

Statutory Consent and Me Shrub You Long Time drank for their shitty trail

Shop and Fuck apparently only knows 4 names that start with J

Roller Girl for wearing a Shiggy on her head

OPP gets called in for not knowing his East from West (IDK either)

Pounded in the Can and Rubber Ripper drink for Auto Hashing

Pounded also came with a gaggle of virgins but we were only able to sacrifice 2

Non-togas, Birthdays, and Visitors

DSP wasn't happy that she touched no no squares

To end the night our sexy Greek asked Roller Girl down on her knees so that we may begin the interrogation to determine her new BFM HASH NAME!!!!! So, after many good but mostly bad suggestions I give you Daddy, May I Pun!!!!!!