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.
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
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!
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!
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