Official Organ of the Greater
Gotham Full Moon
Hash House Harriers
G2FMH3 Hash # 155 –
Friday, July 30, 2004
Random General Meeting
JMs: “Kyle” & Mean Jean The Down Down Machine
Religious Advisor: “Scot” and “
Parliamentarian: Sarah Downunder and
On-Sec: Mickey Mouth
Hares: The Old Committee
Start: Canal and West Broadway
On-In: The Patriot
Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Mickey Mouth
Scene: Necternal, the bar room in
Enter: Gorgeous Young Boy in curly locks and a short short toga.
Dionysus, my lord, there has been a regime change in the isle of Manhattos.
Where exactly is that, my boy.
Oh, over in the new world, small isle, not much to be concerned about.
Tell me about it, do they still worship me?
Oh, yes, my lord, most emphatically still. The change started upon specious rumors of WOMD.
Weapons of Mass Destruction?
No, no, the Winey Oldsters Might Dash.
Begin at the begin, dear boy, my head has supped on the grapes already.
Ahem…., like in the Aenead, Rumor flew around the town with one hundred eyes and mouths announcing the various changes. Was Sir Scot stepping down? Would Crazy Bob stay the muse? Where’s
Wait, sweet boy, we have a sleeper there right?
Oh yes. Mickey Mouth. She has been a trustworthy sot, uh, sort, for years, serving out terms worldwide.
Right. I remember her.
Perhaps you would just want to read her report?
No, dear boy, read it to me.
She also wrote a dithyramb, do you want to hear that?
No, no, I remember her voice well enough. In my state, it would be unwise.
Ok, [Gorgeous Young Boy takes out a cd player and presses play. Mickey Mouth’s mellifluous voice is broadcast] O great and noble Dionysus, son of Zeus and mortal Semele, god of fertility, wine and patron of the arts….
Boy, you can skip that part.
Oh, ok. [the Gorgeous Young Boy fast forwards a bit] …ever most humble servant reports thusly: The throng was impatient as a hungry arena lion as “Scot” rambled on for hours about checks and marks and what was a ‘true’ trail and what wasn’t. “Fiddlefaddle!” I bellowed “trails are trails!” Finally the pack was set to chase the old regime down. The run was as confusing as Aeneas’s trip home from
“Scot” held watch over the trail like Argus Panoptes. It seemed to wander uptown a bit, through the massive crowds of Little
The circle was called, but the people were getting twitchy. Mean jean had trouble keeping the crowd quiet. Shouts and hoohaas were coming near and far. A great song rose up for the outgoing regime as the hares of the run. She asked for the virgins but because of the rousing bawls and shouts, both virgins and visitors made way for the beer. The worst trail of the year was given to British Andrew but since he wasn’t there we had British Andrew number 2 drink for him. Nail Driver was given a DD because at one prior hash he got the digits of a hot date, but it turned out to be Lunch. Worst On In was awarded to Legs Lesley. Best Performance granted to CockStar, Fairy Queen and Fluffy (absent because he was downstairs drinking with Timmy…?) “Rick” was named Bon Jovi Boy, shortened to BJ Boy. Then I don’t know what happened because I needed to get a beer so I missed a few downdowns. But it was in your name, my lord, forgive me.
Now for the new appointees. Hare Raiser is “Rich”. Sergeant–at-arms is still Crazy Bob. On-Sec is Mickey Mouth (what! Yells HUA, that bitch!?). Parliamentarians are Sarah Down Under and
The food, dear brutus, lies not within ourselves but elsewhere. Unfortunately, man cannot live on beer alone, my lord. There was no f*cking food to speak of. A rumor of a couple of pies, some hamburgers and some fries. I was sick mad hungry as the local lingo goes, as if Brize was buzzing in my stomach. But enough.
The rest of the night was splattered by tomfoolery. Crazy Bob giving, as always, his fair share. Where he got the clown nose, I don’t know. What he did with it during the hash, I would rather not relate. What he did with it after the hash, I am scared to imagine. Our new Kingly “Kyle” maintained that it was his own damn fault, even though some people claimed there was a woman to blame. But I don’t. Mean Jean got her favorite suspicions aroused. And well, that’s it, my lord. I had to retire to my flat. This is Mickey Mouth saying ave atque vale, my lord. Till next time
So, my boy, it was less of a regime change, then a turning of the guard. No WOMD, no need to cause harm?
Are the people happy? Are they still drinking to me?
Yes Lord Dionysus, as if ale were breath, my lord.
All’s well then. Pass the wine on the left hand side…