Official Organ of the Greater Gotham Full Moon
Hash House Harriers
G2FMH3 Hash #191 – Friday, March 2nd, 2007
Start: 32nd & Broadway
Hares: U.S. Marine Whore
On-in: The Patriot (Church & Chambers)
Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Noah's Dinghy
I suppose in the name of full disclosure I should include myself as one of the hares, given that the night before USMW called to ask for my help with the bags and sending the hashers off on trail. At any rate, C*ckstar gave me a down-down for this at the circle.
This particular GGFM fell on the same weekend as the Harriettes’ annual weekend and the Dog’s Bollocks. Not a capacity crowd, but the fifteen or so hashers who actually showed up were treated to warm weather, plenty of beer, and a fine trail that took them first through Murray Hill (I guess), then down toward lower Manhattan. Well, first they had to go west, because I had misheard USMW’s instructions about which direction the first mark lay. It turns out that shouting into your cell phone at a busy intersection can lead to some details getting lost.
Obviously, I have no clue what the trail was like, so I’ll just say it was awesome and we’ll skip ahead to the drinking. If you really want details about the r*n, ask a member of the pack that night; I seem to recall Pussy Repellent and Dave (Too) Long were there.
We drank beer. We ate pizza. We drank more beer. And more beer after that. And still more beer. There is a reason, my friends, that so many hashes end at the Patriot.
There were also down-downs: the hares. Me again, for the aforementioned sending of hashers in the wrong direction. (Columbus screwed up which continent he was on and he gets a holiday that schools no longer close for named after him. I wave absent-mindedly in the wrong direction and have to drink an extra beer. I win.) Our virgin, Mary (really!) took off before the circle, so Ewa drank in her place. Steve was then given a beer for the Smashmouth award (though this was never explained) as well as the Magoo award – it seems that after turning on to Church Street just two blocks north of the on-in, with a huge f*cking arrow pointed in that direction, and having guessed where we were headed . . . he promptly r*n toward the river. Perhaps he thought it was a bluff, or he was training for something. Random abuse of power randomly went to Scot, who randomly made Fluffy drink.
After that, we drank even more beer. And that, as Fire in the Piehole has reminded the New York Times is what we do best.