Brooklyn Hash House Harriers
January 5, 2004
On In: Redd’s
Scribe: The Saint
The last time I walked into Redd’s Derek Jeter was lying on the ground as we entered – on the TV steps dear readers and if you did NOT understand that you should tear up this paper and leave the On In (if that is where you read this literature), jump off the subway, jump out your window, jump in front of a car, etc, etc. because you are dim.
As I was saying, Redd’s is a fan favorite and on both occasions thanks to the hashers they easily pay their electric bill when we descend. Much water has passed under our respective bridges since then most driven by the amount of beer us hashers imbibe. The Damn Yankees lost the bloody Series, which they should have won to the ??? (really can’t remember who) who miraculously beat the Cubbies who also should have won. They let their best pitcher (Pettitte) go; allowed The Rocket to retire then unretire; mismanaged the free agent market; pissed off their coaches; and likely upset the clubhouse chemistry. And we thought ONLY the Muts were idiots. Your Saint being a Texan will also be rooting for the ‘Stros in ’04.
Back to Hash matters. This was a short trail – took your scribe approximately 24 minutes running slowly — likely because Stacie aka Tiger’s Woody (someone please explain this one to me) has put Boston on hold for a year, hopefully not longer, and she basically got lazy likely because f the cold weather. We all trust she will not end up eating Bon Bons in lieu of her Grand Mistress duties of laying trails, etc., etc.
Down Downs were given to EWA for wearing (fake) fur to a Hash. Her boy-toy, Steve was there but I am not sure he whether he received one. As this scribe understands it, there was considerably less PDA than viewed at the last hash. But clearly the most egregious DD was given to Fluffy for baring his upper body while changing in the frigid climes at the start. Thank god few living beings witnessed that scene. Stephen was given – or should have been – a DD in abstencia for thinking about a trail crime. Perhaps we should ask for a Minority Report on him each week.
Here’s a contribution from London for your reading enjoyment.
A man was walking with his morning coffee when he witnessed a most unusual funeral procession approaching the nearby cemetery.
A long black hearse was followed by a second long black hearse 50 feet behind.
Behind the solitary hearse was a man walking a pit-bull on a leash.
Behind him was a queue of 200 men walking in a single file.
The man couldn’t stand the curiosity. He respectfully approached the man walking the dog, “I am so sorry for your loss, and I know now is bad time to disturb you, but I’ve never seen a funeral like this with so many of you walking in a single file. Whose funeral is it?
The man relied, “Well that first hearse is for my wife.”
“What happened to her?”
The man relied, “My dog attacked and killed her.”
He inquired further, “Well who is in the second hearse/”
The man answered, “My mother-in-law. She was trying to help my wife when the dog turned on her.”
A poignant and thoughtful moment of silence passed between the two men.
“Can I borrow the dog?”
Join the queue mate.”
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