BH3 #703 – The White Trash R*n
Start: L or M to Myrtle Wyckoff Stop
Scribe: RackN’ Roll Her
The start of the White Trash R*n of 2013 was at an intersection of five different avenues. Or, if you pay specific attention to the hareline (a show of hands on this one…), at the corner of Myrtle and Wyckoff. I think. Anyway, there happened to be a large, enclosed, street-level subway station on the corner of the designated L stop, and this indoor station became the spot where the pack congregated on that 25 degree December evening. As watches hit 7pm, the pack suddenly became concerned about their missing hare. Surely this heated station must be the start!, we said. And surely Smashmouth would come looking for us, was said by a few. (This seems even stupider now, as I sit here and write this, than it did the night of the trail.) Hardman even called the hare’s cell phone, and was greeted with voicemail. Finally a very smart and determined hasher braved the cold to locate our hare, and found him waiting with 4 other hashers on one of those unheated street corners. Smashmouth didn’t even bother to conceal his feelings of dismay as about 30 hashers descended upon him. “Welcome, you are LATE!”, he boomed, and the White Trash R*n began. Our hare told to us to feel free to take photos of the quaint displays of piety, but also not to spend too much time gawking at this year’s chosen neighborhood of ridicule. The pack took off through Bushwick and in less than a mile was in Queens, to be greeted by an obscene amount of flashing lights, and an assortment of inflatable objects packed onto small lawns. There wasn’t much time to ogle the decorations; the trail was around 4.5 miles of “one-and-you’re–on” after the checks, which made for a speedy run. Even though the hare ran us over every hill in Glendale. (Oh, you haven’t heard of Glendale? That’s because it’s practically in LONG ISLAND. In the 1800s it was a German community, and if you’re into all things Bavarian then Zum Stammtisch is worth the trek out there.)
The “On In” chalked in front of Courtside Lounge was the smallest mark on the whole trail, and all the FRBs ran right past it. The bar was spacious and nearly empty and the beer deal included Guinness, which I think should make any hasher happy. Much time was spent socializing, listening to crazy stories of New Year’s Eves past and exes, and eating pizza. So much time that the visitors from Chicago asked if we even did a circle. Of course!
- Hyyyymmmm to Hare!
- Visitors – The Cock Whisperer and another gentleman from Chicago (can’t remember his hash name)Just Katie, visiting from Boston, and The Bavarian from Germany.
- Cheeky Bastard– For telling the pack not to worry about our missing hare at the start, because the Smashmouth would wait for us. HA! B-I-M-B-O…
- Ghengis C*nt – For questioning why we would need chalk, when the hare told us that there were no checks on trail.
- Legs Lesley, Stewa and Ghengis C*nt – For actually finding the correct the start – we sang the song about her rusty asshole
- Doggie Erectus – For using the Bavarian for practicing his German at the start. The Bavarian provided us with a song.
- Rack ‘n’ Roll Her – for trying on wet gloves found at the On In.
- Ahoy the Wanker! – Had his pants down at the start. (JM’s meager notes. Sorry, I don’t remember and I wish I had more details on this one)
- Conilingus – Thought that an address on a Queen’s house was the year in Hebrew, because it had a dash in it. “His one skin hangs down to …”
- Skidmark – For peeing on trail. “The old brown cow went…”
- Hare – Didn’t set the hotline, someone posted on the Facebook page asking where the On In was.
- Civilian Down Down – Ian S
- Smashmouth – For the look of disappointment on his face upon seeing the large, true, pack at the start. “Asshole, Asshole…”
After the circle disbanded, conversation turned to the “beer” used for the downs downs, which a few members of the pack were trying to identify. Barnacle swore that he saw it come out of the Bud Light tap, but even with an eyewitness, this was still a dubious assumption because Bud Light is not cloudy, and the down down beer definitely had an “unfiltered” look. Someone declared that it was squirrel urine, but Smashmouth’s opinion that the tap was hooked up to the plumbing in the men’s room, really had the most credibility. A small group, including your scribe, sadly decided it was time to go after Google showed a 20 minute walk to the nearest subway (or, if you prefer, a bus to a bus to a different subway). We weren’t all that surprised to find to find Smashmouth and Hedgehog waiting on the platform, even though they had left the bar long before us. After a few stops on the M, Smashmouth consulted a map and told Hedgehog they would be getting off shortly to then transfer to the “Livonia” stop. They may have rung in the New Year somewhere in Eastern Europe. Such is the price of the White Trash R*n. Hopefully next year will be the return to Dyker Heights, truly unsurpassed for extravagance and tackiness!