The Truth
Official Organ of the G2FMH3
G2FMH3 Hash #147 – Friday, Decemer 5, 2003
Hares: Wet Connection
Start: Christopher Street & 7th Avenue
On-In: Brady’s Tavern
Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Jesse
The crisis began at Marie’s Crisis. It was an inauspicious start. Though four inches of snow arriving by 5:00pm left one to wonder whether hashing was in the cards. Huddled in the corner, and perhaps hiding in the closet, the pre-lubers lubed on beer and show tunes, sang enthusiastically by the gathered gentleman surrounding the piano. But we enjoyed the company and my personal absence while changing was duly noted by the question “so where’d the little cute boy go?” It’s nice to have fans.
Alas, we could not stay. No, it made much more sense to abandon warmth and good times for a run in the snowy eve. We left to the chorus of “Don’t Cry for me Argentina”, abandoning Cher, I mean Cree, at the bar, and entered the cold cold night. The snow was scattering down and shimmering incandescently backlit by streetlights, as the downtown city streets were quiet under gentle cover. Cars slogged softly over unplowed streets as people trundled through the piles on the sidewalk. It was at that moment I realized I forgot my pants.
So on 7th Avenue, the merry pre-lubed met the shivering un-lubed at Christopher Street Park, and soon we were off, looking for grape Kool-Aid in the snow, which blends nicely with the shadows. We almost saw two marks. Noses to the ground we went sniffing trail like bloodhounds. But our noses were fine-tuned for alcohol, not sugar, and we came up empty. We went west for one block. Then we went south for a block, and attempted going back east. Seeing Mickey Mouth at a gallop going South, the more enlightened among us realized she knew something we didn’t. So following her, we headed all the way down Varick until we got to Murray Street by City Hall. Along the way, snowballs were thrown. It was just like A Child’s Christmas in Wales, except without the Welsh, and without children. So it was actually a lot better. Because at the end we drank beer.
And drink we did. Apparently the bar was Brady’s Tavern, but it looked a LOT like some other bar we had been to before in the same area. Anyway, down downs commenced eventually… hare Christine back from Australia drank for setting trail, of some sort. Then snowball warriors Kim and Bill were punished, as representative offenders for everyone who engaged in hostilities. I was duly awarded for winning admirers at Marie’s, and Cree who lingered was given his due, earning the hash name “Bottom.” Jerry was honored with a redundant fashion offense. Finally the chosen-one, Mini-Coochie, she who was born with her own hash name, was called up for coming back a second time to join in our merriment, after months of absence.
Food was served, beer abounded, and fun was had by all. Ho Ho Ho and On-Out.