GGFM # 150

The Truth

Official Organ of the G2FMH3

G2FMH3 Hash # 150Friday, March 5, 2004

Hares: The Roy

Pre-lube: Botanical

Start: Broadway and Houston

On-In: MJ Armstrong’s

Punk Ass Bitch (Scribe): Wet Connection

So I get this note following the Greater Gotham Full Moon Hash’s illustrious 150th r*n from Magoo, and he asks me whether or not I got the list of down-downs from JM Mean Jean or Scooter to handle the write-up. HA! I think to myself (all uppity-professional-like), like I need notes.  In fact, I’m not even sure if I even responded to Magoo’s e-mail I was so sure that I’d be doing the write-up within a week of the actual event, keeping it fresh, remembering each and every nuance and detail. 


But now, just a few days before the next GGFM and at least six area hashes later, I’m sitting here wishing that I had those scribbled notes.  I didn’t do the write-up and I can’t even seem to find my damn compendium to help jog the memory and fill this page with fodder of GGFMs past (perhaps Burke stole it to destroy incriminating photos of me baring my jog bra, over imbibing, on a monthly Friday-nite basis over the past umpteen years??).  Hmmm. Well, if there’s one thing I love about the GGFMH3, it’s that this beloved hash is one of those refreshing once in a Full Moon larks that jumps into the hash calendar and spontaneously comes together in grand style nearly every time.  All this fun and frolicking, despite our rather harried — busy or just full of hashes — lives.  It’s that easy-breezy thing that keeps the GGFM going so strong, so I’ll take the same approach and just wing it with the write-up.


From what I recall from the GGFMH3 #150 – the start was dark.  That is probably a good thing, it being Gotham on a Friday nite and all.  Dark and stormy, you ask?  No, just dark.  Oh, and damp.  The humidity was out of control that night and it even seemed a bit warm – oh yes, I think I caught some leg.  Yes, it’s coming to me now; shorts on men with good legs (Devo, Roy and the like), dark cloudy skies/no moon in sight, damp ground.  Unknown hashers dressed in wild garb.  Skullcaps a la The Red Baron.  Was he a hasher or did he read about us in Time Out?  Turns out he was part of the Summit gang – a force field of their own who make xenophobic hashers nervous (this one included).  We’ve heard about Summit – them with the names like Elephant Dick, Dog Meat, Platypussy and Rat Bastard, all in our midst – and they are not too far from Rumson. 


Rumors ran ragged through the pack at the start…Roy was still on trail, was he busy getting arrested?  Where was Mean Jean?  Caught in a meeting at work, we heard.  But she was supposed to be mixing up “Strip and Go Nakeds” for a beer check.  Where were her priorities? Would she make it, would we make it?  And what about all those bags? There was an incredible turnout – a pack of howling hashers at least 50 strong.  Even Head-Up Ass commented that if this was just a taste of things to come in the summer hashing season we needed to be very worried, very worried indeed. (Thongs! Bring on the thongs – I mean THRONGS, bring on the THRONGS!!!)


So, the trail went something like this: we hashed to the left, we hashed to the right, we went down a bit south and then hung a right.  We went a bit north, did a shimmy and a shake, we ended up at a beer check and took a little break… 


Yes, whew, Mean Jean the Down-Down Machine came through for us.  We had “Strip and Go Nakeds” at that little park just south of the 19th Hole (it’s a bad thing when you begin using bars as a geographical reference).  From there we went on up to the on-in at M.J. Armstrong’s in the east upper 20s and on down into a great party space that was reminiscent of The Back Page, but without the smell of cat piss and without the ceiling leaking and nearly caving in every time the toilet flushes (don’t tell me you didn’t notice that part of the raining ceiling equation???).


So there we were, in the basement of M.J.’s with our own bar and bartender, a guy who was nothing less than awed by our fast-paced consumption.  But was he impressed with our drinking or was he just intimidated by the thought that we may actually be good runners?  I dunno, but from his look that evening, the thought has actually crossed my mind that sometimes the bars really do run out of beer when we’re around!  In no time, as promised, the quesadillas arrived – and the mozzarella stix, and the chicken wings and fingers – and more beer…and then on to down-downs (while we tried to hold back from the food, with little luck). 


So this is where it gets a little tricky, no notes and all.  What I recall was a JM half in the bag doling out down-downs and a Scooter in assistance.  There were the virgins, visitors (thank you, Summit! and others) and hare (Roy).  Then the usual random down-downs, possibly including one for Kyle, who was distributing free dishcloths that had been hand-knitted by his mom.  In fact, the dishcloths were so popular, they may have undermined sales of the G2FMH3 baseball caps which debuted that night as many donned said dishcloths on their heads instead of buying the caps.


Finally, a tribute to the former JMs of the GGFM, including Hoffman (yet another hasher who will be leaving the NYC mix – we’ll miss you Mike!), Scot, Danny, Raybould, etc., all of whom held the reigns, and reigned in the madness of the GGFM over the past nine years.  Then a major toast to the grand pooh-bah, mistress who started it all in 1995, Maid Marion Konopf, the GGFM’s founder and Grand Mistress.


From there, the usual on-in antics.  I assume that means more beer, maybe some dancing and singing – and more beer.  But don’t quote me, I don’t remember much and don’t have the notes.  Then I’ll take a guess and assume the usual beer-goggled hook-ups and half-hook-ups, ass-bearing and the like.  All good stuff, from what I can remember.  Anyway, thanks GGFM for all the fun (and lack of memories) and here’s to 150 more!