Hares: Peter Trunfio
(With ghostwriters Yello Smello and Jo(h)n)
Weight: I don’t think so!
Alcohol Units: Who’s counting
Calories: Who’s counting
Fags: Who’s counting
OK. So its’ been six months since my last entry. I’ve got two words for you. BITE ME! Since my last entry in Sober October, a lot has happened. Sober October has come and gone, I can’t remember either November or December, I’ve got a hash name, we’ve had a Shiite winter, the beer tire is back, I blew out my ACL and I’m currently unemployed. Isn’t life grand! There’s actually a lot more to write here but, in deference to Roy (who has since left NY), I will not devote this entire entry to myself.
As my mother used to say:
The spring has sprung.
The grass is riz.
I wonder where the birdies iz?
The boyd is on the wing!
But dat’s upsoyd, d’a wing is on da boyd!
The pack was gathered on 86th and Lex. Peter was holding court. The pimp — I mean — hash mobile waz hummin’. The unmarked cop car (a taxi) was parked next to the hash mobile and another unit pulled up just as we got started. Unbeknownst to us, all of this police activity had nothing to do with us but rather some Greek celebratory parade on 5th Avenue. It was not some concerted effort by the police to arrest hashers while setting trail.
Peter appeared v. relaxed. Even boasted about having set trail in both chalk and flour! Jessie seemed somewhat leery. Calling all the virgins and visitors together, Peter explained the “marks.” Peter then bestowed upon Roy a T-shirt with his given name and cowbell. This, he explained, was to keep the virgins and visitors in tow and to herd them into the bar.
The regulars were lined up: Tom, American Dave #6, Dave Hardy, HUA, John Burke, Leslie, Got Wood?, Wet Connection, StEwa, Alice, Kyle, Marie, “Joe” The Body Croft and Jon. A bunch of virgins and visitors showed up too. Magoo, what the hell are you doing? Your job?
As Peter sent the pack west on 86th, Diane and Dave Long showed up — just in time to throw their bags into the hash mobile. Peter told them to head straight to Engineer’s Gate. Mean Jean, Kara, Peter and I were left to mark the on-in and the first mark. MJ and I tossed for a seat in the pimp — I mean — gimp mobile and I won. Kara and MJ took off into the bowels of the green line and Peter and I got into the car.
The trail headed west on 86th. The first check appeared on the median at Park Avenue. The pack set off towards the Park, certain that their instincts would lead them towards the true trail. Only John Burke, however, had the sense to head north. The pack was split. The trail continued north and west, zigzagging to Engineer’s Gate. Another check. The FRB’s (these are Jon’s words — not mine) continued north along the bridal path and at the northern tip of the reservoir, discovered another check. The trail continued under the 97th street transverse, up the center of North Meadow, under Springbank Arch and left up the Great Hill. At the top of the hill — another check. The trail went right back downhill, veered right yet again into some shiggy and then crossed the East Drive. The pack was then forced to scale a fence and run north of Lasker Rink. The trail turned east uphill to the lookout over the Harlem Meer and then went south and east. At Fifth Avenue, the trail headed north up to Pioneer’s Gate and the pack found another check at Ellington Circle. The trail then continued east on 110th and finally zigzagged up to 199th and Park. [Jon has since told me that the only reason he is more familiar with these NY landmarks is because he consulted a map before telling me where the bloody trail went].
Mean Jean, Kara, Peter and I had already saddled up to the bar and downed the first two pitchers of Harp. According to Peter, the bar was not usually open on Sundays and the bartender Saoirse (pronounced “Seer-sha”) had been kind enough to open the bar for us. He also claimed that the reason he had chosen this bar was because the pitchers were $5 each. As soon as we saw the right and the left (and I’m not talking about Saoirse’s hands), we were convinced otherwise.
Being the responsible guest scribe that I am, I began taking notes as soon as the beer was flowing and the FRB’s arrived. Yello Smello was looking over my shoulder:
YS: You writing down names?
YS: Did you get Sujan?
YS: Did you get Devo? He just walked in.
YS: Who’s “Smee”?
CS: It’s me.
YS: Right. Another beer?
The usual FRBs rolled in . . . blah . . . blah . . .blah.. Some new people too. Some v. fast new people including Virgin Jackie in with the FRB’s. Beeeyatch! Wish I could run. Wish I could run fast. Hey! Why is that guy doing chin-ups outside of the bar? Who is he? Anyone know?
Jackie’s svelte . . . . beeyatch! Am feeling frumpy. This gimp thing is NFA (Not For Alison). Will console myself with another beer. Good. Tournament is on. Don’t really care though, have already lost in two pools.
Oh look! Sideshow Bob’s here. Kara’s happy. Only reason she’s here is cause she told Sarah Down Under in a wine-induced stupor at the hog wash on Friday that she’d co-sec the write up. Yesssss Kara, I got Christine. What? Kim’s here? On roller blades? Yeah I have her down too.
CS: If you’re going to do this write-up — you take notes during the down-downs.
CS: Want another beer?
CS: You countin’?
CS: Me neither.
Peter up for trail. Check. Damn I’m good at taking notes. I’ll show Alison how to scribe! Hey, anyone know why Peter always wears a baseball cap? He’s got a full set of hair. Issssss next — Virgins and Visitors — Jackie (fast and slender — hate her) Rena (more about her in a minute), Eric (from Utah), Petra (from Munich) Pam and John. He’s from the Bangcock hash. How do you spell Bangkok?
Kyle’s getting a down-down for using a GPS device on the trail. Good thing I’ve left mine at home for the past 6 months. Dude! Who’d be dumb enough to run with a GPS! Doesn’t Kyle have a graduate degree?
Dave Long’s up next. Apparently he’s got a better PR than mine for a marathon (3:09) and Diane beat him to the bar. His excuse was that he had to go to a Fleet Bank to get some Dead Presidents. Yeah, right, OK.
The Bag Hags of the week are (my boyfriend) Sideshow Bob and Rena (not my boyfriend). Sideshow just turned up late so he deserved it. Rena, however, is another story. On her virgin hash she got all excited when Peter sent the hash off on the first mark and dragged her bag with her. At the light at Park Avenue, the pack turned around and asked her what the f**** she was doing running with her bag when the hash mobile was right by the curb at the start. As if this wasn’t humiliating enough, she was kind of slow on the beer intake and, when regaled with the golden oldie “suck swallow,” she volunteered to get on her knees. Oh yeah! Kim was also called up for roller blading to the bar. That’s almost as bad as electrical stimulation!
OK, so my notes say something about JJ asking Peter how long the run was. Peter, the honest injun’ we all know him to be, told her a mile and a quarter. When the said distance was reached (according to Kyle’s GPS), JJ asked WC: “Did he lie to me?” Honey (I’m thinking) do you think you are the first hasher Peter’s lied to?
Na-na na na-na, na-na na na-na, hey hey hey, good-bye, good-bye.
Na-na na na-na, na-na na na-na, hey hey hey, good-bye, good-bye.
Peter just got another beer cuz Kansas lost. Hee hee. Hey Al! How’s about another Harp? What! Too spenny? OK Yuengling’ll do. Yumm. Beer is good. The hash is good. OK, so AOW goes to Roy for leaving us. He got an engraved beer stein, which Jason threatened to take away in the event he returns.
YS: Alissssson, you take over.
CS: Am I going to be able to read your notes?
YS: I dunno.
Smee again. Just writing and drinkin’. So the night got a little ugly. What’s an unemployed gimp supposed to do? Go home early? I don’t fink so! So, my notes go something like this. In no particular order: Kyle locked himself out of the men’s room and then got a “pitch fork” (????) from Saoirse to pick lock his way back in; Peter and Dave Long got stopped on the street by two kids screaming “Hey five – O – can we get a slice?” when they brought the pizza in; Sideshow Bob pulled something like caps (but I actually think it was cactus) out of his ass; there was the hoola hoop — everyone had a go at it; Kara and Leslie started jumping rope with it outside; the dreaded Fireman Bob-quarter-up-the-a** game reared its ugly head and we tried to combine it with said hoola hoop; I found out I’ll pour water over StEwa to pry them apart and to get five bucks; Leslie, who I used to think was nice, will pour a beer over Ewa for free; and – I’m told by an anonymous source- that Saoirse (who by now was being called Sheeersha by all) paid Peter and those who remained at the bar (they shall remain nameless) to leave.
FYI – Sideshow Bob, Kara, Young Marcus and I were definitely “those” people on the Lexington Avenue bus on the way home.
FYI – If I am ever deposed about this or any other write-up like Scott, I will deny everything!