HARES: Bottom and Sideshow Bob
START: In front of Flannery’s on 14th Street off 8th Avenue
On In: Flannery’s
Yep! That’s right folks. Sh*t happens. Sh*t happens to everyone, but more about that later. The sh*t that went down last week went something like this:
Danny was scheduled to hare last week’s r*n, but last minute (he thought it was Tuesday – not Wednesday), Danny sent out an email announcing that due to a yoga injury, his back was out and he would not be able to hare. Note: No self-respecting hasher should admit to a yoga habit. After a flurry of emails amongst the Committee members, it was initially decided that last Wednesday’s r*n would be an A to A r*n, with either Bottom or HUA setting a live trail.
The usual drunks showed up at the pre-lube – me, Mean Jean, Bottom, Sideshow Bob, Mickey Mouth and Devo. Overruling the Committee’s previous edict, we decided that Sideshow would co-hare with Cree. Now, reasonable minds might have thought better of this idea, considering Sideshow schlepped the hash to
After downing a quick beer, Bottom and Sideshow took off, with Bottom donning a flaming Bush (that would be our asshole President with his pants on fire) doll. The rest of us were left to stall the masses as our semi-live hares set a trail. The pack was somewhat modest as Magoo, Stacia, Phil, JoHn, Dr. Debbie, Dr. Steve, Michelle, Norma, Rick, Fast Am. Dave #6, Wet Connection, John Burke, Peter, Andrew, Lesley, Bruce, Lisa and Alice congregated in front of the bar. The crowd grew restless as we awaited the hares’ return. No such luck. Realizing that we didn’t even know where the first mark was, we made the start a check and sent the pack off around .
As for Dr. Steve, he took off and left Mean Jean with his pager. He left it on “vibrate” and instructed MJ to answer the page if need be. She was instructed to take down the message verbatim from his answering service. [Gotta love a doctor who hashes when on call.] The pack could not have been more than 10 minutes into the trail when the inevitable happened. MJ’s boobs buzzed (that’s where she put the vibrating pager). Panicked, she ran outside. “What should I do?” She asked. I told her to call the service as instructed. Frantically searching for a pen, MJ darted out of a bar like a doctor on call at a hash. She returned seconds later, doubly panicked: “I don’t know his last name!” She exclaimed. “I only know him as Dr. Steve!” I informed her of said doctor’s last name This is to protect him if he ever gets Googled for a deposition. If you don’t understand this, please ask Scot G.).
When she returned from calling the answering service, MJ informed me that the service refused to give her the information about the patient who had called because she was not a doctor. Now, call me somewhat slow/stupid/retarded, but why give a non-doctor the beeper if they can’t field the calls????? Personally, I think it would have been funnier if MJ had been able to call the patient and offer some medical advice. Like, take two beers and call me in the morning. The best part was when Dr. Steve told her the patient died and, of course, she believed him.
So who got lost on the A to A r*n? Mickey Mouth and Newbie (Jim) got lost on trail and had to return to the bar. Bottom and I tried to freak out Fast Am. Dave #6 by setting false pack marks at the end of the trail to make him think there was someone ahead of him. He was unphased.
We, the Committee, did our best to keep the beers flowing and the pizza coming. But hey, they don’t call us the Mismanagement for nothin’!
As for the sh*t that happened in the Circle:
1. The hares Bottom and Sideshow Bob.
2. Dr. Steve for being on call during a hash and giving his pager to Mean Jean, who fielded his calls, but was unable to retrieve messages from the answering service.
3. Visitors and Virgins (Can we get name-tags please?).
4. Me for airing my dirty laundry in last week’s write-up.
5. Me, again, for having the audacity to describe myself as a long-term member of the H3 but not knowing who Ross (he’s been hashing for 15 years).
As for the late-night conversations over beers not covered by hash cash (Wet Connection insisted that I make mention of this in the write-up): they focused on sh*t. You know the things we call taking a crap, a dump, No. 2, making a deposit, a BM, the trots, blasting a dookie, farting in 3D, a not-so-airy biscuit, Montezuma’s Revenge, pinching a loaf, dropping the kids off at the pool, laying cable, the runs, painting the bowl or just an old fashioned pool. Like I said, sh*t happens.
Everyone had a sh*t story, but unfortunately mine are the only ones I remember. I confessed to having destroyed a Johnny-On-the-Spot by the tennis courts at the Fanwood NJ NASS the previous Sunday with sweat pouring out of every pour of my body – shaking – and to an unfortunate incident at the Belmont Lounge, with 8 people waiting on line for the bathroom. The women confessed that office dookies are a no-no and just about everyone agreed that they liked the “home bowl advantage.” That being said . . . .