NYCH3 # 1079

NYCH3 #1079, November 14, 2004

START: 42th Street & 8th Avenue

HARES: Wet Connection

On In: The 19th Hole

Scribe: Cockstar

 

GOLF

 

Top 10 things that sound “dirty” in golf, but aren’t:

 

1.         Check out the size of his putter!
2.         Nuts!  My shaft is bent.
3.         After 18 holes, I can barely walk.
4.         My hands are so sweaty I can’t get a good grip.
5.         You have a nice stroke, but your follow through leaves 

            a lot to be desired.
6.         Damn, I missed the hole again!

7.         Mind if I join your threesome?

8.         Stand with your back turned and drop it.

9.         Keep your head down and spread your legs a bit

            more.

10.       Hold up . . . I need to wash my balls first.

 

            A decent-sized pack gathered at the start on 42nd and 8th Avenue.  Decent enough that is to piss off a serious number of pedestrians trying to walk on the eternally-mobbed 42nd Street.  Yet there we stood, like Stewa (almost), huddled together and groping for warmth.   Eeeeeewwwwww!   Cree and I, at least, attempted to stand against the wall to catch the last few minutes of sunlight before setting out on what has become a ritualistic Sunday r*n.  Others who showed up included Peter and Lesley, Alice, Dough Boy, Tim, Dagfinn (not a hash name) Mean Jean, Chad, Stewa, Karen, Seth, Sideshow Bob, Dave Hardy, Ed Lunch, Fast Am. Dave #6, Magoo, Scottish Andrew and Jon and his friend Eric.

 

            Wet Connection (the Big Wet ‘C’) arrived for a quickie chalk talk and the pack was sent off south on Eighth Avenue.  From there, you’re guess is as good as mine as to where the trail went.  There was a weird ramp thing that happened on Ninth Avenue somewhere in the 30’s, where I got so lost that I never caught up with the pack.  There was a run through Penn Station (sort of) then a slight left through a parking garage, which I missed completely.  I vaguely remember going through Madison Square Park and then further south to Union Square, then east along St. Marks Place into the East Village and Alphabet City.  On Avenue A I was convinced that we were going to the Shrunken Head or Mickey’s Blue Room.  But, alas, we did not.  There was talk on trail (me specifically) telling Mean Jean that it was a sad thing that The 19th Hole had closed on Friday night.  Around 2nd Avenue and 14th Street, the trail headed into Stuyvesant Town.  At this point, the thought of housing projects was NFA (Not For Alison), so I called in.  I was stunned!  The hash line said the on-in was The 19th Hole.  Considering I was on Second and 16th, this was not a bad destination, so I high-tailed it in and was still almost DFL.

 

            Patrick (not Booty Call, but perhaps with the same drinking habits) our usual bartender there, was serving just about anything we wanted on tap.  Booty Call and Lisa would make a later appearance. The bar stank of sweat and smoke, the same culprits hogged the bathroom to change and the usual suspects manned the juke box.

 

            Our fearless JMs, Dave Long and Got Wood?, managed to jot down a list of down-downs, but only after Got Wood? diagrammed the reorganization of Mean Jean’s closet on the back pages of the last two weeks’ write-ups.  The Big Wet C was called up for nothing other than being the hare.  Three virgins, who shall remain nameless because I didn’t catch their names, were up next.  Unsuspecting Dough Boy and Legs Lesley were forced into the Circle to consume a couple of beers as punishment for their flagrant talking during the Circle.

 

            Bra-bearing-girl (it was blue satin with green satin trim – not even a jog bra!) was called up for shamelessly changing her shirt in the front window of the bar and acting as a magnet for Peter’s eye balls.  Jolly Dolly, a visitor from Hong Kong, took his poison well.  Not so well for Sideshow, however, when he was called up for commenting how he always forgets how cold his nipples get in the cold.  Sideshow stayed for yet another one (Part Deux) for extra stupidity.  Outside the on-in, with about 10 hashers emerging from inside the bar to cool off in the autumn breeze, he commented:  “This can’t be it!  I think they’re closed.”

 

            Red haired Karen got to drink from her brand-spankin’ new shoes.  Common’ Karen, you can’t be that desperate for a beer!  Patrick (the bartender) refused to drink beer when summoned into the Circle, but instead poured himself a stiff vodka/cranberry before we were able to serenade him with our traditional Good Night Ladies song and thank him for his years of faithful service.  Alice got the Smashmouth award for taking a digger on trail.  Magoo, who is still banned from the Circle, was replaced by Dagfinn (not a hash name) for a particularity foul offense.  Apparently Magoo stayed at Fast Am. Dave #6’s apartment (for the umpteenth time) over the weekend.  He dutifully completed the requisite chores Dave posts on his fridge for repeat guests, including washing the sheets.  What Magoo failed to clean up, however, was the used condom he allegedly left in the kitchen trash can.  Magoo!  The kitchen?  Really!   Be fair . . . Dave eats there!

 

            AOW went to Pussy Repellant for failing to distinguish between a dog’s bark (woof-woof) and the on-on call. [Anyone think these two down-downs should have been reversed?]

 

            Hash cash lasted for a while and I think Sideshow, Christina and I only spent $5 bucks of our own money before we high-cabbed it home around 10PM.  I will miss my 19th Hole. [ Was that “golf speak” or just plain old dirty?]

 

On-out.


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