NYCH3 #1113

 

NYCH3 #1113

Date: 6 July, 2005

Start: Bowling Green

Hares: Pussy Repellent & Booty Call

On-in: Bleecker Street Bar (Bleecker & Lafayette)

Scribe: Fire-In-The-Piehole

Our series on “How Not To Set A Trail” continues this week with Lesson 2: “Don’t bother checking the weather forecast”. Pussy Repellent and Booty Call, neither of whom are exactly new to hashing or to the vagaries of planet earth’s weather systems, were surprisingly caught off guard when a large amount of a wet substance bearing a close resemblance to vodka without the alcoholic characteristics started falling from the sky and washed away their well laid plans minutes before the Pack was due to set out.

 

Undeterred, Chris went off to lay a live trail with Chad’s assistance. Patrick was benched on account of the fact that he’s allergic to non-alcoholic liquids…or something like that.

 

Meanwhile, a pack of 30 or so hashers convened at Bowling Green in lower Manhattan. Some who’d made the schoolboy error of actually turning up on time were wetter than others but by the time we were sent on our way, the downpour had started to ease up. The Harriettes in the Pack led the way, presumably motivated by the prospect of catching up with Pussy Repellent and separating him from his pants.

 

The trail led north and then apparently into City Hall Park where it fizzled out. We picked it up on the south end of the Park heading north towards the County Courthouse on Foley Square. We headed east from there and up into Chinatown. The trail doubled back south through Confucius Plaza and after rummaging around on the Lower East Side for a little while it resumed a northward course in the direction of Allen Street.

 

Clearly concerned for the safety of his pants, Chris, now alone on the trail (for reasons that will become apparent), was liberally creating checks to hamper our pursuit.

 

The trail led up the Bowery until, somewhere around Delancy, the Pack stumbled on a mark that, it later transpired, was part of the original trail. It directed us west into SoHo but the remainder of the original trail was missing so the Pack soon ground to a halt and wandered aimlessly while a few of the FRBs circled around to see where it picked up again.

 

Sensing their quarry was slipping away from them, someone in the Pack called the hotline in frustration. The remainder of the trail was pack-marked from the Bowery to Bleecker Street as the Pack made a bee-line for the On-In, Bleecker Street Bar (Bleecker & Lafayette).

 

Which debacle brings us inevitably to the down-downs. Firstly the Hares, or rather the “as advertised” Hares: Booty Call and Pussy Repellent, for their excellently planned and poorly executed trail.

 

Next were Pussy Repellent and Chip (of Chip ‘n’ Dale fame). To be honest, I struggled for some time to recall this little moniker for the Chad & Drew duo. I kept on wanting to call them Chas & Dave, which seems much more appropriate and amusing unless you’re not either:

a. a limey;

b. an aficionado of 80s cheesy cockney rock acts; or

c. a ‘Spurs fan.

 

If you’re fortunate enough not to fall into any of the above categories, I don’t have an American analogy for you. If it helps, Amazon.com says, “People who bought music by Chas & Dave: also bought music by Steve Gaines or The Wurzles, were committed to an institution or were dropped on their heads as babies”.

 

I digress. Chris & Chad were hauled up for their poorly planned and excellently executed trail. Okay, we’re giving Chad too much credit here: Chad had to drink because he managed to get lost setting a live trail. Yeah, don’t ask: I have no idea either.

 

Next were the Visitors & Virgins. Porn Broker from Philly (who was presumably not a virgin) and Ryan, Kerry & Aaron (who were either virgins or were visitors from a hash with a penchant for decidedly unimaginative hash names) were all called up and asked to dispose of some poor but expensive beer.

 

Booty Call was called up once more to describe how he managed to re-open a hole in his rear end again. We all look forward to a concomitant reduction in the amount of crap emanating from his other orifices.

 

Booty Call, who clearly hasn’t been drinking enough lately, was asked to rectify the shortfall yet again for disgracefully referring to the r*n as a “race” on the hotline message. It’s that sort of careless talk that encourages over-achievers and quite frankly we’ll have none of it. Next thing you know FRBs won’t bother coming back to mark checks on trail…oh wait…

 

Our down-down highlight of the evening was the re-enactment of the International Olympic Committee’s 2012 venue decision. Cockstar, representing a delighted New York, Hedgehog, as London’s spokesman, Kelly (of Kim “MasterCard” fame and therefore, hereafter, “VISA”) was the closest we could get to a French resident, Ewa “Poland’s close enough to Russia” as the token eastern European and Michael Bahamonde “Swarthy Stand-In To The Stars” as Madrid’s representative were all given a down-down. Well, it was a re-enactment of the IOC event to the extent that a bunch of people from different countries got together and got drunk.

 

Finally and somewhat predictably, Booty Call was this week’s recipient of the Asshole Of The Week award for a catalogue of errors and for generally being as much use as a one-legged man at an arse-kicking contest.

 

With that the pizza arrived and was demolished in short order as was the remainder of the hash cash! A number of the more determined inebriates among us had come prepared with an additional supply of beer tokens and the drinking continued until the early hours.

 

Next week, Lesson 3: “Don’t negotiate a deal at the bar; negotiating is for pansies.”

 

On-On.