NYCH3 #1125

Hash NYC

NYCH3 #1125

Date: 21st September 2005

Start:  SW Corner of Union Sq.

Hares:  Sadie & Deanna

On-in:  Emerald Pub (Spring & Greenwich)

Scribe:  Fire-In-The-Piehole


Frequent readers of our continuing series on “How Not to Set a Trail: The Road to Failure and Humiliation” will not be disappointed with this week’s instalment. However, I would like to take a moment to welcome those readers following one of our other Hashing For Dummies sagas: “How Not to Have a Quiet Night In”. This week we offer you the Dean Martin Edition: “You’re Not Drunk If You Can Lie on the Floor Without Holding On.”


Our tale of woe begins, as most of these things do, at the start. Cockstar had informed us via The Receding Hareline that our hares, Sadie & Deanna, were laying a trail unsupervised. I believe the words were: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha!” Undeterred by the implicit (explicit?) mocking of Cockstar’s literary tone, the two hares greeted the not inconsiderable Pack (which is to say, more than a bus-load, less than superdome-load) for a brief Chalk Talk at the south side of Union Square.


With that, we were sent on our merry way. For the most part the trail was uneventful. The prevalent use of blue chalk for trail marks was a schoolboy error for which there would obviously be repercussions later but on the whole the Pack managed to stay reasonably close together. As the trail wound east and then south into a tough check (somewhere around Allen?), I began to worry that there might not be enough Trail material upon which to base a write-up and would therefore be forced to make sh*t up again. However, fear not, dear reader for the worst was yet to come.


By the time the whole pack had caught up to the check, it was solved and we were off again. This time heading generally westward through SoHo. By this point we had been out for nearly an hour and were sure that the end must be in sight. A turn from Broome onto Macdougal, a shimmy across the street, through a garage lot and over Ave. of the Americas we bolted…and promptly came to a dead stop. We were confronted on that little island with two trail arrows pointing north to a check. The trail arrows had been marked false (!) and the check had a trail mark leading away from it to another check 50 feet to the south. That check had a pack mark pointing south and one pointing west, neither of which was marked false. South led nowhere and West led us to…last Friday’s GGFM On-In. Hmm…


The combination of the Hares running straight into last Friday’s trail without knowing it, members of the Pack (who hadn’t run last Friday’s trail) not knowing it either, and Virgins-With-Chalk™ blithely marking trail marks as false, putting down Trail marks and Pack marks like they’re going out of fashion, all contributed to a General Clusterf**k at the corner of Spring and Ave. of the Americas.


After some more checking within a two block radius of the island and after having added a few more expletives to the Hashing lexicon, someone caved and called the Hotline. We headed West making a beeline for the Emerald Pub (Spring & Greenwich) where we found a large chunk of the Pack who had either called it in as well, missed the island altogether or had found the true trail and left some false markings just to confuse the hell out of the rest of us.


In any event, the entire Pack made it to the On-In and proceeded to drink the bar dry.

But not before the Down-Downs were administered. First the Hares, not only for the muppet behaviour of running into another trail and not knowing it but also for the aforementioned Blue Chalk faux pas. Then the visitor, Dogmeat, who, unsatisfied with simply being called up to drink, decided that we would all like to see him play with his nipples. Hmm…


As usual, an army of Virgins who will remain nameless although a couple, in particular, were singled out for special abuse on account of having been caught stimulating themselves with an electronic device on trail. Though I have assurances they weren’t sharing the device in question: they each had their own.


Dogmeat had to drink again because he had insisted on bringing (and using) some sort of bird-calling flute on trail. The JM quite rightly invoked the Not-Invented-Here Rule for trail devices because, while that sort of nonsense might go down a treat in the ‘Burbs, in the Big City it will, at best, attract the Flying Vermin or, at worst, get you beaten up for being a Big Girl’s Blouse.


Junior and your humble scribe were given Birthday Down-Downs, the latter clearly being dobbed in by Peter and YankIT in the corner of the bar…thanks for that.


Kevin was asked to drink not for his own behaviour but for that of his “friends”, five of which he had brought to the Hash but two of which had subsequently decided there was more fun to be had bowling on Staten Island. Little did they know…


Finally, Ass Ranger was awarded Asshole Of The Week for generally uncivilised behaviour including, but not limited to, knocking people over as he barged through the Pack on trail and triple-fisting his pizzas when he reached the On-In. I don’t want to know how he held on to his beer…


Which frivolous singing & drinking episode brings us to the entirely non-frivolous drinking & dancing segment of the evening where, presumably because it had recently been a full moon, the entire Pack proceeded to get really quite drunk. Personally, I blame Chip (of Chip ’n’ Dale fame) for his selection of tunes on the jukebox (who can leave the bar when there’s Sweet Caroline playing, even if the Hash Cash did run out three hours ago!) Some hashers (who shall remain nameless…no really, I don’t know their names), perhaps being led astray by the veterans in the group, seemed to think that it was protocol to suck on the face of whomever you happened to be talking to when the next tune started.


While I can’t personally testify to having participated in this new trend, I’m not going to be the one to stomp on it…at the very least it gave the country bumpkins from Summit something to talk about when they got home. Stick that in yer flute and smoke it…



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