NYCH3 #1137
Date: December 11, 2005
Start: 242nd Street and Broadway
Hares: Loretta, Devo and Glenda
On-in: Santas Smokin Workshop in da Bronx
(actually northern Manhattan, but close enough)
Scribe: Cockstar
Its all my fault.
Mean Jean the Down-Down Machine
Well if FMIG can quote Mean Jeans words in a write-up title, then so can I. And, truth be told, it was all her fault.
The plan was to meet at the 72nd Street stop on the 1 line at 2:30PM and ride up to the start together. In a vain final effort to get at least one write-up published before the end of the year, I raced to Kinkos at 2:15PM for the second time that day. Of the 10 self-service black and white copiers, only one was working and it was being used by 68 y/o man and his ailing wife. Hmmmmm. Obviously the 15 minutes I had allotted myself was going to be woefully inadequate to accomplish my task. What to do? What to do? Yes. Suck it up and pay full service price. Couldnt be that bad, right? Wrong.
After waiting 5 of my precious 15 minutes on line, I approached the counter: Id like 30 of these, double sided and stapled on the top left (my 2 write-ups) and 20 of these, single sided (FMIGs) please. A look of severe consternation passed over the attendants face (translated: You want ME to make your copies for you?). She told me I could make my copies out there, using our write-ups to gesture with her forearm at the broken copy machines in the store. Yes. I know that, but theyre all BROKEN, was my response. Yes, came the reply, but they are servicing the one back here. Well Ill show THAT Kinkos! I retrieved my documents, mumbled something about and you call yourselves a copy shop and stormed out, vowing that I will never use that store again. And I wont! Im moving.
So, now, as you can rightly imagine, I have uncontrollable write-up rage. Lest you wonder why this disproportionate amount of anger, I shall inform you that Jean has threatened me and the rest of the Committee with mid-term oustings due to repeated, inexcuseable and blatant shirking of Committee responsibilities. The prime offenders being me, Flaccido, Fire-in-the-Pie Hole, MasterCard, Stacia, HUA, Got Wood(?) and Cree (whos he anyway?); basically, the whole Committee. So, naturally, the write-up rage was clearly warranted.
Luckily, however, I only used up 10 of my 15 minutes and was certain to be right on time to meet Mean Jean. What are the chances shell be on time? I mused. None. That woman is going to be 10 minutes late to her own funeral! Now, to compound write-up rage, I see not one, or two, but THREE 1 trains come through the station. Finally, at 2:41PM, she appears on the stinkin express, which is going to do us no good at all, because well just have to wait at 96th street with hoards more people (which we did). By the time we boarded the 1 train, it was 2:58PM. Obviously, reaching the start by 3:15PM was an impossibility. Luckily, Jean was able to reach Devo via cell when the train surfaced around 125th street to inform him that there were a bunch of hashers r*nning late. As it turned out there were: Nail Driver, Snatch My Sack, Bahamonde and YankIt. We finally reached the start at approximately 3:25PM and took off.
Now, instead of trying to explain where the trail went (because I cant it was all pretty much in Van Courtlandt Park) I thought Id put in a little ditty explaining, in essence, what happened. Bear in mind, however, that the pack was at least 10 minutes ahead of us.
Hashing through the snow
Wet socks and snow-drenched sneaks
Van Courtlandt here we go
Slipping like big freaks.
ha Ha HA (insert evil Devo laugh)!
Cool-Aid marks abound(?)
Berries red and bright
Trail is no where found
No FRBs in sight.
(Official Hash Chorus)
Jingle balls, jingle balls,
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun it is to r*n round
Naked in this way.
Oh!
Jingle balls, jingle balls,
Jingle all the way
Oh what fun it is to r*n round
Naked this Sunday.
OK, so we werent naked. We were, however, constantly lost but Devo swept and caught most of us before we wandered off into lands unknown. That is, until we exited the park. At this point, Im r*nning with Patrick and Jean. We lost trail, got split up and Jean (who I had agreed to r*n with, ABANDONED me and took off – – hmmmm, reminds me of another time she abandoned a Naidech). After 20 minutes of checking by myself and slight panicking because it was getting dark, I spotted Patricks red hat from afar and caught up with him. He informed me that Jean had kept going. Byatch! Somehow Devo found me and Patrick and helped us avoid several steep hills, which Jean was forced to run alone (PAYBACKS A BITCH!), before heading towards the projects and, my personal favorite, TARGET. A quick pass through the store and we were headed to the bar on 214th and Bway.
I was in in an hour and 20 minutes. I think Chad showed up from Yonkers about 10 or 15 minutes later. Apparently, he cant tell the difference between Cool-Aid and dingle – I mean red – berry marks.
Glenda and Loretta were 20 minutes late to the on-in and the pack, who arrived not-so-early, was flummoxed. Apparently, the hares abandoned the pack because they were busy showering. They passed out thimble-full plastic cups for beer and, at least Glenda, was quick to refill anyones thimble. There were chips and dips, free hot dogs (cooked or uncooked – you had your choice), mashed potatoes from a box and a strange thing well call a cross between glue and polenta that no one could identify. but still insisted on eating (and Im not talking about Lunch).
I could not get rid of my bone chill, which was caused by the bars open doors that allowed the locals to light up in the bar. Again, this was all Jeans fault. So, Ill have to reconstruct the down-downs from Jeans notes. The hares. Glenda and Loretta, for not being at the bar when the pack arrived because they were beautifying themselves. Devo for being Sheriff Buford T. Pusser (only one person got that reference I remember). He was sweeping with a monster stick in tow guiding his sheep. Visitors and Virgins. Mmmmmmm . . . Yes! Hardy for dropping a beer. FMIG and Snatch My Sack for doing something in the bathroom (a wall I would NOT want to be a fly on). Basia, Salt Lick and crew for getting so lost in Yonkers following Chad, that they ended up having to take a taxi to the on-in. That left Chad for AOW. Rightfully deserved!
The beer ran out rather quickly for that hood and it was a long, dark trip home. On-out.