NYCH3 #1155

NYCH3 #1155

Date: April 30, 2006

Start: 242nd Street and Broadway

Hares: Lisa and Dave Too Long

On-in: The bar at the foot of the subway station stairs

Scribe: Cockstar

 

Cockstar’s Swan Song From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

A swan song is a reference to an ancient and false belief that the Mute Swan (Cygnus olor) is completely mute during its lifespan, but may sing one heartbreakingly beautiful song just before it dies. An Orlando Gibbons Madrigal states the legend thus:

The silver swan, which, living, had no note,

when Death approached, unlocked her silent throat.

Leaning her breast upon the reedy shore,

thus sung her first and last and sung no more.

 

 

From Cockstar, On-Sex (2004-2006)

Cockstar’s Swan Song is a reference to the recent, but false belief that this On-Sex (Ab Sexus) has shirked her responsibilities during her reign of the Terror of the Pen and, in protest, has refused to do her last scribley duty of writing one side-splitting write-up.  A hash song recites the falsity as such:

 

            Good night ladies,

            Good night ladies,

            Good night ladies,

            We’re sad to see you go.

 

            From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

Not only do "mute" swans not sing as they die, but they produce snorts, shrill noises, grunts, and hisses throughout life. But the legend is so appealing that it has been used in artistic works over the centuries.

From Cockstar, On-Sex (2004-2006)

 

Not only is Cockstar going to live up to her last scribe duty, but during Saturday’s AGM she is certain to produce snorts, shrill noises, grunts, and hisses as she gets drunk.  She is so appealing when she gets this way, that she is certain to repeat the behavior at future on-ins.

 

                                                            *          *          *

            April showers bring May flowers.  Or, at least that’s what I was trying to convince myself that morning as it pissed rain outside.  Around 9:00AM I peered outside and wondered whether Mean Jean, Yello Smello et al. were dumb enough to do the NYRRC race that morning.  So glad I don’t buy into that “point” thing.  That was soooooo, circa 1999.

 

            But, by noon, the sun was shining and I received several calls from idiot r*nners who had in fact completed the race.  Needless to say, they had the sense to cut the r*n short and did not go for a “long r*n” by r*nning another loop in the Park.

 

            On the long trek into the Bronx, however, the skies clouded over and it began to piss.  Nice.  Despite the rain, it was rather warm and the elite few who braved the schlep uptown gathered at the western edge of Van Cortlandt Park at the foot of the subway stairs.  Lisa and Dave were completely covered in flour.  Dave in particular.

 

            When we reached critical mass (Kyle, MJ, Lauren, Fast Am. Dave, Mary, Andrew, Christine, Sideshow Bob, Jenn and assorted others) we set off.  The trail was entirely marked in flour.  By the end, so were we.  And wet.  The trail went into the Park and never came out.  So, I have no idea where we went.

 

            At one point, MJ, Kyle, Peter, Burke, Jenn, and I came out of the “woods” and stumbled upon what appeared to be civilization (and Fireman Bob’s house) and MJ asked a young boy “Excuse me, young man. But, where are we?”  To which he responded: “Yonkers.” 

 

            The trail ended across the street from where we had started in one of those cheery, well-lit joints.   It was hot and stinky.  But, then again, what bar that we invade isn’t?

 

            The beer flowed, the pizza showed up.  We “et” it.  And there were down-downs:

 

The hares, for no chalk.

 

The hares, for promising us a new bar.  Rumor has it they “scouted” the Bronx, but we still ended up at the same dump we always end up at.

 

Visitors Alison and Posh.

 

Yank It for flying down a wet, muddy and rocky hill, risking life and limb, but stopping to kiss each women he saw on the way hello on the cheek.

 

Sideshow – for the creative use of twigs and sanitary napkins as pack arrows.

 

Peter for being “ill” (mannered).  I don’t remember.

 

Robert, for an ugly shirt and because it was St. George’s Day or something like that.

 

AOW went to Fast Am. Dave #6, Sideshow and myself.  Fast Am. Dave #6 went to the 99 cent store to buy dry socks.  Sideshow and I paid him $1.00 each for a pair.

 

It was still light out when I left to take the long journey home.

 

Adieu to all of you ungrateful bastards, complainers and ingrates!  And for the rest of you FUCK OFF!

 

On-out.