August 30, 2006
Start: The Patriot (Church St. and Chambers St.)
Hares: Flaccido Domingo and Sideshow Bob
On-In: not the Patriot! just kidding!
Every turn you made mocked you. You knew the left you made would only force you later to go back right. Some believed the hares and others when they said NO WAY the on-in would be at the Patriot. It couldn’t be an A to A because we were gonna be back at the Patriot in like, days, for the Red Dress R*n. So how long were you fooled? My guess is not long.
We took off running toward the Brooklyn Bridge. Some actually started to cross it. Others were either smart enough to think this had to be an A to A or to listen to a hasher who said she saw a “BC” mark on the bridge. It was here the pack and the trail took form. As we all friggin’ knew where this was going anyway we neglected to share all the bits of information at our disposal.
We ran and ran all around in some strange quest to avoid the obvious. A drink check at the Patriot did little to quell the nasty smell of suspicion and only added a mysterious nasty smell from a shot (I think it’s that free one where they take the liquid that’s been accumulating on the floor mats all night). Could you really have gotten lost and needed to call the hotline? Someone (let’s just say her name starts with a ‘C’ and rhymes with rockstar) got caught actually on a payphone during trail. She said she was “calling her mother”.
We arrived at our beloved den of depravity (and of scantily clad female bartenders) with bittersweetness. For some reason we didn’t partake in the bar’s quintessential burgers and never-ending fries. We enjoyed our pizza, as did some poachers at the bar, and moved to the down-downs. We actually had to skip the hares at first as they were happily procuring more fluids for us to pour down our throats. Former local Kindergarten Kim was our only visitor and there were four virgins. With such a large crowd you wonder if our retention rate is getting better or if we just often accidentally run into hashers at the Patriot. Birthday babies Greg, James, and Alison were saluted. Greg remained because of a nasty trail-habit of doing push-ups at red lights while he waited. Push-ups should only be done in a bar, just ask Ewa.
How do you get from the Village to Harlem after a half-marathon pub crawl? Well, for one, don’t take the F train to Queens…especially when the F train isn’t running the other way. Yours truly eventually did make it home safely and voluntarily handed the story over to Mean Jean so it could be shared appropriately. In another “why-did-I-open-my-big-mouth” down-down, Kinky Boots was handed a banana after her beer so we could find out just what advice on blow jobs she got from some 17-year-olds at a bachelorette party.
Assh*le of the Week went to Robert for catching Mean Jean and Wet Connection setting the last part of the trail, doing the drink check, and then taking off to rer*n the second part of the trail. And we finally got to the hares who were serenaded with a chorus of SHITTY TRAIL (and MORE BEER). And more beer there was.