NYCH3 #1244 (Santa's Sluts)
Date: 16th December 2007
Start: Chorus Tree on South Street
Pre-lube: Heartland Brewery (South St & Fulton St)
Hares: Santa's Sluts
Beer Check: The Patriot (Church St & Chambers St)
On-in: Suspenders (111 Broadway at Thames St)
On what was really quite a damp and miserable Sunday afternoon, a surprising number of hashers showed up for a trail. The only possible explanation was the opportunity of seeing our fair Harriettes dressed to the nines…well at least to the threes or fours: it’s not called the “Santa’s Sluts” hash for nothing.
We were given some brief instructions for the trail which included the news that the hares, in their infinite wisdom, had elected to mark the trail using little pieces of ribbon. There were mutterings of, “This isn’t going to end well”…and it didn’t.
We headed off towards the Seaport, which, unless you’re intending to swim the East River, is a dead end. Therefore, the pack immediately fractured into those who waited for FAD and the other FRBs to reappear on the other side of the building and those who circumnavigated it just for the sake of scaring the tourists.
We headed thence vaguely north and west until we arrived at Confucius Plaza where we lost the trail. After about three minutes waiting at the check, “Linny” was heard to complain that we were never going to figure it out and that we should just go find the bar. Linny, obviously new to this hashing thing, was perhaps unaware that “finding the bar” is, well, sort of the sine qua non of the whole exercise. Presumably she had a different method in mind such as calling up the 15,000 purveyors of alcohol in Manhattan in alphabetical order until she stumbled upon the On-In.
The rest of us persevered with our tried and tested method of “checking” until someone found a ribbon to the east. We all followed in hot pursuit and after a swift circuitous jog around the nearby projects, we ended up…err…back where we started. It was at this point we grasped the sheer genius of the ribbon method: you can do the trail in either direction. We retraced our footsteps and found some ribbon to the west and then promptly lost the trail again.
By this point, someone had called the hotline and we were headed to a Beer Check at The Patriot. We were greeted by the Sluts together with Dr. Steve who had found the true trail and, allegedly, spent 10 minutes screaming [sic], “On On!” before he gave up and headed out on his own. There were no witnesses to corroborate this likely story.
After an appropriately brief stopover in The Patriot, we headed off again for a longer-than-necessary tour of lower Manhattan, before ending up at “Suspenders” (111 Broadway at Thames). The cavernous interior was packed so it was just as well that the Hares had secured the back room for our sole use. When I say “packed”, I mean “empty” and when I say “back room”, I mean “closet”.
And so to the Down Downs. The Sluts were called up first because, well, they were the Hares and that’s how we roll. USMW, Keeps Her Clothes On, Salt Lick, and Jenn were apparently primarily responsible for this debacle.
There were a couple of Visitors to welcome: Magoo, who had brought his better half, “Lick It Off”, along for the ride, and Vince who had trekked all the way from Florida to see the local slutty talent.
The Virgins included Scott, Brett and some other chap whose name was illegible after my write-up notes went through the wash. Chrystie seemed quite adamant that she had made Scott come at least ten times which, if true, made quite a mockery of the whole “virgin” moniker for this segment of the proceedings.
At this point, I have a note that Marie Wickham was given a Bimbo award for calling “On On” while on trail. Since I have no other information I must surmise that this was a slow news day and that the JMs were merely clutching at straws.
Linny was given AOTW on account of her lack of stamina at the first indication of a moderately tough check.
Sarah Downunder was asked to drink for applying lippy in the Ladies’ while saying, “At some point you feel like you’re losing your dignity.” To which Mean Jean had retorted, “It’s interesting that you think you have some dignity to lose.” Touché.
Vince was offered the “Random Abuse of Power” Down Down which he promptly bestowed upon the civilians: Peter and Lesley. It seems they had taken him out and forced alcohol down his neck for two nights in a row. Oh the humanity!
Cree nominated Norma who, looking to dry off her clothing, decided that this process could be facilitated by shoving the Pratt & Whitney jet turbine that was cleverly disguised as a hand dryer in the restroom, down her pants. Cree was then given a Down Down himself for the "Jewish remarks" in his last write up. It's not clear if he made derogatory remarks about Jews or whether he was being punished for a poor command of Yiddish.
And finally: the awards! Girl Scout Nookie: because she hadn't read the instructions and showed up dressed for a French Arts fair. Manslave Andrew & Sarah Downunder were called up as Santa's Little Helpers. The sluts seemed particularly grateful for the services rendered by Andrew. No comment. Mr Hanky was given a beer for no apparent reason other than he was a sh*t with a santa hat on. Mary Beth received a vat of vaseline for her exceptionally large breasts. Slut Of The Year went to Norma after a close contest with Wet Connection who, it appears, has confused “marriage” with “going out on the town dressed like a brazen hussy”.
Nathan, Doug and Kyle were called up as candidates for Best Male Slut. Frankly, none of them had made any kind of effort in the costume department so one has to assume that it was on account of their low moral character. Nathan received the award since he had at least stapled a piece of tinsel to his crotch creating, what many people considered to be, some kind of tinsel dick; two hours later FMIG thought up a hash name for him: tinsel dick. To be fair there's usually a 2 hour satellite delay between FMIG's ears and his brain.
With that our attention turned to the sorry excuse for food that was served up. Its poor quality was only compensated for by its insufficiency. The pack overcame the former to demolish it in zero point six eight seconds. Lunch seemed particularly put out that there were no leftovers.
Finally, our focus returned once more to the sluts with their low-quality and/or minimalist attire. They included Jenn who, proudly wearing her dog collar, seemed keen for all and sundry to “yank her chain” while Heather, donning a set of reindeer antlers complete with battery controlled lights, enjoyed the independence of being able to “flick her own switch”. Salt Lick was dressed incongruously as an angel, while the rest of Santa’s Sluts made no such attempt to pull the wool over our eyes. There were no complaints.