BH3 #412

Brooklyn Hash House Harriers

Run #412 / June 9th, 2008

 

Hare: Wet Connection

On In: Redd's Tavern

Scribe: Jeremy

 

There are some discomfiting trends developing in our beloved (read: endured) Brooklyn Hash.  I've noticed that trails these days start in one of only two possible locations:

 

•1.       Within a 4 block radius of Grand Army Plaza

•2.       The Lorimer stop on the L, in Williamsburg

 

Out top scientists have determined the formula for deciding which of the two start locations will be used.  For those who would like to plan their schedule for the rest of the summer, I share it here:

 

n = (2m + 6d / Ah + To * Tb ) modulo 2

 

Key:

•·         m is the month

•·         d is the date

•·         Ah is the hare's age

•·         To is the ambient outside temperature

•·         And Tb is a constant, the ideal temperature for a down-down beer

 

Wet Connection plugged and chugged and came up with n = 2, compelling us to run a trail in Williamsburg, land of dust, grime, hipsters, and virtually no trees or green spaces.  This was ideal, since it was predicted to be nearly 100 degrees.

 

Thank goodness the trail was laid by Wet Connection, whose routes tend to top out at two miles anyway.  On trail we saw no signs of life, except for the dry husk of a human carcass clad in a tattered Def Leppard baby T and some awful, stirruped American Apparel tights. Indeed, were it not for the brevity of the trail, nobody other than the hare would have made it to the on in, which would have been a tragedy though maybe hash cash wouldn't have run out so damn fast for a change.

 

The pack, once they staggered in, milled around a bit both inside and out on the patio.  FMIG regaled us with tales of random MTA hookups from his past while Mary started Googling everyone in the hash in an effort to demonstrate how much better the world would be if we stopped talking completely and communicated only by BlackBerry.

 

There was a circle, and the following people were punished:

 

•·         Some virgins, for the sheer stupidity of coming to their first hash when it was 100 degrees out

•·         Shani, for making it to her mid twenties without learning how to do a shot of beer in one go

•·         Headlights, for wearing new shoes, which turned out to have holes in the bottom.  As such she didn't so much drink her allotment of beer as much as sprinkle it all over herself

•·         Some other people I missed because I was too busy watching Ken Griffey Jr. finally hit his 600th career homerun on the T.V. at the end of the bar

 

The pizza was well-received by all, with the exception of G-Dick, who christened it ‘downhill pizza'.  This was taken to mean that Monday is the peak of his week, socially, and that he would all too soon be starting the 20-hour journey back uptown, where he lives on a houseboat with a life-size cardboard cutout of ultramarathoner Gordy Ainsleigh and his friends, the mollusks.

 

On out,

 

Jeremy

 


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